Suddenly, she lost her balance and I had to catch her arm.
“My camera!” she screamed, pointing at the thief who’d grabbed her and pushed her over.
Not on my fucking watch!
I sprinted after the douchebag asshole, tackling him to the ground and landing several good punches, one of which broke his nose with a satisfying snap. Blood leaked onto his t-shirt, and I was just about to express more of my extreme fucking displeasure, when Caro ran up behind me.
“Sebastian, no!” she gasped.
I uncurled my fists, shaking them out, then stood up, handing the camera back to her. I realized that a crowd was beginning to form, pointing and yelling. I really didn’t want a run in with the local Polizia.
“We’d better get out of here.”
“What about the police?” Caro whispered, her eyes glued to the thief and the blood pooling on his chest.
“Fuck them!”
I grabbed her hand, dragging her through the ring of onlookers who were watching the show. There were a few angry voices aimed at our backs, but no one tried to stop us.
Caro was pale and shaky. I would have thought a foreign correspondent wouldn’t get faint at the sight of blood. Maybe she was just hungry? Or maybe she was pissed that I’d made a mess of that fucker’s face? I never knew what she was thinking anymore. The thought made my gut clench.
I dragged her down a side-alley, and a moment later, we emerged into a wide piazza.
“Are you okay, Caro?”
“I’m fine,” she said weakly, looking away from me.
“Come on,” I ordered. “You should eat something.”
She nodded, and didn’t argue when I led us into a small restaurant pulling out a stool at the bar for her.
“Thank you for saving my camera,” she said quietly.
I was relieved—understatement. “I was waiting for you to chew me out for hitting that guy.”
“Well, I’m glad you stopped punching him when you did, obviously, but I’m very fond of my camera. I worked hard to afford to buy it. Thank you, Sebastian.”
I smiled, shaking my head in amusement. “You never cease to amaze me, Caro.”
Then she reached over and took my hand. “How are your knuckles?”
I chuckled quietly. “Much better now,” I said, running my thumb over the back of her hand.
The waitress sauntered over to take our order and was pretty damn obvious about checking me out while she did it. Better still, it was making Caro pissed, so at least I knew she still wanted me.
“Not my type,” I whispered, jerking my chin in the waitress’ direction.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Caro whispered back. “She’s not mine, either.”
I nearly fell off my stool, my imagination going straight to the gutter.
“Not interested in three-ways?” I croaked.
“I don’t know,” she replied, casually. “Do you have friends in the Marines who are as cute as you?”
No fucking way!
“No. I don’t.”
She laughed, and I’d have done anything to see that happiness on her face again. Although there was no way I’d let her near any of the grunts I used to hang with.
“Tell me about being a Marine,” she said. “What do you like about it? What don’t you like about it?”
“Are you interviewing me, Caro, or is this off the record?” I smirked at her.
“Off the record—for now,” she said.
I decided to answer her question seriously. I hadn’t had a choice about joining the Marines, but I’d been so desperate to leave home, I didn’t care either.
“I get to be part of a family,” I said, shrugging lightly. “The guys I work with, they’re my brothers, like we share DNA. We fight and piss each other off, but I get them and they get me. We’ve all gone through the same things so I guess it bonds us together or something.” I looked at her, “And I didn’t have much of a family growing up.”
She smiled sadly. “No, you didn’t.”
“A lot of guys thought that boot camp was the worst thing ever, but I loved it. Yeah, it was physically tough—swimming, running, going through exercise courses, and learning how to shoot and take apart guns—but it took my mind off … stuff. For others, the toughest thing was being away from their families, but for me that was the best part.”
“And the downside?”
“Dickhead officers…”
“And their wives?” Caro laughed.
“Well, yeah!”
“Would you say you love it?” she asked, cocking her head questioningly.
“I used to. I was good at something for the first time in my life. Being part of my Unit—those guys were solid. Being a terp, yeah, I like that okay when I’m on deployment, but being stuck in a fucking office all day…” I shook my head. “I’m a good Marine but a lousy desk POG.”
“POG?”
“Person Other than Grunt.”
Caro smiled. “Yes, you always preferred action to words, I seem to remember.”
I waggled my eyebrows at her suggestively, “If you’re offering, ma’am!”
Her mood shifted immediately, and I cursed myself for being so dumb. I wanted a Caro who was happy to hang out with me, not one who was uncomfortable when I flirted with her. Dumb fucking bootneck! I changed the subject quickly.
“How did you meet your friend Liz?”
She smiled at the memory. “We were the only women on a press tour of refugee camps in Darfur. We just bonded. She’s totally committed to what she does and is a complete professional. She’ll go anywhere, talk to anyone, and she’s never afraid to ignore the line we’re being sold by politicians and top brass military. She has an amazing nose for a story.” Caro smiled. “And she parties harder than you do. She’s a wonderful reporter, but she’s no respecter of authority.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty scary. I thought Crawley was going to piss his pants when she targeted in on him.”
“Aw, feeling a little threatened, were you?”
“Hell yeah! My balls were just about ready to curl up and hide.”
Caro shot me an amused look, but then stifled a yawn.
“Are you tired?”
“Yes, definitely ready to head for bed, Sebastian. To sleep.”
Her comment was pointed, but I wasn’t going to let it faze me.
“Okay, let’s see what we can find. There were a couple of streets I saw online that are mostly pensiones. Should we try one of those?”
When I’d planned the trip, I’d worked out that these small, family run hotels were cheap accommodation in the cities—I just hadn’t counted on it being festival time..
“Sounds good,” she said, yawning again.
I paid the bill and we headed out. I was reaching for her hand again when she stopped me, a serious look on her face.
“Sebastian, don’t get mad at me, and don’t read too much into this … but I’d really like to have separate rooms tonight. Just…”
That definitely wasn’t what I wanted to hear. How were we going to work through this if she wouldn’t let me close to her? But she’d asked, and I couldn’t say no.
“Whatever you need, Caro,” I said quietly.
She relaxed immediately, a relieved look on her face.
“Thank you.”
I was so frustrated, thinking of a million things I wanted to say, that I hadn’t realized we’d walked nearly half a mile toward the pensiones in complete silence.
“This is the street,” I muttered, pointing toward a long line of narrow townhouses.
The first two we tried were fully booked and the third could only offer a single room. If worst came to worst, Caro could take that room and I’d find an all-night bar to hang out in—or maybe she’d let me sleep on her floor?
“We could try going more upscale,” I suggested tiredly.
“Well, we have to walk along this street to get back to the main hotel area, so we may as well try a few more on the way,” Caro offered.
“Yeah, okay.”
At the fifth pensione, we struck gold. Sort of.
“I’m sorry, signora,” the owner said to Caro. “I have one room with two single beds, but that’s all. It’s the Festival, you see,” she said, gesturing helplessly. “You’re lucky—I had a cancellation.”