Sorry it's a little late and sorry it's a little short. ^-^" I got blocked when I was thinking how I could make them all come together... 78D
Yes, that's tea-gil or ti-gil(short ti) , Pizzachic. ^-^ It does mean stop, yes. We use it just about every time someone teases you in a friendly way wherein you feel 'that-tingly-feeling-when-you-think-of-that-guy' thing. xD Thanks for faving the lines! :D I dunno; just wait and see. I wanted this story to be as set apart from Italian Love as possible, so there will be a change in plans. It should really be K+ if not for the suggestions. -_-
Hehe, bread. ^-^" Didn't see that, I suppose. Thaaanks, Merestuffins~
I really, really, really hate dragging on with dialogue sometimes.
Chapter Fifteen
The end of the two-week vacation in Porto Corsa was coming to a close, and both the executive car and the grand tourer wanted to spend as much time as possible together before it ends, before they part ways. That day, both sunned quietly at the cliff that overlooked Porto Corsa's coastline and the town. As usual, Francesco hadn't really known who she'd gone with, nor did their friends. It was a quiet usual day at the Italian Riviera, and nobody complained about it.
"So, how do you think we'll meet up again?" she asked quietly.
"I don't know," he murmured in reply, eyes closed. "I haven't really thought about it."
She opened her mouth to speak, but thought better and relaxed again. But it certainly vexed her. "I want to see you again after Sunday."
He opened his eyes slightly to find her anxious gaze on his, and his lips twitched in amusement at her enthusiasm to pursue this relationship. "But do we know when we both can be available?"
She looked away, disappointed. "Look," he started, unable to bear to see her this way. "I don't know what the future will bring. I may not be available for months; Petro prefers rigorous and consistent training. He doesn't want me to have any distractions. No offense," he added quickly as her gaze whipped to his, ready for a retort. "I mean…if you know what I mean." He didn't look away, though she expected him to. "You know, I can't really be torn between you and the championship," he told her after a pause, staring straight at her. "This time, I want to win this one…for you. And I can't have anything else distract me but the thought of you."
This stunned her to silence, eyes wide, until she relaxed beside him, smiling. "Silly car," she murmured affectionately, and he only grinned.
"Now you know," he whispered, nuzzling her absentmindedly.
"Now I know," she replied in the same tone, smiling.
"So tell me," he started just for conversation, "what's it like in the Philippines?"
"Well, it's dark," she commented. "I don't want to say any wrong, but I like it better in Europe."
"Any problem with Europe?"
"It's cold. The first time I got here my allergies went on for at least half a year." She shook her head. "Stupid change of temperature, change of weather."
"Allergies?" he asked. He hadn't encountered her with any lately.
"Change of weather, change of temperature, fur, dust, extreme scent, et cetera," she replied nonchalantly. "My mother was a rather sickly car."
"Oh."
She shrugged. "It runs in the family."
"And…what was this about Spain colonizing the Philippines?" he prodded.
"Three hundred years," she replied. "Fifteen-hundreds to late eighteen-hundreds. A lot of which has remained in Manila, really," she replied. "Intramuros is the place with the biggest influence, I think."
He nodded. He hadn't much interest in history, but it was a part of his, too. "So you're…?"
She glanced at him with amusement and a knowing look. "My great grandmama was Spanish."
His eyes bulged. "Are you serious?"
She nodded smilingly. "I'm dead serious. I dunno about my father's side though; he didn't say much."
"So your father is…?"
"American. As far as I know," she added hastily. "Back home I'd be called Fil-Am. Short for Filipino-American."
He nodded. "I see. So you'd had an interest in Spain before me?"
She thought for a moment. "Not really. I actually disliked Spain because it was had a negative impact on me because of, well, the history we have with you folks. Then I hadn't really realized I like a few modern characteristics about Spain, so I guess I was relatively interested."
His eyes glinted with interest. "Which characteristics?"
She laughed. "I had a thing for bullfighting, did you know that?"
He grinned. "No."
Her stoic stare sent the message of 'Are you serious?' He chuckled nervously. "Alright, so maybe I have."
"In fact, the matador was one of my personal heroes because of the courage and style in the ring." Her gaze and voice lowered. "It was why I chose you the first time."
There was a moment of silence as he thought of what to say. "I'm flattered you thought of me that way," he murmured, smiling at her.
She smiled back, and relaxed beside him. "Now, where was I? Oh yes; I remember thinking the heat of Spain was better than the romance of France…."
Both talked for hours at the time, not knowing how low the sun was getting, plunging the clearing into darkness as the bright yellow disc settled behind the cliff. Soon enough, they left the clearing, but drove slowly through the forest, still not wanting to part ways as abruptly as they'd met.
"Let's go to the docks," he told her. "I hear it's nice and cool down there in the evenings." And she let him lead her down the winding road to the coastal waters.
"The only coast that I can go to," he started mindlessly, "is the beach at San Sebastian, but it's always crowded there."
"Really?"
He shrugged. "It's a tourist spot. Who wouldn't want to see San Sebastian?"
She blinked in thought. "That's…at the far west, yeah? Just a little bit next to Navarre?"
"Yeah."
It was quiet between them after that as they cruised down the shipless docks, and he breathed in the cool sea breeze. She chuckled at him slightly; only her nuzzle canceled out the irritation he started to feel at being teased, even by her.
He's cute when he shows he likes things, she realized quietly.
He jerked his front to an empty port, and she nodded. He led her to it, facing the sun disappearing over the horizon.
"We don't have to really do this, you know," he murmured, not meeting her gaze. "You could…you could just come with me back to Navarre."
She glanced up at him, partly in alarm. "Rodrigo…you know I can't. Even I know I can't."
"Well, why not?" Frustration drove him to fury. How can she not go with him? He glared at her, promoting her to give him her justifiable answer.
She fidgeted uneasily under his glower. "M-my family needs me," she replied shakily. "I haven't settled everything with Francesco yet. We're still wondering how I can get through my master's without working because…because he wants me to focus on my studies." She turned away. "I'm sorry." There was a pause, and he turned away, too. "But if it's any consolation," she added, and he looked up, "I really want to go with you."
He didn't know whether to feel ecstatic or sad, or to comfort or rebuke her. He was as confused as she was, he predicted.
He nudged her corner bumper instead, and she looked at him. "We'll get through this," he told her. "I promise." When she hesitated, he added, "These are just little problems in a long way. You will get through this, and I will help you."
She smiled at him, and returned the touch. "I love you," she whispered.
"I love you, too."
After nearly the last of the sun had left, she spoke. "Come on; Francesco will wonder where I am."
He smiled as she did, and she led the way out. They made their way down the docks, but suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks a little way away.
"Rodrigo?" she asked. "Is anything wrong?"
His gaze was on a pearl white rear, its plate number all but a distant memory now. Only two words escaped his lips. "Mi Perlita."
The sightseeing Maserati turned, and beautiful sky blue met sexy forest green.
"Rodrigo?" the white grand tourer murmured, driving towards him. "Is that…"
"…really you?" he continued, inching towards her.
She smiled faintly. "Rodrigo."
"Oh, ¡mi collar de perlas!" he whispered fervently before moving to nuzzle her fiercely, the A7 forgotten. It didn't matter how if she had betrayed him; he still loved her, wished for her.
"I've missed you," he murmured. "I've missed you so much."
Pearle took an inch back. "But you…you betrayed me."
"I know. I'm sorry," he told her softly. "But in the days, weeks, months, years that followed, all I ever wished was that I'd stay with you."
To the side, Margo stiffened, swallowing back tears. Was this how he betrayed his women? Flitting around from car to car like a bee from flower to flower? Was this why he, the Miguel Camino, couldn't find anyone, because he betrayed all the time?
The GranTurismo's gaze glistened in the orange light. "Me too."
Happiness surged through him, his heart swelling with love and ecstasy, and he sighed as he nuzzled her.
Angrily Margo glared at the cobblestones, and quietly turned away. She had no interest in a man who was 'taken'. As far as she was concerned, she'd been duped.
"Er, Rodrigo?" MArgo overheard Pearle ask.
"Yes. my dove?"
"Who was that?"
Miguel looked up to see Margo driving away, and a pang of hurt sliced through him. He hadn't realized she'd watched the entire exchange without him noticing. Much worse, he'd said things that she didn't want to hear. He moved forward, but he knew it would be of no use; she wouldn't listen to him now, not when he'd openly confessed his love for Pearle again. He sighed.
"Who was that?" she repeated.
"Someone," he told her quietly. "A friend."
"Close?"
He stared at her. He didn't want to offend Pearle, but he didn't want to lie to her, either. "Yeah," he said slowly. "Sort of."
"Not too close, I hope," she chuckled.
"No," he whispered, staring after the silver rear tinged orange longingly. "No."
