I haven’t seen him since he left me at the wedding, having decisively avoided him. The only way that’s been possible is that Violet has been so busy with Carly that she hasn’t had one of her dinner parties, but it’s worked in my favor.
I have no clue why he’s here. Or how the hell he is here.
But he is. And he is saving me from Emily. Somehow, some way, he’s right here to step in when she cuts me down and makes it seem like I’m failing at life. It might not mean that much to him, but it does to me. I didn’t have a rescuer back in high school. Violet and I preferred to handle things ourselves, and really, Emily wasn’t that bad. Just annoying enough, and with an impressive skill to filet me and leave me with self-doubts that rear up when the shit hits the fan. It was more of a death of a thousand cuts than a single slice with her.
Why I’m thinking about that now, I don’t know, but it appears that my brain is spinning like a turbo wheel with ideas, thinking them up and discarding them with frightening precision.
Suddenly, a thought hits my brain with the power of a lightning bolt, an idea so incredibly outrageous and crazy that I almost dismiss it outright.
No. Don’t you do it! I scream to myself.
But looking at Emily as she stares at me with pity, the urge is overpowering to wipe that smirk off her face.
I try my best, but I can’t seem to stop the words that come rushing out of my mouth.
“Emily, meet my husband, Lorenzo.”
Chapter 4
Abi
What in the actual fuck did I just do? I ask myself as the room spins around me. I seriously feel like I just punched myself in the head, hard, as my heart pounds in my chest while I wait for Lorenzo’s reaction. Simultaneously, I’m clutching him all the tighter, mainly to try and not faceplant on the tile.
Beside me, I can feel him go rigid, and I know he’s probably thinking what the fuck?
Can’t fault him. I’m thinking that too. Did I leave my sanity in the Miami airport when I was running for our connection? Or maybe I lost it before then, at home when I was packing extra batteries for some bonus stress relief?
When the silence stretches past ten seconds, I nudge Lorenzo with my foot, smiling up at him hopefully while silently praying.
The look in his eyes is a mystery, and I cringe, half expecting him to blow everything up, when he extends his hand to Emily and smiles. “Lorenzo Toscani. It’s a pleasure.”
Emily takes Lorenzo’s hand like she’s half in shock, gripping his fingers like she’s wondering if he’s for real.
Fuck it, might as well roll with it at this point.
“You see, we’re here on our honeymoon too!” I gush, clasping Lorenzo’s hand and squeezing hard.
Go along with this, please!
"Congratulations," Doug says with a true smile, completely oblivious to the hurricane of craziness that just swept us away and out to sea with zero life vests.
“Right . . . yes, of course,” Emily says, looking us over. “Congratulations. But where’s the ring?”
“Lorenzo’s family offered us an antique set from his grandparents in Italy,” I make up on the spot, hoping Lorenzo’s still willing to play along, “but they didn’t get here in time for us to get them sized right. And we certainly didn’t want to risk losing such priceless antiques in the sea.”
“We’ll pick them up back home,” Lorenzo completes for me. He’s going along with it. For now.
"So, what do you do, Lorenzo?” Doug asks, already on the prowl for another possible sales opportunity.
“I’m a chef,” he says modestly. I haven’t had Lorenzo’s food, but Violet speaks of it as if it’s an otherworldly experience.
Doug frowns. “You do okay with that? I mean, do you have your own restaurant or something?”
Something flickers across Lorenzo’s face, there and gone so quickly I could pretend I imagined it. But I know I didn’t.
“No. I’m a co-chef at an Italian restaurant.” The challenge is thick, daring Doug to say something derogatory about Lorenzo’s role.
“Ah, well . . . good for you,” Doug says lamely, apparently deeming Lorenzo unworthy of a hard sale.
Emily steps forward, effectively putting herself into the middle of our group of four. “Your husband?” She taps her lip with a manicured nail. “I can’t say I’ve heard a thing about that,” she sneers with obvious disbelief. “I mean, everyone heard about your brother and your best friend, and Courtney and Ross’s best friend. But I haven’t heard a thing about Abi Andrews finding a man,” she accuses, “and goodness, wouldn’t that be big news if it were true?”
“We’re keeping it quiet,” I say.
Unfortunately, at the same time, Lorenzo comes to my defense again. “It was rather quick.”
I look to Lorenzo, panicked, but he flashes me a sexy smile. “It was a fast wedding because I could not wait to make Abigail mine, but we are keeping it quiet for now. I’m sure you understand how . . . hmm, what’s the word?” He speaks perfect English and is setting Emily up for a shot, I’m certain of it. I fall a little in love with him in this moment. Okay, not love, but gleeful, spiteful friendship at least.
“Ah, yes, I’m sure you know how nosy some people can be. Abigail’s family is the subject of much unfortunate gossip.”
How does he know that?
Violet must have told him about how awful things were when the paparazzi found out about her wedding to my brother.
“May I help you?” the clerk behind the desk asks with a smile.
I offer her a thankful smile in return because she’s saving me too. “Yes, checking in. I have a reservation for Andrews.”
She clicks on her computer. “Of course, Miss Andrews. I have you in room six-seventeen. Will two keys be sufficient?”
Lorenzo steps forward. “That’s Mrs. Andrews. And yes, two keys will be fine.” The clerk is utterly charmed by Lorenzo, her smile wavering and then going megawatt as she hands the key cards over. “Shall we, mia rosa?”
What is he doing?
I mean, obviously, we can’t say we’re staying in separate rooms because that would be ridiculously suspicious for newlyweds on their honeymoon. But he’s acting like he’s coming back to my suite with me and Janey.
Where is she, anyway? Still exploring the bar? Or has she snuck out to wiggle her toes in the sand?
“Andrews?” Emily questions, still looking for weaknesses in this story. I wish she’d stop poking around because there are more holes in this lie than in a spaghetti strainer.
This one’s easy, though. I give her a hard glare. “Yes, Andrews." I emphasize the name, giving it all the weight of my father’s money and reputation. “I certainly couldn’t change my name to anything else. Lorenzo understood.”
He steps in closer to me, turning my face to his with a gentle touch of his palm to my jaw. “I do not need you to wear my name or even my ring. I simply want you to wear my love tattooed on your heart, my kisses on your skin, and my . . .” He leans in, whispering into my ear, “My cock in your pussy.”
I blush, instantly hot and pink. And horny for Lorenzo. For what he’s promising, even if they’re lies he’s telling to save my ass.
My jaw drops, panting breaths passing my lips. He’s so close, he must be able to feel them because he gives me a smile of victory and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. “Soon, mia rosa. Tell your friends goodbye so I can have you.”
That was loud enough that Emily and Doug both heard.
“Uh, yeah . . . bye, guys. Nice to meet you, Doug. Good to see you, Emily,” I say automatically, even though it wasn’t nice or good. Mom would be proud of my manners.
“Maybe I’ll see you around the resort?” Emily says quickly before I can whisk Lorenzo away.
I fucking hope not.
“Maybe.”
But Emily isn’t letting go of this conversation just yet. “You know what, we should all hang out! Doug and I have reservations this evening. How about you join us for dinner? We can cha
t, catch up, all that. I just gotta hear the story of how you landed this man.” She looks at Lorenzo and continues, “Abs and I used to compete all the time. It’s the kind of girls we used to be, but we were still friends. I think we made each other better, you know? We have so much to talk about.”
We did not make each other better. Emily made my life hell, and if I’m honest with myself, I probably did the same to her to a much lesser degree.
Lorenzo looks at me, giving me a barely perceptible lift of his brow in question. When I don’t argue, he asks Emily, “What time?”
“Eight. We’ll stop by your room to meet you and we can walk down together. I heard that clerk say your room number. Jeez, there’s like zero consideration for privacy, you know?” Emily says nastily, as if she’s not the one using the overheard information.
Dammit. Cornered and trapped. “Well, maybe.”
“Okay!” Emily says, all fake cheeriness before smirking. “Till then . . . babe.”
Babe? Are you fucking serious?
I walk off, giving Emily a saccharine smile. Lorenzo follows me off to the side of the reception area before he pulls me to a stop. “You want to tell me what that was? I mean, I played along, but what was that?”
“Fuck, I’m sorry, Lorenzo,” I blurt, trying not to turn red and wondering again just where the hell Janey is. “I just . . . okay, really fast. Emily’s pretty much my high school nemesis. Major stuck-up bitch who thinks she’s better than everyone. It just came out because I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of winning when she was looking at me like some pitiful lost dog nobody wants.”
I think it took me exactly two point three seconds to say all that, and I can see that Lorenzo’s still processing all the rushed English. Taking a deep breath, I pull on my big girl pants and continue. “I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to keep this lie up. I totally blindsided you. I can tell Emily it was a joke or something.”
Yeah . . . and watch that bitch gloat for the next twenty years.
My heart seems frozen for a long moment as Lorenzo looks at me, and I can almost hear him telling me ‘no’ before walking off, probably calling me all sorts of crazy in Italian. But then he smiles, his lips tilting up on the left side of his mouth like he’s getting the biggest kick out of whatever this weird thing might be. “So . . . she’s the Inter to your AC Milano?”
“Uhh . . . maybe?” I reply, not knowing what the hell he’s talking about.
Lorenzo’s smile broadens, and he takes my hand. “Then just for you, mia rosa, I’ll play along. And I can already see I’ll need to teach you about futbol if we’re going to make this believable.”
I’m so relieved that an entirely graceless laugh barks out. Without thinking, I throw my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Holy shit, are you serious? I owe you big time!”
Lorenzo’s hands come to my hips, and he pulls his face back, his eyes twinkling. I’m reminded of the slow dances at Courtney’s wedding when I thought there might be something brewing between us as our bodies pressed together.
“Is that so?” Those words, in that accent, have me thinking all sorts of naughty things, wiping away the memory of him walking out of the wedding and replacing it with what he’s willing to do now to help me save face in front of Emily.
Heat flushes me, even if he probably doesn’t mean what I’m thinking, but if he wants me to ‘thank him’ on my hands and knees, I’m sure this hotel has some soft towels for cushions.
Trying to regain my balance and give my mind some oxygen to get my body under control, I step back, swallowing and trying to think about anything other than how those sensuous lips would feel against mine. “So, uh . . . other than saving my ass, what are you doing here, anyway?”
“Got a job offer,” Lorenzo says easily with a dismissive shrug. “Just a short term gig, but I’m cooking here at the hotel.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised. “I didn’t know . . . I mean, Violet didn’t say anything.”
Lorenzo smirks and asks naughtily, “Was I supposed to tell her?”
I see his point. Violet’s not his keeper, but it seems like something she’d want to know so she could worry about his wellbeing while he’s halfway around the world and she can’t do anything about it. That’s just how Violet is, especially now that her maternal instincts have kicked in after having Carly.
I blanch, the realization of what I’ve done hitting me. “How did this happen?”
“Right place, right time, I guess. Lucky for us both.”
What are the odds? And how is this lucky for him? Playing husband to a crazy woman to impress a bitchy one?
Before I can even respond, Janey comes up. “Hey, you get the room? I found the beach lounger where I’ll be sitting every time we get a few minutes.” She suddenly zeroes in on how close I’m standing to Lorenzo and his hand possessively placed on my lower back. “And hello to you too. Are you one of the resort’s amenities? Because I’ve got a spot that could really use a massage.” Her brows lift and lower quickly. She’s kidding. I think.
“Janey, this is Lorenzo. We have a bit of a situation that he’s going to be helping me with. We can discuss it more in private.” She wants to ask more. I can see it in her eyes, can see the questions dancing on her tongue, but then she looks past me and pales.
“Oh, shit! Incoming, four o’clock. That’s my cue. Catch you in the room,” she hisses. With that, she snatches a key card out of my hand and disappears down the hallway right as a racket fills the lobby. It sounds like there’s a hockey fight going on behind me.
But when I turn to look at my four o’clock, I find it’s not an impromptu ice rink battle but Claire and Cole coming in along with their entire entourage. A photographer is walking backward in front of them, snapping away but staying out of frame for the videographer who’s doing a weird side cross step to keep the camera steady. Security guards frame them on the right and left, and two assistants with earpieces and tablets walk behind them. Then there’s the luggage—seemingly never-ending carts of pink glitter suitcases and a few gray hard side cases as well. I don’t think there could be more hubbub if the Kardashians themselves were walking in.
Leading the whole brigade is none other than Meredith Wildeman.
Shit, I need to get out of here. But a voice sounds out across the din.
“Ah, flower girl. There you are. Have you looked in on the facilities yet?” Meredith asks.
Thankfully, Claire and Cole continue on their way, bypassing the front desk and heading straight for the elevators. I’m glad because I don’t want them to hear me answer ‘no.’
“Not yet. I just arrived,” I explain, gesturing lamely to the carry-on bag over my shoulder. “I’m heading up to my room to drop everything off and then to the coolers.”
Her lips press into a thin line, her brows dropping low as she taps on her ever-present tablet. “Hmm, so I’ll leave that unverified on the checklist.” Her disappointment doesn’t seem real, as though she expected me to drop the ball.
She turns to Lorenzo, and I’m trying to decide if I should introduce them—and if so, how—when Meredith speaks first. “And Chef Toscani, have you been to the kitchens yet?”
His answer is slow and rolling, the charm as thickly accented as his speech. “Yes, I met with the head chef. We are good.”
Wait? What? I think we might need to talk about more than my crazy honeymoon scheme! He’s said he’s cooking here, but how does he know Meredith?
Meredith’s brow raises sharply as she returns her glare to me. “I see. Thank you, Chef, for being on top of your need to meet the bride and groom’s expectations.”
Ouch. Her words to Lorenzo are less praise to him and more of a cutting remark to me.
Bride and groom’s expectations?
Small threads start to weave together. Meredith, Claire, Cole . . . and Lorenzo. How did this connection happen and why don’t I know about it? I pride myself on knowing everything that’s happening with my friends and family, and
despite my mixed feelings about Lorenzo bailing on me at Courtney’s wedding but saving me today, he’s part of Violet’s family, which means I should know things, like when he’s working on the same event as the largest wedding I’ve ever done.
My own ignorance of what’s going on makes me prickly, and I step away from Lorenzo a bit. It’s probably the smart thing to do anyway because I don’t want Meredith to find out about this crazy honeymoon scheme I’ve set in motion. She would most definitely disapprove.
“Miss Andrews, please have your site checks done today. I’ll expect a full report at our meeting in the morning.”
“What meeting?” I ask, confused. I haven’t gotten a note about a meeting.
Meredith sighs, a long sound of disappointment. “The seven thirty a.m. meeting in the Serenity Lounge to go over subcontractor and vendor plans. I emailed you an updated version of the week’s agenda an hour ago. Please familiarize yourself with it . . . if that’s not too much trouble.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to bite out that anywhere called the ‘Serenity Lounge’ has probably not seen many early-morning meetings, especially when I’m betting that things here run on island time, meaning they’ll get to it when they get there.
But I don’t say any of that.
I might not have taken the Andrews money, but I’ve got Dad’s guts and it doesn’t take much for me dig down and find them. I straighten my spine, letting an air of class enter my entire being. Meredith might think she’s dealing with someone ‘lesser’, a mere schlub who’s lucky to be working with the likes of someone like her, but the reverse is equally true. I’m successful in my own right, a businesswoman who has negotiated countless service contracts and an artist whose creative work is massively desirable and irreplaceable.
“No problem,” I tell her, smiling back in a perfect imitation of Mom’s ‘you’re a fake ass society bitch’ smile. “I’ll be ready at seven thirty sharp.”
Her smile is icy, her anger at my lack of cowering palpable. I can taste her desire for me to fail so she can dance around the ruins of my career. But I’m not going to mess this up. I can’t. I won’t. It’s too important.
My Big Fat Fake Honeymoon Page 6