I had only known Gregorio a few months. We had been on a handful of dates, no more, but I had already sussed out a lot about this man. He was an open book – I loved this. Plus, he was charming; even better. Up to this point, my experience with male Italian charm had only been parred by a fair amount of infidelity. My new Italian boy’s open-paged personality had left me somewhat assured. If he was the type to fool around, I hoped he would do the fooling full front. He was precise, verging on obsessive; yet a tidy man – another novel phenomenon for me – that I was optimistic would prove itself very useful. He was impulsive, which, in our love’s initial lust-filled phase, made things only the more glorious, spontaneous, and fun. And then there was his greatest passion, or, rather, his unparalleled love: il mare. Convinced that salty Mediterranean waters must run through his veins, any maritime topic of any sorts would make Gregorio’s ears prick up, his eyes glint, and a grin spread from one sun-kissed cheek to another.
So, three months in, five dates down, and we were on our way to Sardegna. Gregorio has a small boat, his pride and joy. Equipped with a cabin for two to sleep aboard, we embarked from Rome to spend four blissful days sailing Sardegna’s pristine emerald waters, exploring its soft sanded bays and traveling inland to eat at the many gastronomical wonders that have prided Sardegna as a paradise for food lovers … just as ourselves.
On the day of departure, I was woken up by vigorous shaking. It was 5 AM, and a flustered Gregorio was at my side. With commendable effort to conceal the panic in his voice, he urged that we had to leave now. I stumbled onto the deck, eyes blurred and a mind still full of dreams. The next thing I knew, I was coming to amidst three-meter waves, the sky alight with the lingering hues of the storm from the night before, and Gregorio at the wheel, exuberant like never before.
We were flying: quite literally surfing the towering waves that trailed the boat. There was no crashing, or splashing, and hence, I felt little discomfort or fear. We were harmoniously one with the sea, leaving me – a sailing novice, and a naive one at that – grinning with delight, just like Gregorio, as the thrill of soaring the seas washed over us both.
As autopilot took control, he kissed me. Then again. With every rolling wave, a garment of clothing shed, until our bodies met and moved in tandem to the surge of the boat. Zero effort required.
And at the peak of it all, as we glided atop the mightiest wave yet, the sun broke free from the skyline below. Amidst the roars of the sea, Gregorio’s voice rang out: “Ti Amooooo!”
My first “I love you” from this man, and one that had never felt so apt. Impulsive? Check. Charming? Check. Sea-obsessed? Check, check, check…
Seven years on — a little wiser, a tad less reckless — and a wedding al mare to come, Gregorio and I nod to the sea, the third wheel we welcome with joy.
