A Weekend of Misbehaving

by Carmen Falcone

  “I know.” She had worked in department stores for years, all the while sketching her own designs for curvilicious women like herself. Sadly, she didn’t have enough contacts in the fashion world to get her creations to the right person. After losing her father in a car accident a few years ago, her responsibilities doubled overnight, and her focus had shifted. A reliable salary and health insurance for Rachel was more important than chasing dreams. Wasn’t it?

  Georgia breathed into the phone. “I still can’t believe you slept with him. Isn’t that going to worsen your Justin Bieber–grade crush on him?”

  “No,” Alice rushed to say. “If anything, it will free me from it. I need to get him out of my system, and move on with life.”

  Georgia giggled. “Sounds like you’re getting him into your system. Again and again.”

  A chuckle floated up her throat. “Trust me, if you had seen him naked, you would not blame me,” she said, and glanced around—shit!—and found him walking to her. “Actually, I’m seeing him right now. Fully clothed. Gotta go.” She slid the cell into her bag.

  “Not bad, huh?” Lorenzo gestured with open arms.

  She took a deep breath and shook her head, walking to his side as the blooming geraniums and dahlias surrounded them on the Gardens of Augustus, the botanical gardens that Viola had suggested they visit during breakfast. She was fascinated with the sight located on the top of Mount Solaro.

  In the afternoon, there would be a soccer game at the villa, but they had the morning free.

  “No. Although the man in front of me is quite a distraction,” she blurted, then chanced a smile to conceal the truth in her words. Let him think this was just harmless flirting instead of the joy of having bedded her crush.

  He frowned, then shrugged. Shit. The compliment caught him off guard, too. The first time they were alone outside the bedroom after having sex, and what to do?

  She retrieved the small digital camera from her jeans and started to take snapshots of the one hundred eighty-degree panoramic view of the ocean. The sun dappled the mirror-smooth turquoise waters. To her left, a couple kissed, then contemplated the view and kissed again. Her heart shrank, and she realized she didn’t have to speak Italian to know they were in love.

  “Get a good shot?” Lorenzo asked behind her.

  “Good enough.” She turned to him and clenched her camera in her palm.

  A wicked smile spread across his face, and he took her hand in his. She half expected him to stroll down the gardens with her, like pathetic infatuated teenagers. Instead, he turned her palm up and ran his fingers over her skin. The otherwise chaste touch sent a thrill of excitement through her, and her heart thumped. She lifted her gaze to meet his, and her sex clenched. His dark, forest-green eyes flickered and gave her all the reassurance she could ask for. He still wanted her.

  She pulled her hand from him and jammed her warm palm in her jeans. The exchange didn’t compare to the happy couple’s kisses nearby, but it burned her cheeks as if they had just done the deed right then and there. “Have you talked to Cara?”

  “I phoned her earlier. She asked about you.”

  “I miss her.” She stared at the endless ocean, the beauty sketched on the bright blue sky, and cotton-candy clouds. She hadn’t yet allowed herself to wonder what her life would be like after the little girl moved away. Tears threatened, but she drew in a sharp breath and let the air out slowly. If she fell apart now, in a foreign country with no support system at her side…she wouldn’t get pieced back together anytime soon. And that was not an option. Not when she had to be the happy pretend fiancée to a man who had been clueless about her crush on him—though she guessed he knew it now. She had been right under his aristocratic nose all along, and he hadn’t even known it.

  “That’s what she said about you.” He looked down and shuffled his feet. “Is your sister okay?”

  “Yes, I’ve been checking in on them.” A couple brief emails, because she knew if she called, her mother would ramble on and on about petty things Alice didn’t want to think about during this weekend. God, was she being selfish? Yes. And it felt wonderful.

  During the months she’d worked for Lorenzo, questions about her family, even on the odd day she had to take off during her sister’s hospital stays, were brief. He never allowed their relationship to go past a certain point. Even when Brenda had come to play with Cara, Lorenzo was cordial toward her but distant.

  “Don’t you ever tire of caring for them?”

  “My dad asked me to before he died.” Her voice strained. “He was the glue that kept us together, and although I’m probably just generic scotch tape, I can’t go back on a promise. My mother tries, but she isn’t as hands-on as I am.”

  He strolled to a courtyard filled with flowers and a whimsical little path descending the hill. “Maybe you should give your mother more credit. Promises are nice, but time finds a way to shoot them down. Just like marriages.” Instead of sitting on one of the few scattered benches, he put on his shades and looked ahead.

  She twisted her hands together. The past year she had, out of curiosity, tried to get some dirt from Gordon or Ms. Suarez a couple of times. Neither of them shared any information about the kind of marriage he had. “I assume you’re speaking from experience?”

  The planes of his profile hardened. “Yeah.”

  A group of visitors stood behind him, waiting to pass on the narrow pebbled path. She nudged him out of the way, and the sensation of intimacy from such nonsexual touch surprised her. “What happened to Mrs. B?”

  “She had kidney failure.”

  She let out an impatient sigh. “Tell me something Cara doesn’t know.”

  “It was caused by years of extreme pill popping.”

  Her shoulders sagged a bit. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “The sad part is I wasn’t that sad she was gone. I mourned her, of course, like I would a distant family member I always heard of but never met in person. I was more disappointed in myself, for not feeling what I was supposed to,” he said, arms crossed and facing the vegetation ahead.

  She drew back, and it wasn’t the partial shade of tall trees that took the sunshine away. A chill swept over her, while she wrapped his confession in her head. How could that happen? “You didn’t love her anymore. Why?”

  He removed his sunglasses, and her gaze flew to his instantly. Without that extra layer of protection, she could see the sadness he had been able to conceal in his voice. But not in the eyes. “She was an artist when we met. We decided to get married and, soon after, Cara was born. After the wedding, she changed. Hell, I changed.”

  She nodded. “Why did you marry her?”

  “Because I thought I cared for her deeply. Besides, she came from a traditional family, and she belonged to a world I was dipping my feet in. She had charisma, contacts…”

  Are you for real? She took a step backward, and her heart squeezed. “Charisma and contacts? Are you talking about a salesperson or a spouse?” How could he do that? Show her a glimpse of human emotion, then hurry to stash it away?

  “Probably both, which is why I paid a price.”

  “When did it go sour?”

  He shook his head. “When she started to fail as an artist and I kept succeeding.”

  “If you are an art dealer, couldn’t you have helped her?” she asked; the masochist in her just couldn’t drop the subject. She was within a few feet from him, in one of the most romantic places she had ever visited, yet melancholy lurked around them like smoke. Maybe, she realized, even pain.

  “It’s hard to help when she didn’t have much talent, and no one wanted to buy her art.”

  “Did she blame you?”

  He curled his lips. “Kristin enjoyed blaming others. I ended up apologizing for my success.”

  “Maybe she took after you. Aren’t you blaming her for the failed marriage?” she said, and a second later realized it was too late to take it back. Shit. “I mean—”

  “Touché, Ms. Freud
,” he said, with a pang of mockery. “I know the many mistakes I made. I’ll see to never making them again. Now, if you are done dissecting my past, we can get going.”

  Lorenzo kicked the ball as hard as he could—and watched it hit the goalkeeper and roll back toward him. Attack had always been his preferred position. Another player, a guest of Viola’s who was persuading her to sell him a villa in Greece, shouted something in Italian, but Lorenzo waved him off.

  He should be having sex with Alice. Taking her hot and hard. Instead, he’d used their free time together as a freaking therapy session. Why did he open up so much, anyway? For the same reason he’d gone along with the weekend of casual sex. He wanted to be on her good side, and little by little convince her to go with him to New York. Could there be something more? No. Of course there wasn’t. Just because he wasn’t insisting on the subject didn’t mean it was closed. He didn’t get where he was by being soft. Softness, in fact, was a weakness.

  And he had endured too much weakness as a child to allow himself back into that pitiless hole. He’d been soft when he had waited for his father’s monthly visits. His little heart would almost give out at the sound of an engine coming from the narrow, pebbled street. How many times had his father been late, or showed up in no fit state to drive? Let alone take him anywhere. How many times had his father not even bothered to call or show up? The bastard. As for Lorenzo, he would be better than that to his daughter.

  “Did you lose your touch, Baldi?” Paul asked.

  “I have bigger fish to fry, Smythe.”

  “Let’s hope it won’t overcook.” Paul winked at him. “Your fish.”

  Rogerio, doubling as referee, blew the whistle. Lorenzo’s team had lost 3-2 to Paul’s team. Shit. Sure, this wasn’t the World Cup or anything, but he hated losing. A pang of frustration tugged at him as he walked to the sidelines where Alice and the others mingled. She handed him fresh lemonade, and he took a refreshing swig.

  “Nice game,” she said.

  He groaned. “I sucked.”

  “True. I guess you were just a bit rusty. We all know how that goes.” She ran her finger along his elbow, and a shiver threaded through him. Was that her way of apologizing for trying to poke at his personal life earlier? Not that he needed, or wanted, an apology. Such conventions would only blur the lines already too foggy for his taste. Theirs wasn’t a love relationship. She was his pretend fiancée and temporary lover. She didn’t have to worry about hurting his feelings because he didn’t have any. Toward her. None, he repeated inwardly. None.

  “Yes, we do.” He assessed her. She had on a bright yellow dress that had some kind of vintage flair women usually enjoyed. With her hair swept to the side and maroon-shaded lips, she was every bit the vixen. He wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  “I love your dress,” Joan said to her, and he realized there were others around.

  “Thanks. I made it myself. I dabble with sketching clothes and sewing them. An unpaid stylist for now,” Alice said, and her eyes gleamed like she was about to unwrap a big gift.

  Stylist? What else about her didn’t he know?

  Joan lifted her hand to her chest. “Really? My cousin is an assistant buyer for Lauren’s,” she said, name-dropping one of the nation’s top department stores. “They are always looking for new talent.”

  Alice’s jaw dropped a notch, and her hands clapped together. “That’s wonderful. How nice, er, for your cousin. I bet that’s a fabulous job.”

  “Sounds like a match made in fashion heaven,” a red-headed female said behind them. She was trying to get the commission to sell some properties, as well.

  Joan chuckled and leaned forward. “We have to exchange numbers, Alice. You just never know, right?”

  Wrong. Alice’s dress looked fine, but he doubted Joan wanted to give her a hand up. Most likely that cousin who worked at Lauren’s was bullshit at its best. What she really wanted was to gain Alice’s trust and maybe use her to get information. Made sense, didn’t it? He scratched his head.

  He didn’t know much about Alice, but one thing he knew for certain was Alice didn’t have a filter. What if she ended up revealing the true nature of their relationship? Or worse, what if Joan acted like she could help Alice professionally? Being as softhearted as she was, Alice no doubt would feel bad about sweeping the rug out from under her feet and helping Lorenzo obtain his goal—to get the paintings.

  “Well, soon we’ll exchange a lot more than numbers. Remember, it’s spa time before the party,” Viola reminded them, and a few women giggled.

  “Spa time?” he asked, his brows knitting.

  “Massage, nails, hair. We’ll also get made up for the Marie Antoinette–themed party,” Joan said. “I heard Viola hired a special team.”

  The party. A couple boxes had been delivered to their room this morning, but he didn’t even bother to open his.

  “You won’t mind if we steal Alice for a few hours, will you?” Viola asked.

  He cracked his knuckles. “Not at all.”

  “You will see her when she’s dressed for the part.”

  Alice shrugged like she had no choice in the matter. It would be hours until he had her for himself again. All for a silly party. A wave of disappointment washed over him. Back in Austin, he’d avoided much contact with Alice, to keep a strict professional relationship. Why did his mindset change? Was it the sex? Of course it was.

  He flashed Viola the best smile he could manage. “I can hardly wait.”

  “Dad, have you heard from Alice?” Cara asked on the other end of the phone.

  He paced the suite. Well, wouldn’t he have liked to? An hour ago, a maid had entered to gather the box containing Alice’s dress for the party, saying she would get dressed with the other women. Somehow, Alice was getting more access to Viola than he. That was an advantage, he tried to convince himself. As long as she avoided Joan’s claws. “Why?”

  “I wonder if she’s been by to make sure Nibbles is okay.”

  The bird that started it all. He put on the costume’s long, knee-length white socks, then shook his head at the tan and brown striped pants. The sacrifices he had to make to protect himself and his daughter from disgrace—ironically, they included sporting these ill-fitting clothes from the eighteenth century. “I assure you the bird is fine, honey.” He had summoned his secretary to go over and check on things in his absence.

  “Good. I miss you, Dad.”

  “Me, too. I will see you in a couple of days.” And hopefully within a few weeks he’d be with her in New York. He hadn’t broken the news yet but would as soon as she returned from the camp. He imagined she would be sad to say good-bye to her friends but excited to get to spend more time with him, too. “I love you, Cara. Don’t ever forget it.”

  “Love you, too, Dad. Talk to you later.”

  A fuzzy sensation tightened his throat, and he ended the call and tossed the phone on the bed. He pulled on a white textured shirt, then a heavy cloak that had all kinds of tiny golden patterns embroidered throughout. He glanced at the white wig and container of facial powder that Alice had ordered to complement the costume.

  Nah. That was a bit much. He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffled it, and decided that was it.

  It took him a bit longer to get to the ballroom on the south wing of the villa than he had expected. Obviously, Viola had invited half the island—or perhaps, the entire population of Capri. A line of people funneled around the entry, all of them dressed like nobility. Quite a few of the men sported the damn wigs and face powder. He tugged at his collar and wrestled with the idea of opening the top button. Last thing he needed was to look like an eighteenth-century vagabond.

  “This way, Mr. Baldi,” the hostess announced. He nodded and followed her to the reserved table. The decor was like a time travel to another era, but he didn’t waste much effort fussing over the details. Anticipation brewed inside him, every step he took making his heart race a bit faster. Alice. Where was she?

 
Alice adjusted the corset, her breasts about to pop from the cruel confinement. A different concern knotted her stomach, though. Her mother had messaged her earlier, saying a friend named Buck had called the home phone yesterday. So that’s how he had gotten her cell phone number.

  She decided not to tell Mom anything about Buck’s reason for wanting to reach her. The last thing she needed was to freak out her mother and sister. Instead, she texted Buck and confirmed he’d get his cash in four days.

  Phew. Relax, woman. There’s nothing you can do about it now. Enjoy what’s right in front of you.

  Studying her surroundings, she smiled. If there was a place to run from your problems, this was it. An eighteen-piece band played songs that favored the waltz. Some couples danced in the middle of the room, and Alice assumed at least a few pairs were professional dancers.

  She glanced down at her dress. Hey, as long as she didn’t flash her nipple it would be okay, right? Last thing she wanted was to Janet Jackson the guests. Although the salon was air conditioned, sweat slicked her thighs. She’d chosen not to wear panties or the old-fashioned garment that came with the outfit. Not like anyone would notice beneath that heavy set of skirts.

  The only one who would notice… She blushed, and her eyes skimmed the salon, searching for Lorenzo. She had been pampered, plucked, and massaged for hours, and now she sashayed into the party in full swing.

  She touched her lavender wig and twirled her finger on one of the sideswept curls. Male guests smiled at her and bowed their heads when she passed them. She wanted to remember every detail to tell Brenda. Her niece would love to hear all about this fairy-tale party.

  She played along and did a flirty curtsy, although her attention was caught by the gorgeous ice sculptures, the dresses the other women wore, and the amount of handsome men, many of them who could kick Brad Pitt to the curb.

  One of them, however, was sexier than them all. In the middle of a small group, Lorenzo spoke in Italian, and the other men listened intently. She strolled his way, her stomach fluttering faster with every step. When his gaze pinned hers, a lump formed in her throat. She licked her lower lip. The several feet between them seemed to vanish, and the dozens of people faded into the background. A shot of adrenaline charged through her veins all the way to the back of her knees, which were wobbling. Inhaling, she willed them forward and inched toward him.