Tuesday, October 03, 2006
I saw him for the first time standing at the overlook on top of Monte Berico, in the Italian city of Vicenza. He was just the kind of guy I am inherently drawn to; tall, with dark and lustrous wavy hair and, well, okay he has brown eyes instead of blue, but they were the richest, loveliest sort of brown, a cross between hot chocolate and pure espresso! God, he was gorgeous.
I tried to pay attention to the city below me in the warm September sunshine. I had first seen this city 20 years ago when I lived here. It is an enchanting city, full of warm and inviting people, stunning architecture and history that literally oozes from every corner of it. It is about 40 miles west of Venice, in the province of Veneto, a verdant and lush farming area, close enough to the Adriatic Sea to get abundant fresh sea food as well as fresh vegetables.
I found myself watching him surreptitiously, trying hard to stay under the radar. He was wearing jeans that were softly faded and snug, hugging his hips and long, well-muscled legs with a white linen shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. While it had a slightly worn and comfortable look, it was well-tailored and obviously expensive. His shoes were Feragamo, real ones that somehow managed to look casual while being incredibly expensive. He was a totally well put together man.
I pictured myself with this extremely sexy man, our mouths sharing hot tortured kisses. I imagined sliding my hands down his taut belly, tongue tracing the way for me until finally I had him in my mouth, hard and powerful, yet his skin was velvety soft under my tongue, a potent blend of textures.
Snap out of it Girl!
Okay, having gotten my mini fantasy out of the way I decided it was just better to get out of there, before I did something stupid like, I don't know, beg him to spend the next 9 days with me?
Reluctantly I glanced at my watch to see what time it was in order to catch the bus that circulates every 15 minutes or so. I had about 10 minutes before I needed to walk the short distance over to the bus stop and I decided to wander over to the Northern outlook to get a better view of the Dolomite Alps to the north of the city. I had to pass by the mystery man, and I promised myself I wouldn't reach out and touch!
There were only a few other people up there that day, and as I passed him, he called out to me.
"E un giorno bello, non E?" He was telling me that the day was beautiful, which I completely agreed with.
His voice was deep and resonate; he spoke the language fluently, and yet I was sure he wasn't Italian after hearing it. There was a flatter quality to his accent which isn't normal with Italians. I decided to play my hunch.
"Si. Perdonilo prego ma il mio italiano non e molto buono. Parlate inglese?" I told him that yes, I agreed it was a beautiful day but that I didn't speak Italian very well and did he speak English?
"Why yes," he told me in a clear, British accent!
"Thank you," I told him. "It's been a few years since I have regularly spoken Italian!"
"You're American, then?" he softly inquired.
"Yes," I said, nodding my head.
He turned to face me then, leaning his hip against the sun-warmed stones that formed the wall around the top of Monte Berico.
"Are you on holiday here?" he asked me.
It took every bit of self-restraint I had to not to stare at his hips resting so casually against that lucky wall. I kept my focus on his face. His eyes were alive and bright, clearly curious and interested in me! Or at least my answer.
"Yes," informed him. "I'm here for the next 9 days."
As I looked at him, I realized he seemed strangely familiar, but I couldn't seem to remember why. Hell, I couldn't remember my own name right then!
He smiled at me then, a dazzlingly wonderful smile. He had the most amazing pair of dimples, deep and affable, set in a face that obviously smiled a lot I thought as I noticed the tiny laugh lines around his eyes. The slight breeze was ruffling his hair; the curls were shining in the sunlight, just begging for my hand to run playfully through them!
"Are you here to play or work?" he asked me, again flashing those dimples!
They definitely should have a warning label attached to them.
I was sure I knew this man. Not only did he look familiar but his voice! And then it came to me.
Oh my God, this is Adam Richland, the actor. I've seen so many of his movies, but somehow he seemed different here, in person. While he is wonderfully charming, he also appeared so very real!
I am standing here, in Italy with Adam Richland. And we are talking. . .