This is not good.
Drinking doesn’t agree with my body. I’m blessed that I’m not the type who usually has to do a duet with the bowl, but it does fuck up my stomach. Personally, I’ll take the shits over vomiting any day.
Trying again, I sit up slowly and reach for the bottle of water on my nightstand. I’m so Oscar the Grouch right now. I have concrete plans to cuss out Etié the moment I find that BC power that’s hiding from me in my nightstand.
The bitter power makes me shudder, but I take all of it because my head pounds to the tune of ‘fuck you.’
My bladder decides to join the let’s-fuck-with-Elissa party and forces me to waddle to the bathroom while praying that I don’t feel liquid running down my leg.
Again, WHY AM I NAKED!
The bathroom lights try to kill me, but I make it and as I sigh my relief, I decide I’m not doing a damn thing today. Nothing. No writing, calling, texting, or talking. I’m a monk with Netflix. That’s it.
After I wipe, flush, wash, and brush the liquor fest out of my mouth, I get dressed, grab my phone and blanket, and move to my snuggle position on the couch. I’m about to order some food and disappear off the grid. I’ll blame Etié tomorrow.
A message notification from Luca is flashing when I unlock my phone, and I want to die.
“He’ll hold me to what!” I yell in the empty house as I scroll up to assess the damage.
“Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no,” I murmur as I see how much we’d talked.
I close my eyes and take a cleansing breath, then start from the beginning. I die a little more at everything the swipe of my teal-colored thumb reveals. I want to cry. I just might bawl like a baby. My drunk self revealed my inner slut to Luca—a stranger.
I gasp and drop my phone. Rolling my eyes at my reaction; I pick it up and check again. I’ll have to call him ‘Big Dick Luca’ because...damn. Only in my head though—I save the picture before continuing to read. I said way too much last night. Maybe we can pretend it never happened. I move over to my food app because I’m in desperate need to put some nonsense in my belly. The moment I hit order, I freeze like a fugitive when I receive a new message from Luca.
LucaGirelli: How did you sleep, Bella?
Fuck.
This is awkward. Part of me wants to ignore him, and the other part thinks it would be rude with the night I had. I’ll try to explain...
EllaRoyal: Umm…Ignore last night, please.
LucaGirelli: Why?
EllaRoyal: I was drunk…
LucaGirelli: A drunk mind is honest.
LucaGirelli: You don't have to be drunk to talk to me like that. That's who I am and want you to be yourself with me.
EllaRoyal: Luca, we shouldn't have gone there. Let's erase the messages.
LucaGirelli: No. I like that side of you, raw and unfiltered. Don't hide her from me.
EllaRoyal: It was a mistake.
LucaGirelli: You meant every word, and that's what I want. Show me the good, bad, and the dirty.
EllaRoyal: We don't even know each other.
LucaGirelli: You're the only one stopping it from being possible. Let me know when you're feeling brave.
EllaRoyal: Brave!?!
LucaGirelli: Yes. I'm not some lonely man on the internet just looking for cybersex. I have a genuine interest in getting to know you. I'm not afraid to admit it. If sex was the only thing I wanted, I wouldn't be responding. I'd be busy with some woman riding my dick.
I gasp out loud, scandalized. I hardly know him, but that kind of hurt.
Damn him.
I log out of social media. I’ll try again later. I was right, he is intense. I need a moment. The doorbell gives me a reprieve. I swing the door open and graciously thank the delivery girl who is already halfway back down the sidewalk. I practically inhale my bacon, egg, and cheese breakfast biscuit with a sigh. I need comfort food. Time to let the grease soak up the rest of the alcohol.
It’s not that bad, right? I mean I’m not the first or last person to participate in cybersex...maybe it’s the author/fan dynamic that’s killing me softly. I just feel like I must look awfully desperate to resort to sexting with a fan. Lying back on my couch, I stare at my ceiling for a beat. The more I think about Luca, the hot things he said to me, and his directness, the more my brain begins churning up material for my Italian alpha story.
Damn him.
***
Luca
Ella frustrates me, but I know I’ll talk to her again. She disappeared—not for the first time—after our little chat. I push her out of my mind because I have a lot to do that doesn’t involve figuring out the intriguing Canadian. Right now, I’m ignoring financial and work responsibilities and am driving out to the country to visit my family. My parents are God knows where, traveling from one place to the other, but my zios are always where I need them to be. I don’t hate my parents, but I don’t adore them either.
They’re like really good friends since they were more interested in their love affair than parenting. Oddly enough, my mom is from Canada; she’s an italo-canadesi to be exact. Her great-grandparents had migrated to Canada, but she always had the desire to visit. She felt something was calling her ‘home.’ She'd gone to Rome with her boyfriend for a romantic getaway, and my dad happened to be visiting because he’d never been and wanted to know what all of the fuss was about. They locked eyes from across the crowded courtyard, and the rest is history. According to them, it was an epic love story that would rival any book, song, poem, or movie ever written, but they’d forgotten about the part where they were supposed to love me, too.
I stare out at the expanse of blue-green water as my car passes over the bridge. I guess they loved me in their own way, but nowhere near as much as they loved each other. If my mom and I were drowning and my dad could only save one, I doubt I wouldn’t live beyond that moment. They made sure I had all the privileges money could buy, like attending the best schools, but I learned not to hold my breath if I needed one of them to pick me over their love for each other. My dad taught me the business only so he could retire and run off with my mom for good. I was passed the family business way too young, and while my dad’s brother, wife, and kids could help me with the agricultural side, no one really knew squat about the business side. I became a slave to financials, paperwork, and building a team to ensure nothing would happen to my family’s livelihood if something happened to me or if I were bitten by the same selfish ass lovebug that seems to have gotten my parents.
Part of me is terrified to fall in love. If I was brought into this world by two people who forsake all others just to be with each other, would I be that bad? Part of that is the reason why I thought everything romance was stupid until I read my first Ella Royal book. Although it’s fiction, it gave me hope that people who had fucked up childhoods could grow to love someone in all the right ways and not be like the crazy parents who bought them into the world. I hope that’s the case because my people are supposed to be a passionate bunch with a lot of love to give, and I cannot do that single and scared to fall in love.
I breathe a little easier when I see Zio Mauricio in the yard staring at his vines. This is how I’m supposed to feel when seeing my own father. He and Aunt Martina did it right. They fell in love, had plenty of children and showed all of them, including me, love. I would be a lot more messed up without them—rich, cynical, and cruel by my estimation.
“Zio Cio,” I call him the name I’ve called him when I was a child who couldn’t pronounce his first name properly.
“Lulu!” he calls, his brown eyes shine as the skin surrounding them crinkles with mirth. I’m a few inches taller than him, but he gives me two kisses and pulls me into a bear hug anyway.
His one hug and the familiar earthy scent of him elevates my mood slightly. He pulls back and stares in my eyes for a moment, then shakes his head, his lips twist in disappointment.
“It hasn’t happened yet.”
He’s been doing this since I turned twe
nty-five. He says there’s a look a man gets when he falls in love, and he checks every time I visit.
“No, sorry. I don’t know how I was supposed to fall in love during the drive over,” I joke.
“You never know, il nipote. Amore can smack you out of nowhere.”
I shake my head and follow him into the house. “I hope not.”
“Why not?” he asks, switching to Italian. He shoots a look at my sportscar. “Rich man.”
“It’s fickle. Love doesn’t always bring out the best in people.” A moment passes between us because we both know who I’m talking about. I address his other statement to change the subject. “You’re just as wealthy as I.”
I chuckle when he puts a weathered hand over my mouth. “Don’t let Marti hear you.” My uncle loves the simple life and wants to keep it that way. He chooses to live away from the busy city and at times, I wish I could too.
We enter the rustic villa that I forced them to update inside with modern amenities. I instantly smell food and hear the laughter of my aunt and cousins.
Home.
Part of me wants to recreate this on my own, and the other part fears the selfish bastard that could be lurking beneath the surface.
Chapter 7
Elissa
Another date busted. I don’t know why I keep trying. The men I find on these apps are either after one thing or are extremely weird. I don’t know how they can pretend to be normal long enough to get me to agree to a date only to be creepy once I’m there. And here, I thought I’d screened the crazies. My bed beckons me as I triple lock everything, kick away those damn heels, and shimmy out of the fucking shapewear that has been digging into my inner thigh all night. Due to the clothing littering my trail of broken date dreams, I’m practically naked by the time I face plant into the center of my bed. My sigh is long and exaggerated because my bed is the only thing that loves me. This isn’t good for a romance writer’s morale.
Rolling on my back, I study the ceiling, like I’ve never seen it before. Gio wouldn’t treat Alissa like this. Wait. Neither Gio or Alissa are real, just figments of my imagination inspired by a certain Italian who forced his way into my mind weeks ago. Turning my thoughts over, I begin to wonder if Luca is as straight a shooter as he seems to be or will he be another in person disappointment? Then again, that doesn’t matter either. He is all the way in Italy. I don’t even know what part of Italy he’s located.
You could ask him…
I frown because my brain is an asshole. It’s about 2:45 AM in Italy. I could ask, and he can answer in the morning while I’m asleep. That’s probably best. I can’t get in trouble like I did a week ago. I squirm as I read the messages from last week. There's no one here who's bringing that kind of heat. Thank goodness for time zones.
EllaRoyal: Where do you live in Italy?
I put the phone down, turn off my light, and snuggle under the covers. Fuck my nighttime routine. I'm mentally drained. My eyes pop open when my phone vibrates. There's no way he's awake.
LucaGirelli: Verona.
EllaRoyal: You're up late.
LucaGirelli: I wasn't. Light sleeper. Forgot to silence my phone.
EllaRoyal: Sorry. Go back to sleep.
LucaGirelli: I'm up now. I'm surprised you're back. Been drinking again?
EllaRoyal: Ha. Ha. No. I don't drink often
LucaGirelli: Just making sure you're speaking to me without influences.
EllaRoyal: Yeah, eh?
LucaGirelli: Canadians really do say ‘eh?’
EllaRoyal: Do Italians really say ‘mama mia?’
LucaGirelli: Yes. And it’s ‘Mamma Mia.’ The other ‘m’ is there for a reason.
I roll my eyes because I so don’t care, but I am annoyed to realize I’m smiling. Damn Luca. I don’t want to like talking to him, but I do.
EllaRoyal: Whatever. So, Verona like Juliet’s house?
LucaGirelli: Unfortunately. It’s an overcrowded tourist attraction because young teens didn’t know how to control their hormones.
EllaRoyal: Tell me how you really feel. LMAO
LucaGirelli: I would, but you’d disappear again.
I’m mad that my belly flutters. He’s not good at small talk.
LucaGirelli: Why do you want to know? Are you coming to visit?
EllaRoyal: No. Character profile for Gio.
LucaGirelli: Gio?
EllaRoyal: Your fictional alter ego
LucaGirelli: Please tell me he’s not affiliated with the Mafia.
EllaRoyal: Of course he is.
LucaGirelli: Mamma Mia!
EllaRoyal: Ha! You used it for real.
LucaGirelli: I have and will, but I’m just fucking with you. But, you do know most of the mobsters in the movies are Sicilian, right?
EllaRoyal: Yes and I was fucking with you too. Gio is not in the mob. He is a killer with a dirty mouth though. Which reminds me. I need some dirty talk in Italian.
LucaGirelli: Don’t start with me, Ella.
EllaRoyal: I’m serious. Don’t act like you haven’t read any of my books.
LucaGirelli: Okay. What do you want him to say?
Our conversation is getting exciting, and it shouldn’t be. I did start asking him questions for the sake of the book, but now, I’m wishing he was talking dirty to me in Italian.
EllaRoyal: Start with some of the basics like.
I want to fuck you.
I love the way your pussy tastes.
Suck my dick
LucaGirelli: That’s basic sex talk to you?
EllaRoyal: Isn’t it?
LucaGirelli: I want to fuck you = Ti voglio scopare. Suck my dick = Succhiami il cazzo. I wouldn’t say I love the way your pussy tastes. It doesn’t feel natural. I would say Il sapore della tua figa mi fa impazzire.
I can’t even read Italian and I’m getting wet. Ugh, I hate that he has this thing about him that keeps me on edge.
EllaRoyal: What does that mean?
LucaGirelli: The taste of your pussy drives me wild.
“Ugh,” I complain out loud. I put my phone down for a moment. My fingers are itching to type something dirty. I’m trying to remain professional, but Luca tests me in ways I haven’t been tested in a while. My phone vibrates as if reprimanding me for not participating.
LucaGirelli: Are you trying to disappear again. I’m only telling you what you want to hear.
Fuck him and his double entendre.
EllaRoyal: I’m here. Just trying to imagine how it sounds since I don’t speak Italian. How about you send me a voice note so I can hear the pronunciation.
I drop my phone when it starts vibrating. Luca’s profile picture covers my screen with the message Luca Girelli is calling. He hangs up, and I’m willing to accept he called on accident until he messages me again.
LucaGirelli: Answer my call if you want to hear it. I’m not recording a voice message.
Luca works my nerves, but I accept the call the second time he tires. I pat my hair but realize I’m being stupid because he cannot see me.
“Hello?” I all but squeak into the phone. I clear my throat and try again. “Hello?”
“Ciao, Ella. I see you’re feeling brave today.”
Fuck! His voice is sexy. I love his accent so much I hate it.
“Whatever, I’m brave every day.”
“Not with me.”
I don’t know if the smoky quality of his voice is his usual tone, or if it’s because I woke him up. Either way, I find myself shifting under my covers because I’m no longer comfortable. It’s all his fault.
“You’re in another country; why would I be scared?”
“You tell me. Do I scare you?”
His simple question makes me feel things I don’t know how to decipher. If I choose to be honest with myself, I’d have to say something about him scares some part of me. I just can’t figure out why.
“No,” I lie. I’m not interested in naked honesty right now.
“I don’t believe you, b
ut you have nothing to fear.”
I make a face to silently express my exasperation. I should hang up on him. Luca’s chuckle is sexy and low like he can read my thoughts.
“I’ll move on for now and answer your questions. Which one do you want to hear first?”
Ah, shit. I’d forgotten why he called.
“The first one,” I whisper into the phone.
“Tell me what it was. I’m not looking at my screen.”
My sigh is exaggerated because I know exactly what he’s doing, and I like it.
“I want to fuck you.”
He hums as if I’m being seductive and everything throbs. I doubt I’ll make it through this conversation or the next few phrases. Luca is killing me, and I don’t know much about him
“Ti voglio scopare.” His voice drips with seduction, causing every syllable to inflame my hormones. I squeeze my thighs together because I’ll be damned if he sends me into masterbation mode. Of course, he’ll continue. “Suck my dick is succhiami il cazzo. And, Il sapore della tua figa mi fa impazzire means the taste of your pussy drives me wild. Will it?”
I hang up. What in the hell is wrong with me. I’ve been on the receiving end of dirty talk before. I’ve delivered the dirty talk, but Luca somehow turns me into a virginal teenager. Flopping on my back, I stare at the ceiling as my chest rapidly expands and contracts to calm my body. My body wants to book a ticket, and my brain tells me I’m crazy; although it’s pinging with material for my book.
Damn, my nipples hurt.
I’m scared to check my phone, but I do it anyway.
LucaGirelli: I heard that Canadian women were prudish as fuck. What's wrong? Can't back up what you write?
My mouth falls open, and I see red. I feel attacked. How dare he? Luca doesn't know me like that. I hit ‘dial’ before my brain can argue against it.
The sexiness of his voice pisses me off more when he answers.
“You’re back.”
“Only to say ‘fuck you.’ You don’t know anything about me.” His snicker doesn’t help my mood.
“Whose fault is that, Ella?”
“Whose fault is what?”
Cabin Fever Page 55