Siena, March
When the last drop of the overly bitter tonic water failed to quell the churn in her stomach, Rey concluded she was still jet-lagged. They had landed in Rome one week earlier, slowly working their way north through Umbria, to now find herself traipsing along a cobbled street in Siena. To her surprise, it had been Ben who had suggested the detour, arguing that two days was all he could stomach in the tourist trap Florence had turned into: "I loved it the first few times, now it's just like Venice, it's only bearable during winter."
He came up right behind her as she squinted at the bright opening up ahead.
"Go on, we're almost there," he gave her a gentle push.
The tiny street opened into an enormous open space, light flooding in from all around. Tall buildings in warm colors bordered the square from every side, making her feel cuddled by the warmth they reflected. It was an odd shape, she thought looking around, the brickwork of the pavement divided into several diverging sections, fanning out from somewhere, recreating a sort of shell-like form. Irregular. Refreshing in its imperfect shape.
"It's called Piazza del Campo." Ben's tall silhouette came to stand beside her as she basked in the sun, and she looked up. He was beautiful, she thought to herself. Almost smiling, calm, unhurried.
She allowed herself a moment to breathe him in along with the place. To wonder ... could Amilyn have had a point? Had she sparked his interest in some way? It was something she'd never considered. To her, it had always been an unfortunate crush complicating an already rocky working relation. To entertain the possibility of him somehow reciprocating was far worse, for it opened an entirely new set of problems. A mutual whatever-that-was with Ben Solo was something she wasn't sure she knew how to handle.
"They ride horses here, you know," Ben drawled, lazily unhooking his sunglasses from his t-shirt and putting them on.
"You're joking."
"Il Palio. They hold it twice each summer. Never been to one but heard it's quite the loony show. The planning takes weeks but the race itself lasts for only about 90 seconds."
Hux ignored them completely as he brushed past Rey, deeply engrossed in reciting dates and names of Popes to a deeply bored-looking Rose. The others had scattered across the old town, browsing quaint little shops and gobbling down gelatos. It was early afternoon and everyone seemed to be moving at a sluggish pace, a delicious sort of languor having settled over the locals.
"Do you think the horses know?" Rey quietly asked, her eyes roaming over the landmark. "That they are running in circles. Or do they fall for the illusion of freedom?"
"Do we?" Ben snorted, equally surveying their surroundings.
"As for answering the question with a question, yours pretty much sums up life as I know it. You know, the first thing I ever learnt about it was that in the Palio, the runner up is considered to be the loser of the race."
"You're right," Rey sighed, another bout of nausea threatening to ruin her peaceful moment. "It is just like life."
Bologna, March
It was a chilly Tuesday and Rey was running on a post-rehearsal high, desperately trying not to freak out. Ben was taking her to lunch.
They had been brusquely separated from the group because she had insisted on a quick tour of the Palazzo that was housing their evening performance, fascinated by the frescoes and the painted windows. They had just stepped out when he most nonchalantly threw the invitation in her face i.e. "It's fucking freezing, want to get something to eat before turning back? I know a place."
She swallowed the mortified "just the two of us?" that was threatening to roll off her tongue and managed an unimpressed "Uh-huh" before she hurriedly followed him against the wind and why in God's name were his legs so long?
When they finally found shelter in an archway, Rey's jaw fell slightly slack as she saw at least 20 people queuing in front of an inconspicuous door with a sign above it reading "Trattoria Anna Maria".
"Where the hell are we going? If this is one of those Michelin star Hux likes to go to, I'll let you know I'm absolutely starving and some radishes on a stick or whatever flimsy excuse of a meal they serve isn't gonna cut it."
He actually chuckled at that, assuring her that the place most certainly did not serve vegetables lest they were part of some meat-heavy sauce.
"So all these people are waiting for a table? It's gonna take forever for us to sit down."
"No, they actually open at 12.30 sharp, everyone goes in at the same time."
And so they did, couples and small groups of locals, talking loud and fast in Italian and casually greeting the staff like old friends.
"Buongiorno, un tavolo per due, per favore," Ben spoke when it was their turn to sit, to her utmost astonishment.
"You speak Italian?"
"Just enough to order lunch. They're very protective of their language, just like the French. It pays off to make an effort, even if my accent must be crap. I really hate the loud American tourist tag we get even before opening our mouths."
They were led inside what must have been the coziest and most unassuming restaurant she had seen on the continent. Red tablecloths topped with white napkins covered the wooden tables and the walls were covered in old photos, thank you notes and autographs of past diners. She instantly melted into the heat of the place, the happy chattering of fellow patrons filling the room and emptying her mind.
"What do you feel like having?"
"Pasta of course," she scoffed as she sat down. She refused to let a meal pass without the staple dish for the entirety of their stay in the country.
"Beef or seafood?"
"Surprise me." This was good. Not awkward at all. Apart from the table being tiny and him being a damn ogre, because however hard she tried, their legs kept touching under the table. It wasn't until later that she wondered why he made no effort to avoid it himself.
"Ha già deciso?" The elderly server who approached them seemed rather torn between amiable and annoyed.
"Prendiamo gli tagliatelle al ragu comme primo, poi voleamo un antipasto da dividere."
"Certo. I secondi?"
"Vediamo dopo. Vorremo lasciare un posto per il deserto."
"Va bene. Vuole bere qualcosa?"
"Una bottiglia di Sangiovese, faccia lei, per favore."
The waiter nodded and left for the bar, obviously placated by Ben's use of Italian, however poor.
Fourty minutes later, Rey sat back after what must have been the heartiest, most wholesome meal of her life. She had learnt that the pasta she had greedily devoured was in fact the notorious bolognese, although it would have been a tremendous faux pas to call it as such. "You might as well order cappuccino after lunch," Ben told her amusedly, then patiently instructed her that milk in your coffee after breakfast was tantamount to high treason in Italy. The mortadella slices had been so thin they had melted in her mouth and they had to order a second round of focaccia because Rey had gobbled up most of the basket before the entree was even served.
"I am officially full to the brim. There is nothing more that can physically fit inside my stomach right now."
"Mmm," Ben mused pensively, "That's a shame. The lemon gelato is the talk of the town."
"You have got to be fucking kidding me. Could have mentioned it before letting me stuff my face like a glutton."
"I like the way you eat," he laughed. "It reminds me there may be no tomorrow."
She fidgeted a bit at the sight, not being able to recall if it was the first time she had made him laugh. It was rich and deep and made her want to touch the crinkles around his eyes.
"Fine," she sighed resignedly, "bring on the damn gelato, might as well make sure you have to carry me home on a stretcher."
A bit later, while almost shedding tears over the perfect scoop of the creamy desert that was assaulting all her senses, Rey noticed most of the people around waving and nodding towards a rather grumpy old lady seated alone at a corner table.
"Who do you think she is?"
"That's Anna, of course. She opened this place after a nasty divorce and proved to a ridiculously patriarchal Bologna that women can be just as fierce businessmen as they can be stellar cooks. She runs it like a dragon, I can't really tell if they love her or fear her most."
Rey looked over again and smiled. Anna was watching her surroundings disinterestedly while lazily enjoying the exact same lunch they had.
Bucharest, April
Exhausted from the early flight from Zagreb and grumpy as fuck having just spent 10 dollars on what had been the worst cup of coffee in his life, Ben found it hard to decide if he liked or wanted to murder their Romanian liaison.
Tudor was tall, stout and olive-skinned, and if it weren't for the intelligent spark in his eyes when he spoke, Ben would have pegged him for a clown. Well into his forties, the guy was a walking recital of anecdotes, stories and good humor. He had made a good job entertaining the others on the ride from the airport, but Ben had held his miserable ground.
Had he been an honest person, he would have admitted that his sour mood mainly stemmed from somewhere entirely different: the fact that he had slept with Rey on the plane. As in literally dozed off, possibly snored, waked up to find Rey slightly drooling on his jumper. In his barely-awake state, he shifted and ended up grazing his lips on the crown of her head, in an accidental half-kiss that sent shivers down his spine. Her hair had been freshly washed and to his satisfaction, she smelt like sandalwood and vanilla; he had always hated overly-feminine scents. But she then fidgeted under his touch, crouching onto herself in a manner that completely opened her cleavage completely to his line of sight. She was wearing a black lace bra and because life is what it is, a soft moan escaped her sleeping lips. He was hard in seconds.
"There's a visit scheduled at the Palace of Parliament but I'm not fucking taking you to that temple of shame," Tudor announced. "We'll be passing right by it though in a minute, feel free to gawk at the insanity from here." There was obvious disgust in his voice, making Ben break the circle of gloom and ask his first question of the day: "Why the shame?"
"You need to look at it first. It's just coming up on your right."
Ben indeed found himself gawking against his will. The building was gigantic, spreading over several blocks, threatening and stern in its remoteness. There was really no way you could tear your eyes from it.
"What the hell is that?" Poe asked in a baffle, leaning over Rey to get a better look. They were all crammed in Tudor's SUV, Poe having drawn the short straw to get the middle seat between Rey and Finn.
"The house of the Romanian Parliament. The crown jewel of Ceausescu. You've heard about our 'beloved' leader I presume, all foreigners know about this country is him and Dracula." Tudor quipped from his driver's seat.
Ben had heard of him, indeed. Didn't know much, just that he had been the face of communism in the struggling post-war Romania.
"He's the dead weight we all have to carry in this country. He ruled for almost a quarter of a century. In the beginning he hadn't been worse that your average communist head but towards the end he had become literally insane. He wanted to build a new and improved Bucharest and wipe out whatever was left of Little Paris. To answer your question about shame, he razed an entire neighborhood to build the palace. Historic buildings, churches and synagogues, turned into rubble. Three thousand people died building it. All to make way for the Socialist dream."
There was bitterness and anger in his voice. "It took twenty-five years to wake up, but at least we shot him in the end. Maybe another hundred and we'll no longer have ex-convicts running for public office anymore."
He suddenly flipped to a cheerful tone once again, as if realizing he was discussing reproductive rights during Thanksgiving dinner.
"Alright so on a happier note, I'm not taking you there, I'm taking you to a very nice hotel to change, then to my favorite restaurant to eat some dinner and then out for drinks, Thursday is the new Friday after all."
Minutes later they arrived at their hotel, an elegant mansion with tall oak trees and bay windows. While on the stairs towards the first floor where they were staying, Rey caught up with him and sheepishly offered an apology for having drooled all over his shoulder: "I have trouble sleeping but when I do, I sleep like a rock." What wouldn't he give for that kind of sleep.
When they reached their adjoining doors, she stopped and bemoaned, while grabbing her lower back: "On the downside, every muscle in my body hurts right now."
And then she bent to stretch, until her head reached her knees, which made her oversized sweater slide down, exposing her spine and lower back. And ... he was hard again.
After grinding out a "see you in half an hour, I'm taking a shower," he locked himself inside his room, chucked his clothes on the floor and did indeed head towards the shower, knowing exactly what he would be doing. His cock twitched in anticipation as he gripped himself, cursing and angry at the reaction she had triggered. He started pumping fast, determined to get this out of his system once and for all.
He was not a good person, he knew. A good person doesn't get off on images of their staff. They don't imagine how they would bend said member of staff over the bathroom vanity and grip her hair back, letting her suck on their fingers before shoving their hand down her lace panties to find her soaked.
This was all it was, getting rid of this ridiculous thing he had going for her, so let it be quick. He imagined she would beg, whimpering with need when he would open her up with three digits and stroke her roughly with the heel of his hand.
He moaned as he squeezed the head of his cock and cupped his balls. She would be impossibly tight when he finally entered her, crying out as her pretty little cunt would stretch around him, but then she would ask him to go faster, fuck her harder. When she would be close, he would push his thumb inside her rear to make her come harder, then she would clench around him like a vise and just like that, he climaxed so hard his vision clouded with dark spots.
He cleaned himself in the shower, less on edge but even angrier. It was done. Now he could get on living with the damn girl in peace.
Translation from Italian:
"Ha già deciso?" "Have you decided?"
"Prendiamo gli tagliatelle al ragu comme primo, poi voleamo un antipasto da dividere." "We'll have the tagliatelle al ragu for the first course, and we'd like an entree to share."
"Certo. I secondi?" "Of course. And for the second course?"
"Vediamo dopo. Vorremo lasciare un posto per il deserto." "We'll see later. We'd like to leave some space for dessert."
"Va bene. Vuole bere qualcosa?" "Alright. Would you like something to drink?"
"Una bottiglia di Sangiovese, faccia lei, per favore." "A bottle of Sangiovese, I'll leave it to you to choose, please."