But I’m not starting the truck. He looks at me, his eyebrows shooting up. With his finger, he points into the direction of my steering wheel.
“Are you going to drive, or what?”
Still, there are no words coming out of my mouth. I’m completely flabbergasted, and I can’t move. It feels like my body is brand new and I’m still learning how to make it move. He looks at me questioningly, which is the exact same look I’m giving him. He contemplates a moment, and then it seems as though he is struck by an epiphany. He raises his hands and says, “Of course you can’t drive yet. I’m forgetting the most important thing.”
With a happy face, he unbuckles and leans towards me. He grabs hold of my face with both hands and looks into my eyes. Then he kisses me lightly, a little kiss on the left corner of my mouth. Then another one on the right. And finally, one straight on my mouth.
“Stellina.”
Time stands still. His beautiful, amber-colored eyes pierce my soul and my nose becomes aware of the fresh masculine scent of his cologne, mixed with soap and toothpaste.
When he looks away again, I’m beginning to understand. He wants to drive along with me in my truck today! What am I supposed to do with that? It’s a long trip to Germany, and I’m not used to having company, apart from Gnocchi, of course. Certainly not company like him.
He has a weird influence on me. My brain doesn’t function normally when I’m around him. My nerves are always pulsing in my throat when he looks at me. How on earth am I supposed to drive my truck like this?
“Hi,” is the only thing I manage to get out. Then my ability to form sentences comes back to me and my lips start moving. “I thought you had to work. What are you doing here?”
“This is work for me. I’m going with you to Germany. It’s part of my project to study your ways of the working and that involves some field work. Apart from that, I simply want to be with you. I couldn’t wait until Wednesday. So, today, I’m joining you.”
That’s what I thought ... he really does want to come along with me today. Holy cannoli!
And something else ...
... Holy mouth ... Holy beautiful lips when he talks ... Holy way in which he blinks his eyes. It’s a sensory overload for my brains, and the way in which he thinks and talks is very confident and therefore, very sexy. It’s incredible how his masculine beauty always succeeds in throwing me off like this.
I actually shouldn’t be so surprised he stepped into my truck unannounced like that. From the moment we met, he’s done nothing but surprise me.
His eyes travel over my body slowly. He looks me over from head to toe. His intense gaze travels from my eyes to my mouth and to my breasts. Then he pauses on my arms resting on the steering wheel. He continues to my legs ... is it me, or is it hotter in here?
Men look at me all the time, but those are usually stolen glances, followed by them quickly looking away when I catch them. This man is different. He takes his time and doesn’t feel embarrassed that he’s studying my body in such an obvious way.
I can’t help but feel a little bit uncomfortable. If I had known I would have company for the day, I would not have put on such a short skirt. I also would have made a little more effort to look nice, because I’m not even wearing makeup today. The way in which he’s admiring me ... I think he likes what he’s seeing. He looks as if he’s in love, and I decide not to feel intimidated by his shameless stare.
“Like what you see?” I move my eyebrows up and down rapidly, unable to stop my grin.
“We need to talk.” His eyes are focused on mine again when he says this. Those four words. They can never mean anything good. I decide to joke about it.
“Oh dear ... are you going to declare your love for me again? I’m listening.’ My tone is calm, but I’m actually feeling nervous about what he’s going to say.
“I am definitely in love. In love with you. You’re not allowed to joke about that, ever. You can never doubt it either.” He tips my chin up with his index finger, so I have no choice but to look him in the eye.
Gulp.
“I will declare my love to you as often as I want, so I suggest you start getting used to the idea.”
His tone is strict; the look in his eyes too and he looks kind of intimidating when he acts like that. Why do I find that so attractive? Because everything about this man is sexy.
ON THE ROAD, I MANAGE to pull myself together. It was hard, but I succeeded. The things a girl has to do to act some kind of normal around such a sex god ... you wanna know how I did it? I just kept thinking, He’s only human too. And humans need to go to the bathroom. They all need to take a shit at least once a day. So does he. So, I was thinking, poop, poop, poop the entire time. I imagined him pulling his pants down and sitting on the toilet, stinking badly. Not a pretty image, but it’s the only thing that distracts me enough and protects me from the nervousness this man always triggers in me.
It also helps that his eyes are not focused on me the entire time. He’s on the phone a lot and making notes in his little black book. He’s put his glasses on, which he needs to read and write. Have I told you yet how sexy those glasses look on him? Sorry, he is just always hot. That’s just the way it is. Just imagine the sexiest man you have ever seen in your life, multiply that by ten, and you’ll have an accurate image of what I’m dealing with here.
After driving up the highway, I catch the end of a telephone conversation.
“Did you ask William to make the changes to the work schedules?”
He‘s had multiple conversations with various people while I was driving the truck. I can hear it’s a woman on the other end of the line, but I can’t hear her reply.
“Good,” he says, and quickly hangs up on her.
“Wow, you are very direct in your communication. No ‘thank you,’ no ‘have a good day.’ Do you always treat people like that?”
“I just like to be clear. She does her job, I do mine. We don’t need to thank each other for that.”
“Okay then ...”
I don’t agree with that at all. My father was a dominant and demanding boss as well, but he always knew how to put his employees at ease and feel appreciated. Obviously, that’s not Cowboy’s style. He’s actually kind of an asshole in dealing with the people with whom he works, yet somehow, it arouses me when he’s acting all strict and short. Sigh. Changing the subject.
“Was that one of those three little devils you were bossing around just now?”
He frowns at me. “She’s no devil and yes, she’s one of my co-workers. All three of them are really good friends of mine. Purely platonic, like I told you. Why do you keep lingering on the idea that they are devils? They are not bad people.”
“Well, up till now, they haven’t been very friendly to me, even though they don’t know me at all. I just don’t understand what I’ve done to deserve that.”
“Them and me. We have a long history together,” he explains.
“Was that before or after you became friends with my Uncle Francesco?” I ask.
“Have you talked to your grandmother?”
“Yeah, she told me everything.”
“Good, so now you understand everything.” Huh?
“Not everything. There are some things that I want to know. Why did you run away from home, and what’s the real deal with Huey, Dewey, and Louie? And what were those bad times you were talking about?”
“Those are a lot of questions. Which one would you like me to answer first?”
“Why did you run away from home?”
“Okay, I will answer all your questions, but let’s stop. Talking and driving a truck at the same time seems dangerous to me.”
“Deal. Only if you promise to buy me lunch.”
HALFWAY THROUGH THE drive, we made a pit stop and talked a lot. The agreement was he would tell me what the exact deal was between him and Donald’s little nephews. And what a story it was. He ran away from home when he was fifteen. The reason for it was that his family was
trying to force him to take over the farm and he didn’t want to. But I’m getting the feeling there’s more to that than he’s telling me.
He left Fulton on a bus which took him to Chicago. There, he lived on the streets for a while. Those were rough times. It took a while, but then he was plucked off the streets by my Uncle Francesco. He started working for them—so, that must mean criminal activities. He was a little vague about what it was exactly that he did for them, but he did tell me that, as he got older, his bond with Uncle Francesco got tighter. Francesco saw him as the son he never had. He showed me his tattoo, that little feather on his arm I had noticed before. He said all the people who worked for Francesco had one just like it. I knew that wasn’t just a tattoo. I knew it!
Around that time, he met the three women. They were hookers for the mafia. He became a kind of older brother to them. He protected them and made sure no one treated them badly. They became a team. He told me they saved each other’s lives, so to say. Those were his exact words. But what it means exactly, I still don’t know. I don’t dare dig any deeper, because we are just getting to know each other. I think I’m also kind of scared of what his reply could be. Maybe I can learn more about that at a later stage, if I even decide to ask him then. What I do know now, is not something I would tell Tiger any day soon. That little gossip queen would never be able to keep that to herself. Maybe I will tell her after Cowboy has returned to the States, but for now, I’ll keep this to myself, because I also don’t really know how I feel about it yet.
This man has so many layers, I realize now. It’s hard to believe that such a young boy—only fifteen when he ran away from home and was forced to live on the streets, alone, without any family—turned out to be such a successful and strong person. I don’t sense any resentment or sarcasm in him at all. Well, other than the fact that he can be a jerk to his colleagues ... He has had to conquer so much in order to be the man that he is today. He’s not just simply overcome his own problems, he’s also touched and enriched the lives of others, even his three little devils. He’s not just a sexy bossy boss, he’s so much more than that.
The second half of the drive, we’re both a bit quiet. I think he’s waiting for a reaction, but I just can’t give him one. This is all just so surreal.
“So, you actually saved my parents and me back in Italy?” I ask instead.
“I did what I had to do. I owed your Uncle Francesco a lot, and this was my way of thanking him for everything he’d done for me.”
“You act as if my uncle was a saint. I’m confused. Wasn’t he a criminal?”
“He was a criminal because he had to be. Because that was the only thing he knew. The same goes for me.”
“Crime was the only thing you knew as well?”
“Yes. But you should know that I did what I had to do to survive, Stellina. Because I had no other choice.” He stops a minute to think. He glances through the windshield and then closes his eyes.
“Lucky for me, I met a sweet little Italian girl, who taught me what it means to be free, and I decided that I wanted to be like her. She’s been my inspiration ever since.”
“Who was that girl?”
“You.”
“AREN’T YOU GLAD WE haven’t fucked yet?” he asks me after a long silence.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Why would I be glad about that?”
“Well, if we’ve had fucked and you would have discovered everything about me and my family afterwards, wouldn’t you have been mad at me? Wouldn’t you have felt betrayed?”
“I probably would have, yes,” I have to admit.
“Do you realize now how wrong those sexcapades are?”
“There’s nothing wrong about them.” I cannot admit that.
“Really? You give your body to strange men. You know nothing about these men. They could be jerks, maybe criminals, you just don’t know. You give them something that should be very special, without them having had to earn it. Without you knowing whether they deserve it.”
“And what about you? Do you think you deserve that?”
“That’s up to you to decide. That’s why we are getting to know on each other now, so you can judge for yourself.”
“How do you known if I deserve it? This works both ways, doesn’t it?” I ask.
“Stellina, I’ve known you since you were ten. For me, there is no one else. I’ve tried. I’ve had dozens of women over the years, but there wasn’t one woman amongst them I would rather have this adventure with than you.”
“You only say that because you think you know me. But you don’t.”
“I do know you, and I even know why you think you don’t deserve this adventure. There is a reason that you became a truck driver.”
“Is there? Why did I become a truck driver, then?”
“You have, quite literally, put yourself in the place—or in your case, chair—of the trucker that killed your parents, Stellina. While, actually, you should be doing something completely different with your life. But no, you choose to feel responsible for your parents’ death.”
“But I am responsible! I am!”
I’m completely upset. Who does he think he is, thinking he knows everything so well! They all think they know things so well! Tiger, Booty Boy, Grandma. They all say the same thing. It’s not your fault, Nina. But it is! I can’t see a thing because of my tears and hit the brakes a couple of times.
“Pull over!” he whisper-yells at me.
Why is he mad? I should be mad, not him! I do realize, however, that driving is no option in this hysterical condition. So, I drive into the next rest area and stop the truck. As soon as the motor dies, it grows awfully quiet in the truck. He takes my face and turns it towards his, so his honey-colored eyes gaze into my green ones.
“You are not responsible for your parents’ death, Stellina.”
He pulls me to him and onto his lap. My tears stream down my face and he brushes them away with his thumbs. He tugs my hair behind my ears, then looks deep into my eyes.
“You should be happy. You should be thankful that you are still here. What would I have done without my Stellina?”
He kisses me, like he’s never has before, with a passion that is new to me.
“How long will you punish yourself for something that is not your fault at all?” he whispers against my lips, our foreheads pressed against each other. I shake my head because I don’t know the answer to that. I didn’t even know I was punishing myself. He looks at me with those gorgeous eyes of his. Eyes that see right through my soul and seem to know everything.
“But I can’t believe that’s it. There must be more going on here. What exactly?” His critical look pierces me.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what it is you want to hear from me.”
“What I mean is that this can’t be all there is to it. You’re smart; rationally, you know that your parents’ death isn’t your fault. So, there must be something else that makes such a smart, rich girl with a university degree, who has everything it takes to run her father’s empire, choose not to. Why do you settle for a life as a trucker girl?”
Then it shoots out of me. That one thought that’s always been in my head and in my heart, but that I never dared to speak out loud.
“I’m not worth it! I’m just not worth it! I mess up everything! I’m the reason my parents split up. My parents came to Holland for me, to offer me a better future. So that I was assured of a good education, so I could run Casa de la Pasta. But how can I? How can I do that at the expense of their happiness?”
He calmly observes me. He understands that the fact that realization is huge. He doesn’t say anything, gives no response whatsoever. That gives me more space to clarify matters further for myself. These are the questions I should have asked myself. He is asking them for me now, but the answers are up to me. I need to give myself those answers.
“My father never was able to find his way here in Holland. Yes, his business was
very successful, he worked hard to turn Casa de la Pasta into the big franchise is it today, but he missed his family. He missed his country, his friends, his culture. And he gave that all up for me. He made a choice that made him very unhappy. It was my mother’s idea to move to Holland, he was forced to choose me. So that I would have better chances in life. He had to leave a huge part of himself behind in Italy and that’s the reason they couldn’t make it as a couple in the end. It’s all my fault!”
“Didn’t Corina tell you they were fleeing from the mafia? You are not the reason they moved to Holland; the mafia is!”
He can see that I don’t understand, sighs, and continues. “Okay, listen. I’m going to tell you some things about two emotions: happiness and guilt. Let’s start with happiness. People strive to live a long, happy life, but that is an illusion. Nobody can be happy all the time. People who claim to be happy all the time, are either lying or too dumb to realize that there are plenty of reasons to be disappointed. The only thing that is realistic is to ensure that you have plenty of those small happy moments in your life, so that when the less happy moments arrive, you will have saved up plenty of happy ones to be able to deal with those. Every person has happy moments. The thing most people don’t realize, is that the amount of happy moments they create is entirely up to themselves. You are responsible for your own happiness, no one else. You are just as little responsible for your father’s happiness as your mother was. Did I explain that clearly enough?”
Wow. I don’t know if everything he just told me has landed correctly in my head. My brain is in overload mode and at this moment, I don’t have the sharpness that I need to order my thoughts. But I think I can follow what he is telling me.
“Yes, I think so,” I reply softly. I brush a few tears away with my sleeve. Sighing, I try to calm myself down.
Chasing the CEO (The CEO duet Book 1) Page 14