Jack had a doubles match later that afternoon and afterward took his nap. Before he left for his match, he'd instructed Isabella to find a simple sun dress for Rachel in her size in town, along with his request for dinner that evening. He realized between sets, while thinking of Rachel, that he really hadn't spent much time in the same room with her since she'd arrived, other than their brief breakfasts, the group dinner, and sex. He'd given her plenty of leeway to make her own plans all day, not that he had any control over how she spent her time, but the distance between them, a detachment during the day, was their ritual.
That nagging fondness for her produced thoughts in his head about spending more time with her, wanting to know her. Truth was he barely knew anything about her, yet he liked her company. Their time together had also been restricted to the villa, and he decided that tonight at dinner he would propose some ventures off the property, into the countryside, into town, perhaps even into Florence. He'd asked Isabella to deliver the dress along with a handwritten note he'd penned on his personal stationery:
"Looking forward to dinner tonight - J."
Rachel did not nap after her poolside session. Her lemonade-induced nap had given her enough rest, and while the experience with Geoffrey and Jack and Isabella had been intense, the physical labor had been done by Geoffrey. Other than a tingling stretch in the backs of her thighs, and a not unpleasant soreness in her crotch, there was no ailments. Instead there was a buzz of energy.
Rachel had showered, journaled, looked idly and fitfully through her phone. Nearly stir-crazy, she had decided to walk to town when there had been a soft knock at her bedroom door. Her heart leaped but as the adrenaline moved through her system her mind caught up and realized that could never be the knock of Jack. She opened the door to Isabella, who silently handed her the package and note, smiling before disappearing quietly down the hall.
Rachel bit her lip, reading the note. She felt a swell of energy and emotion in her and took some time, sitting on the bed and examining the dress, to ponder it. She felt foolish at first for having some rush of emotion, like a schoolgirl at a crush, for a man like Jack. But she quickly decided that it was not the giddiness of a crush at all. She didn't even think she found Jack all that attractive. She could recognize he had some handsomeness, but his age made that seem theoretical, distant, something for a woman his age to appreciate, not Rachel.
No, the rush of excitement had to do with something which was not love or attraction but something much more base. She knew that whatever Jack had planned, it was not simply to wine and dine her. What man would woo a woman by having his friend have sex with her? She trusted that whatever Jack's plans and motives, there was something deliciously deviant about them and that scratched an itch in Rachel that had begun to burn since her time here in his villa. She could barely guess at what might happen and there was something delightful in that.
Rachel chose to go to town just the same, but was back, and showered, and dressed in the sundress, all in time for her dinner date.
---
Jack had asked Isabella to set a small table on the upper veranda, which provided a better view of the countryside, but still overlooking the pool. Champagne was chilling in an iced bucket, candles were lit, and Jack sat in one of the two chairs dressed in linen pants and a loose cotton shirt. It was ten minutes before 8. The cicadas hummed in the background, signaling the arrival of the golden hour.
He was early because he wanted to watch Rachel walk, see how her body moved. From her bedroom, she'd have to walk outside one of the side doors and down a walkway that would serve as almost a runway for Jack to admire her. At two minutes before the hour he poured the prosecco and stood, a flute stem in each hand, knowing that she would arrive promptly at 8. He felt a schoolboy nervous excited buzz waiting for her to arrive, and when the door finally opened and she pushed through, a smile lit up his face.
She was dressed only in the sundress that Jack had delivered to her, a pair of heeled leather sandals, and a golden necklace around her throat. Rachel emerged onto the patio from her room, blinking slightly in the setting sun low on the horizon. She could not see Jack up above, having to squint her eyes, and walked carefully and slowly down the metaphorical runway, her hips swaying with each step. He could see already that she had not worn a bra underneath the dress, her breasts swaying slightly under the fabric as well.
Reaching the steps to the upper veranda, Rachel glanced upwards and caught sight of Jack finally. Blushing, realizing she had been watched, she looked down carefully at her feet as she climbed the outdoor stairway, emerging in the tiny space where Isabella had set out their seats. She blushed again, approaching the table.
With the champagne bucket and tiny table, this felt like a romantic date. Rachel wondered for the first time if that was how Jack felt about this. He certainly had not treated her like any beau of hers ever had, but then again no one had ever quite wined and dined her like this either. "Beautiful evening," she said, as she sat, smoothing her dress across her thighs.
"It is indeed Rachel." He handed the the glass of prosecco to her and tilted his, tapping the glasses together. "Here's to another beautiful summer evening in Tuscany," he said, and when their eyes connected he felt a new level of intimacy, the two of them alone. "You look absolutely lovely." He openly assessed her delicate shoulders, the line of her cleavage. He meant it. The setting sun on her face, her graceful walk, the way her breasts moved in the sundress, her hips swaying, the sounds of the countryside, was, he thought, one of the most memorable 30 seconds of his life.
