The Slave of Pleasure
Chapter 81

Rachel

I closed the door and took a moment to take a deep breath, soaking in the peaceful, intimate atmosphere of Vincenzo's room. I walked over to him and, without thinking twice, hugged him tightly. The contact felt natural, almost as if I had been doing it my whole life. I felt his muscles relax under my touch, and I knew he was allowing himself to experience this moment too.

"This was one of the best days of my life," I confessed with a wide smile. "I never imagined I would have so much fun."

Vincenzo looked at me with a sparkle in his eyes and agreed, letting out a soft laugh. "I have to admit it was a very different day than I'm used to." There was a touch of softness in his voice, something rare for him, and I felt my heart warm as I realized that perhaps he had enjoyed it as much as I had.

He then pointed to the bed, and I smiled, walking over to it and sitting down quickly. Vincenzo followed soon after, sitting next to me, both of us sharing a mutual tranquility. To my surprise, he looked at me with an expression of sincere curiosity and asked, in a light tone: "So, what was your childhood like, Rachel?"

I was surprised, but I realized it was true: we had never talked about it. He knew almost nothing about my childhood, not even the silly, funny and embarrassing parts that were part of who I was. That question, asked with such interest, made me feel like he really wanted to know the real me, beyond appearances and the circumstances that brought us together.

"Well, my childhood was... full of adventures," I began, laughing. "I was a bit of a mischievous child. I've always been very curious, which, of course, got me into trouble." I told him about the time I got stuck in the tree in my grandmother's backyard trying to catch a bird and how, instead of climbing down with the help of the adults, I jumped and ended up landing on top of the house guard dog, who, fortunately, was extremely tame. Vincenzo laughed, genuinely amused, imagining the scene. He seemed genuinely interested, as if every detail of my life was a fascinating discovery for him. I went on to tell him more stories - like the time when, during a school dance performance, I slipped on stage and almost took one of my classmates with me. Vincenzo laughed out loud, and I laughed too, remembering how embarrassing it was at the time, but how today it seemed like a sweet and silly memory. "You were a real storm, Rachel," he commented, his eyes still sparkling with amusement. "I guess I was," I admitted, smiling. "But I always tried to do things with passion. I think even pranks have a special touch when you put your heart into them."

Vincenzo nodded, silently agreeing, and for a moment we were silent, but it was a comfortable silence, filled with the memories we had just shared. I never imagined that he would laugh so much, that he would listen to me with such interest and that, by his side, I would feel completely comfortable being who I was, without hiding anything.

After a while, he looked at me with a thoughtful expression. "You know, Rachel," he began, in a serious tone, "sometimes I forget how simple it is to truly connect with someone. And with you... it feels so natural. As if we didn't need anything other than our presence."

My heart skipped a beat at those words. Vincenzo was showing himself more and more, slowly letting his barriers fall. The day we shared, the laughter, the dinner... Everything seemed to be bringing us closer together, as if a new relationship was emerging. The closed and uncompromising Vincenzo seemed, little by little, to give way to a lighter and more accessible side, something he might not even know still existed.

I looked at him and, with a gentle smile, I touched his hand, thanking him without words for that moment and for every detail of the day. He intertwined his fingers with mine and, in that silent gesture, I felt that, in some way, we were promising each other loyalty and trust.

There, sitting side by side, laughing at my childhood stories and enjoying each other's company, I realized that the journey we had begun, in such unexpected ways, was only just beginning - and I couldn't wait to see where it all would take us. As I held Vincenzo's hand, I felt a special light in his eyes, as if he were allowing himself to travel through his own memories. "Well," he began, a little hesitantly, "I don't have as many stories as you do, Rachel, but I think I have a few that might amuse you." I smiled brightly and encouraged him to continue. Vincenzo gave a half smile before he began talking about his childhood best friend, Marco. "We got into trouble every now and then," he said, laughing. "I remember one time we decided it would be a good idea to take my dad's speedboat and sail it ourselves... except, of course, we both had We were ten years old and we didn't know a thing about driving a motorboat."

I laughed, imagining the scene. "And what happened?"

"Well, we managed to get the motorboat off the pier. But shortly after, we realized we were completely adrift. The engine cut out and we were left there, in the middle of the lake, trying to figure out what we had done wrong. After almost an hour, my father showed up to rescue us and, of course, he gave us an epic scolding."

Vincenzo laughed, and I laughed along with him. It was funny to imagine him, so serious now, as a rebellious child trying to sail alone. "Oh, and Marco," he continued, "was the kind of friend who always had the most absurd ideas. Whenever something went wrong, it was because he suggested it."

I watched him, enchanted, wanting to hear more and more about that side of him that he rarely revealed. Then he told me about the day he got his first dog, a Labrador named Nero. His eyes lit up in a different way when he talked about his four-legged friend. "It was a gift from my grandfather. I was so excited that I spent the night awake, lying on the living room floor next to him."

"And did he get up to mischief a lot?"

"Oh, a lot," he replied, smiling. "Nero was an expert at escaping. I would barely open the door and there he would go, running around the yard and disappearing for a few hours. My grandfather used to joke that Nero had a free spirit, that he wouldn't let himself be tamed so easily."

I could see, behind that narrative, a part of Vincenzo that I hadn't yet known, someone who grew up surrounded by fond memories and deep bonds. "I miss him," he confessed, his voice getting a little quieter, but with a nostalgic smile.

We were silent for a few seconds, respecting the value of those memories. Then he told me another story about when, at Marco's insistence, they decided to set up a "secret base" in the shed of the family farm, hiding supplies as if they were adventurers living in the middle of the forest. In the end, they were discovered when his father entered the shed and almost tripped over a pile of cans and cookies. "You and Marco were definitely quite a team," I said, laughing.

"Yes, it was a good time," he replied, thoughtfully.

I felt that, with each story, Vincenzo opened up a little more of his heart to me. And being by his side, listening to his adventures, made me feel even closer to him.