“Good morning, sweetheart,” my dad says, smiling warmly at the sight of me.
“Hi, Daddy,” I reply sweetly, walking over to hug him and perch on the arm of his chair.
“Are you all packed for the flight out tomorrow morning?” he asks, folding the newspaper and setting it aside. Here it was. Time to launch Operation Freedom Weekend.
I bite my lip and tilt my head to one side, making myself look concerned. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“Oh? What’s wrong, Laney?” he questions, his thick brows furrowing. I take a deep breath and tuck my hair back behind my ear.
“Well, you see, there’s this college counselor coming into town to take interviews with potential students and I really want to go meet with her. I know I have to start really taking charge of my future and I don’t want to miss this opportunity. And… the only time she’s available to meet with me is this weekend,” I explain, staring downward sadly.
“You’re going to meet with a college counselor on a Saturday?” my mom pipes up, giving me a slightly suspicious look. Damn it. She’s always quick to point out the flaws in my plan. Luckily, my dad is the one who makes the decisions around here, and I’ve got him wrapped around my little finger.
“Well, maybe we can just postpone the trip for a few days,” he suggests. “I wouldn’t want to leave you here alone while your mother and I go gallivanting off to Europe.”
“Oh, no! You two should go ahead and I will meet you in Switzerland. Don’t postpone your trip because of me,” I counter quickly, wanting to stick to my own plan. The whole point is for them to go on without me.
“Well, I would just feel so awful making you fly over there all by yourself, sweetheart. It’s just not safe for such a sweet girl to travel alone,” Daddy says, scratching at his chin thoughtfully. My mom is casting puppy dog eyes at him, clearly not wanting to postpone their trip, either. Seeing this, I jump at the chance to work another angle.
“I’m eighteen years old, Daddy! I can handle it. Besides, you and Mom never get to have any time to yourselves. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a whole romantic weekend in Europe before I show up?” I add, shrugging. My parents exchange knowing glances and I have to resist the urge to shudder. Ew.
“I suppose that might be nice,” my dad says, starting to warm up to my idea. “But the thought of my little girl traveling so far by herself still worries me. What if I give you my credit card and you buy flights for you and a friend? Maybe Caitlin? I’m sure her parents wouldn’t mind if she took a little trip to Europe. She can fly over with you to meet us, spend a few days, and then fly back home.”
I light up with excitement. This is turning out even better than I’d hoped!
“Oh my goodness. That would be perfect! What a good idea,” I say excitedly, throwing my arms around him. He chuckles and pats me on the back fondly.
“Anything for my little angel,” he replies. “Especially if this is something good for your future. Picking a college is very important. I know you’re still not sure which school you want to go to, and I think meeting with a counselor will really…”
I pretend to listen dutifully as my dad goes on and on about the importance of going to the right school and getting the right degree. I’ve heard it all a million times before. He wants me to go to an Ivy League — despite my grades — and part of me wants that to. The part of me I keep locked up, deep inside and hidden away. Once he gets a call from the office, he cuts the lecture short and heads off to work. It’s not long before my mom flounces out to meet her friends for a drink and a manicure, leaving me home alone.
Grinning victoriously to myself, I send a group text to my three closest friends, Caitlin, Lyssa, and Megan, and fill them in on the details. There is no interview with a college counselor. Instead, the four of us are all going to buy flights to Barcelona tomorrow afternoon on my daddy’s credit card, after my parents leave. My girls and I are going to have one hell of a weekend in Spain — responsibilities be damned.
Nothing can go wrong.
Delaney
“¡Cuatro cervezas, por favor!” chirps my friend Lyssa, reclining next to me as she bats her eyelashes up at the handsome waiter. My three closest friends and I are all lounging poolside at a resort in Barcelona, Spain, and we look fantastic. Lyssa, with her nut-brown skin and long black braids; Caitlin, with her sleek, shoulder-length chocolate-colored hair and flirtatious eyes; Megan, with her russet curls and milky-white skin; and me.
I’m wearing a new bathing suit I bought just last week in preparation for this secret trip. My full, perky breasts are barely covered by the lilac-colored bikini top and my flat stomach and toned thighs are out on display. I’ve got a giant white floppy sun hat shading my face so I don’t burn, and I’ve almost completely downed my first margarita of the day.
“Could I get mine with a lime wedge, please?” Megan whispers, biting her lip.
“Con un limón, también,” Lyssa adds flippantly. The waiter nods and walks back up to the little bar under the gazebo. My friend looks at me and winks. “Lucky for y’all, I actually paid attention in Spanish class instead of just passing notes the whole time.”
“Oh, whatever. You only paid attention because you thought Señor Martinez was hot,” Caitlin breaks in, laughing.
“Ugh, I forgot about that! So gross, Lyssa,” Megan giggles. “He was like a million years old, wasn’t he?”
“No! He’s only like thirty or something,” Lyssa says defensively, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment even as she grins.
“Okay, okay, leave her alone!” I chide the other two. “We’re all adults here, alright? If Lyssa wants to lust after some gross old guy, that’s her prerogative.”
“Hey!” she laughs, swatting at me playfully.
The waiter returns with our beers and I tell him to put it all on my tab. “Daddy’s credit card is getting a nice work out here,” I comment nonchalantly, sipping my beer.
“Isn’t he gonna be mad when he sees the bank statements?” Caitlin asks.
I wave my hand dismissively. “Nah. Well, maybe. But either way, he never stays mad at me for long. And it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.”
“That’s true,” Megan agrees.
“Besides, it’s not like I bought four plane tickets. Just the two he told me to buy, for me and Caitlin,” I reply, shrugging. Luckily, Megan and Lyssa both also have wealthy parents who are too tied up in their own business to really care all that much about what their daughters get up to when they’re not looking. Caitlin’s parents are a little stricter, but they also trust me implicitly. It’s a skill I’ve honed over time — I can charm the pants off of anyone’s parents. All I have to do is pull the same act I do with my own dad, and people are falling over themselves to please me. I’m very good at convincing people I can be trusted — even if that’s a mistake.
I should not be trusted.
But nobody ever realizes that until it’s too late.
As we’re reclining on our lounge chairs, sunning ourselves and chatting mindlessly, an exceptionally handsome guy saunters up to us, giving us an approving smirk and a once-over. I can tell instantly that he likes what he sees. And the feeling is mutual.
“Buenos dias, bellas,” he greets us in Spanish, stopping in front of us with his hands on his hips.
“Hola,” Lyssa breathes, her brown eyes wide with awe at this delicious hunk of man standing before us. I almost want to reach over and nudge her out of it. My friends aren’t quite as good at playing the ice queen as I am. Lyssa is the smart, athletic one, Megan is the sweet one, and Caitlin is the fire to my ice.
Caitlin immediately sits up and fixes the guy with a smoldering gaze. She’s the most forward and aggressive of the group, for certain, and she will flirt with anything that moves. Biting her lip coyly, she replies in flawed Spanish, “Hey handsome, what’s up?”
I can tell by the bewildered look on her face, Lyssa is blindsided to find out that she’s not the only
one who knows a fair smattering of Spanish. I have to stifle a laugh. This is so typical. Of course Caitlin only puts her skills to use when there’s a hot piece of ass at stake.
He asks us where we’re from, and I quickly tell him that we’re from the United States. The guy’s face lights up, both in response to my answer and to the fact that I am addressing him now.
“Ah, I speak English,” he replies with a grin. “You girls are beautiful. Welcome to Barcelona. I hope you’re having a good time here.”
“We are now,” I answer, lifting one eyebrow and blessing him with a faint smile.
“I was wondering, would you all like to go to a rooftop party tonight?” the guy asks.
“Oh my god, yes!” Megan bursts out. I give her a silencing glance.
“What time?” Caitlin pipes up.
“Fiesta starts around ten. If you give me your number I’ll text you the address,” he says, giving me a wink and grin. Muy suave, I think to myself.
“You got it,” I reply, taking a pen out of my purse and then standing up to write my number on the guy’s hand. His eyes never leave my face. When I’m done, I look up to meet his gaze and he smiles broadly.
“Excellent. See you tonight, chicas,” he says. “I’m Raúl, by the way.”
“Delaney,” I answer, giving him a little wave as he swaggers away, glancing back at me over his shoulder as he disappears into the crowd by the bar.
Spinning around, I excitedly gesture for the girls to get up.
“Finish your drinks, ladies. Sunbathing time is over. We got a party tonight! Looks like we have some shopping to do!” I announce brightly. The four of us chug our drinks, making sour faces in the process, then laughing at each other’s expression. After I walk over to the bar to pay the tab, we pack up our stuff and head up to the hotel suite to change into sundresses and hit the town for some retail therapy.
We spend the next several hours traipsing down the beautiful, colorful streets of Barcelona, winding in and out of designer shops and vintage stores in search of the perfect ensembles for an evening out. With each of our credit cards in hand, we spare no expense, too brazen and excited to shy away from even the steepest price tags. The four of us are all accustomed to an exceptionally high standard of living back in Savannah, and it only seems fair that we follow that same path when overseas.
With her tall, athletic frame, Lyssa decides on a flowy white dress to contrast attractively with her dark skin, accented with a thin, gold-chain necklace. She’s the girl who has it all: wealth, intellect, and confidence. She’s the girl I wanted to be, but never could, and I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy as she struts around in her outfit.
Megan picks out a romantic pale blue frock and a pair of shiny white-gold earrings for the night.
“Caitlin, what are you thinking?” I ask, idly shuffling through a rack of glittery dresses which are a little too nightclubby for my taste. She holds up a sparkling, skin-tight gold mini-dress and black stiletto heels, raising her eyebrows suggestively.
“Oh my god, that would look incredible on you,” Megan gasps, her eyes wide.
“It’s a little, um, flashy. Don’t you think?” Lyssa comments, shaking her head.
“Well, duh. I’m not trying to blend in here, Lyssa. I want to stand out. I want every one of those sexy Spanish guys to check me out. Your girl’s gettin’ laid tonight, whatever it takes,” Caitlin laughs. I give her a nod of approval.
“Looks good to me! You slut,” I add fondly.
“Thanks,” she replies, giggling as she sashays back to the fitting rooms.
“She’s going to look like my volleyball trophy in that gold dress,” Lyssa remarks, with a surprising dose of cattiness.
“Oh, let her do her thing,” I scold her. “We’re here to have fun, not police each other’s outfits. If you wanna play the judge, you can help me out. I still don’t know what to wear.”
Lyssa and Megan both light up at the chance to dress me. With my soft curves and nearly ethereal coloring, my friends are always excited to help me pick out clothes. I’m sure a lot of that has to do with the fact that I have subtly cultivated a sense of dominance over them. All three of my best friends are constantly vying for my attention in one way or another. In return, I look out for them and help them achieve the popularity they want. It’s a mutually-beneficial relationship.
The girls all pitch in to help me find the perfect outfit, and we decide on a classic form-fitting black dress that falls to about mid-thigh, with a deep scoop neck that shows off an abundance of cleavage.
With our purchases in hand, we go out for a victorious pre-party dinner at a swanky restaurant around the corner from our resort hotel. We order a round of delicious tapas, along with a pitcher of sangria to share. Laughing and chatting excitedly about the night ahead, two hours pass quickly and before we know it, it’s time for us to rush up to the suite and get changed for the night that will undoubtedly stand out in our memories for years to come.
Finally, the hour has arrived.
Adorned in our brand-new outfits, the four of us pile into a cab and ride to the address Raúl texted to me. The moon is well into her descent up into the velvety black sky above us and the four of us are awestruck by the romantic lighting and feel the streets in this part of town. We can hear the sounds of muffled music from far above, a party clearly going on atop the roof of this building. Exchanging excited grins, we all link arms and rush up the steps to the front entrance. A man with a thick beard and a halfway-unbuttoned shirt lets us in after I tell him Raúl sent us.
“Elevator straight back. Go to rooftop,” he remarks in a rather bored voice.
“Gracias,” Lyssa quips, nodding at him as we pass through.
“This is amazing,” Megan gushes.
“Everyone remain calm,” Caitlin hisses, but there’s a delighted grin on her face. We pile into the elevator and ride it all the way to the top, the pounding bass of the music getting louder and louder as we ascend. When the doors open, we are greeted by an inundation of music, with a group of nine or ten guys all drinking and laughing together. When we walk out of the elevator, all heads turn, all eyes focusing on us.
For a moment, an uncharacteristic shock of panic floods my system. But when the guys gesture for us to come on over, my nervousness fades. I remind myself that even though this may be a foreign country, boys are the same everywhere you go. And if there’s one thing I can definitely handle, it’s a group of horny boys.
Especially when the alcohol is flowing freely.
It’s not long before everyone is dancing to the pumping music, drinks in hand. It strikes me as a little odd that we are some of the only girls here, but when I note this to Caitlin, she quickly replies in an undertone, “That’s exactly the kind of ratio I like!”
I can’t exactly argue with her, seeing as every single man on this rooftop is blindingly handsome and a fantastic dancer. But they’re all fairly pedestrian in comparison to the guy standing in the corner, looking out over the city. Something about him draws me closer, makes me want to see him more clearly. But he’s spent most of the evening so far being standoffish, like he’s too good for this, too good for us.
But nobody is too good for me.
So once I’ve downed my third shot of rum, I saunter over to him, already assuming my usual wide-eyed ingénue persona. Generally, this is one of my most successful acts. Boys can never resist a girl they think they can dominate, a girl who looks like she needs to be corrupted.
Little do they know, I’m the one pulling their strings.
“Hola,” I say sweetly, taking a spot beside him, leaning on the railing. “What are you doing way over here?”
The guy hesitates before looking down at me, as though he can’t be bothered. But I catch the little flicker in his eyes when he does meet my gaze. He’s interested, even if he doesn’t want to show it.
“I doubt that’s any of your business,” the guy answers coolly, and the accent peppering his words isn’t Span
ish, but I can’t quite place it. I’m a little taken aback by his words and the casual dismissal.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to bother you,” I reply, batting my eyelashes and biting my lip apologetically. “You just looked lonely.”
“And you’re just the girl to change my mood, are you?” he says, turning to face me with a hint of a challenge in his expression. “You think just because you’re a pretty little thing, I’m just going to fall all over you, yes?”
I’m stunned, the words falling dead in my throat.
Then, the guy gives me a roguish, charming grin and holds out his hand for me to shake.
“Darios. And you are?”
“Delaney,” I answer, shaking his hand.
“You look like you could use another drink,” he says. “What’s your poison, genatsvale?”
“I’ve been doing rum shots,” I answer. He scoffs.
“Not anymore,” Darios says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and guiding me toward the little makeshift bar area to pour me a drink, the contents of which I don’t even recognize. But when I sip it, I’m immediately shocked by a wave of warmth through my body.
“What is this?” I ask innocently. But he merely gives me a bemused smirk and pulls me onto the dance floor, his hands sliding down to my waist. I never let anyone manhandle me quite like this — usually I need to be in control. But something about this guy has knocked me off-kilter. Something about his quietly powerful presence, his piercing dark eyes and sharp, handsome face… he looks like trouble, and I’m ready to give into it. For once.
As we move together to the music, he pulls me closer, his muscular body sliding against mine while he leans down to gently brush his lips along the shell of my ear. A shiver travels down my spine and he laughs quietly, cruelly, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
Over the course of the night we dance this way, our bodies moving together in the balmy summer night, neither of us talking very much at all. We don’t need words. And I realized quickly that this guy isn’t like the boys back home. He’s older, more sophisticated… darker. He can’t be so easily manipulated by the flutter of my lashes or the sweetness of my voice. It’s admittedly a little frightening to think that I’m not the one with the upper hand, but at the same time, I can’t deny how exhilarating it feels to finally meet someone who challenges me.
Sights on the SEAL: A Secret Baby Romance Page 49