by Gina Azzi
“What do you mean? How? Why?” I sit up straighter, repositioning the pillows behind my back.
“He’s hiding. We’ve got to do something to let him know that we’re on to him, something to draw a confrontation. Otherwise, we could be playing this game forever, and slowly, he’ll be draining millions of dollars from Papa’s companies. We need to get a message to him that we know he’s Papa’s beneficiary and that we’re going to contest it. We can’t leave this up to Mama; she’s practically in denial. She should have told us about this, dealt with it, months ago.”
I nod, thinking over her words. As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. “Damn, Claud. When did you get so smart?”
She leans over and punches me in the arm. “I’ve always been the smarter, better-looking Barca. You just never noticed it because you’re so self-absorbed.”
I wince. She’s right again.
Claudia’s eyes widen when I don’t retaliate. “Enzo, I’m kidding!”
“No…” I shake my head “…you’re right.”
She laughs but it’s exasperated. “What is wrong with you? I’m really just joking. When did you get so sensitive?”
I shrug. “Since all of this happened.” I gesture around the room to indicate nearly losing our home.
She punches me again. “Well, stop it. I liked you better when you were sharp and sarcastic. I don’t know what to do with nice and considerate Enzo.”
I laugh. “Yeah okay.”
“I’m serious.”
I nod again.
“So what do you think we should do? How should we get his attention?”
I tilt my head to the side, thinking over options. “I may know a way.” Would it work? Would he care enough to show his face?
“Feel free to clue me in.”
I look up at Claudia. “Liguria,” I say simply.
“What about it?”
“I’ll go up to the house, spend the weekend, throw a party.”
She nods slowly, her mind racing to catch up to what I’m telling her. “So you’ll start using things that are now Benito’s property, meaning he will either contact you to tell you the house is no longer ours or he’ll know that you’re doing it to piss him off and get a rise out of him. Either way, he’ll come around. And we can tell him that we know what he’s up to and we’re not going to let him get away with it.”
“Exactly.”
She smiles. “That’s brilliant.”
I smile back. “Glad you think so little sister.”
“You mean smarter sister.”
“Yeah.” I reach out and tug on her hair. “Okay.”
“One condition …” She looks at me seriously.
“What?”
“We keep Mama out of it. Don’t even tell her Benito’s back in town. We need to handle this; she can’t deal with any more heartache.”
“I agree.”
Claudia smiles. “Well then, let the plotting begin.”
* * *
Will it work? I don’t see why not. I’ll head up to the Liguria house and start preparing as if I’m going to throw a big bash. If I don’t hear from Benito, well, then I will throw a ridiculous, obnoxious party. Something to grab his attention, something to garner a reaction, something so I can tell him to his face that I will never allow him ruin my family’s name, our reputation, or Papa’s legacy.
I plan to head up to the house on Thursday, just to see if there’s any chatter, see if any of our neighbors have seen Benito poking around. I’m throwing clothes in an old Louis Vuitton duffel bag when a thought crosses my mind. I discard it quickly. I shouldn’t involve Mia in any of this. I’d hate for her to even meet Benito. Then again, how would he ever single her out of a party of fifty plus people? Against my better judgment, I pick up my phone and send her a text. Ten minutes later, she sends me a thumbs-up emoji.
I smile. A party and Mia time.
Thank you, Benito.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Mia
When I step out of Lorenzo’s car, the sky is gray and gloomy, threatening rain. The breeze picks up and cold wind skates across my face. I pull my scarf tighter around my neck. We walk through the quiet train station and into the parking lot. Three cars are parked in a row, the rest of the spaces empty.
“It’s off-season,” Lorenzo explains, taking my hand in his and linking our fingers together.
I snuggle closer into his side, turning my face away from the wind.
“You cold?” he asks, his voice raspy. He squeezes my hand lightly.
“A little,” I admit, wrapping my free hand around his arm. He flexes lightly at my touch, and I hide a smile.
“We should be there in a few minutes. The house is just down this block.” He steers us toward the right.
Two minutes later we walk up to a beautiful home that overlooks the sea. The house is yellow, built right onto the stones extending into the sea. Arched windows and a stucco roof give off a Mediterranean vibe. Although the trees are barren and the garden empty, I can imagine the home in spring and summertime, bursting with color.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper. I take a mental picture, closing my eyes to imprint each detail into my memory. The way the wind echoes as it flits through my hair, the smell of salt and sea and November, it’s all too perfect to forget.
Lorenzo doesn’t say anything, but I can sense him next to me. The scent of his cologne mixed with fresh laundry and a hint of basil radiates from him. He presses his hand to the small of my back, shifting my body closer to him, his frame blocking most of the wind. I open my eyes and stare into the light gray of his thick sweater.
“Thank you for taking me here.” I smile up at him.
“I’m glad you came with me.” Lorenzo smiles, his white teeth flashing briefly. “It’s always pretty cool to see how a visitor takes in this scene.” He gestures to the ocean and the hills and the horizon. “Sometimes, I take it for granted.” He shrugs. “It’s even more beautiful seeing it through your eyes. Your reaction makes me appreciate it a lot more. Thank you.”
I nod. “I guess I can understand what you mean. People always ask me about what it’s like to live in New York. I always say it’s just like living anywhere else; it has its own unique pros and cons and mystery and beauty. I love watching friends who visit the city for the first time stare up, up, up at the skyscrapers, their mouths open in awe. I always laugh when they stare in shock at the sheer amount of people crossing the streets when the lights change, learn the art of hailing a cab in the rain, navigate the subway system.” I smile. “I’m glad I can provide that type of amusement for you.”
Lorenzo smiles back. “You just described exactly what I mean.”
I gesture toward his home as we walk up to the front door. “This is really something else though.”
He nods brusquely. “Yeah. Mama loves it here; she was so happy the day Papa bought it. Let me carry up our bags,” Lorenzo says, unlocking the door and flipping on a series of lights.
The doorway opens up into a long hallway. He drops his keys into a bowl on a marble console and continues walking to a grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time while carrying our travel bags in his left hand. I stare up in awe, especially when I spot the frescoes painted onto the ceiling of the living room. Walking slowly into the room, I run my fingertips over the plush furniture. I pause in front of various paintings, which I can only assume are originals. It’s like being in a museum. Lorenzo’s family owns a museum. I blow out a breath. Sure, I went to a private school in New York City, my dad earns a healthy living, and I’ve never wanted for anything, but this … Lorenzo’s home, his car, his lifestyle is on a whole other level than anything I’ve ever experienced.
The room extends into a smaller space. A study. Thick, wooden bookshelves line the walls, filled from floor to ceiling with books in Italian, English, French, and German. Two leather chairs sit facing a gigantic window that takes up the entire back wall. It overlooks the sea; white foam sprays, leaving lit
tle drops of salt behind. It’s mesmerizing. I walk to the window, placing my fingertips against the cool glass and stare as the sea rolls in and reseeds back.
“Like the view?” A gravelly voice asks from behind me.
I turn and my breath catches in my throat. Lorenzo stands in the doorway, his right forearm bracing the weight of his body against the doorframe.
I swallow thickly. “It’s incredible.”
He nods once, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward me. His light gray sweater hugs his arms and his ripped jeans drag slightly on the ground now that he has traded in his shoes for a pair of slippers. “Make yourself comfortable. What would you like to drink? Wine?”
“Sure,” I say, stumbling into a chair. The leather is broken-in and smooth like velvet. I sink back into the seat and close my eyes.
In the background I can hear Lorenzo at the bar. The clink of the glasses, the pop of a cork leaving a bottle, the rattle of ice. I sense Lorenzo sink into the chair next to me. I open my eyes slowly, my head resting against the cool leather.
He smiles warmly, handing me a glass of red wine. “It’s the same from Angelina’s.”
I nod and take a sip, smacking my lips appreciatively. I sit up straighter in my chair. “Lorenzo …” I have to get this off my chest. Just say it, Mia!
He looks at me expectantly.
“I’m sorry about last weekend. I’m sorry for crying and being a pathetic mess.”
His face softens and he reaches over to brush a kiss against my cheek. My heart beats faster at his close proximity. “You’re not pathetic. Don’t worry about it. We all have rough nights. It sucks that Pete didn’t turn out to be the friend you thought he was.”
“Yeah, well, I’m over it. We still have to do our project together so whatever.” I shrug.
Lorenzo frowns. A vein in his forehead throbs, and he rubs his hand across his face. “You’re still working with him?”
I nod. “Yeah, I don’t really have a choice. I don’t want to make a huge deal out of it. I just want to do the project, get a good grade, you know?” I watch him closely.
He sighs, leaning back and studying me. After a moment, he nods. “Yeah … sure.” He swirls his wine expertly and takes a giant gulp. “Are you hungry?” He changes the subject.
Well, at least that’s over and done with.
“No, I’m okay.”
“Are you sure? You barely ate anything since we left Roma.” He leans forward again, studying my face carefully. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah, I feel fine,” I assure him.
He watches me for a moment longer. “Okay, well I’ll start dinner, and we can eat when you’re hungry. I think you’ll really like it.”
“Can’t wait.” I smile back. Oh God, what is he going to cook?
* * *
Ricotta and Grana Padano Gnocchi. You’ve got to be kidding me!
The aroma of homemade gnocchi and pesto sauce is delicious. The fresh basil is fragrant, and I breathe in deep, enjoying the scent as I set the dining table. Emma would be jumping up and down with pure happiness if any man—even an old and bald one—made her this meal. I feel like puking.
How am I going to get through this dinner? Of course Lorenzo will notice if I don’t eat. Should I fake sick? No, he already asked me if I was feeling okay. Plus, I don’t want to outright lie. I want us to enjoy this weekend together. Ah, why? Why couldn’t he just make salad? Because you aren’t rabbits, Emma’s voice echoes in my head.
“Mia,” Lorenzo calls out. “Almost ready?”
“Yes,” I say, laying the last utensil on the napkin.
“Fantastico.” He smiles, carrying in a big bowl of gnocchi and setting it down in between our plates. “Take a seat.” He gestures to the chair.
I sit at my place and watch with dread as he piles my plate high with gnocchi. “Oh, that’s more than enough,” I say lightly, placing my hand over my plate to stop the next gigantic spoonful of gnocchi.
“You sure?” He frowns. “It’s not a lot.” He gestures to the bowl between us. My serving barely made a dent. He made way too much.
“It’s perfect.” I smile, picking up my fork.
“Okay, would you like some vegetables?” He points to another plate of grilled vegetables.
“I’m good for now.”
He spoons about three times as much gnocchi onto his plate, and I sigh in relief as I watch the gnocchi in the big bowl dwindle. Hopefully, he won’t encourage me to eat seconds.
Lorenzo refills both our wine glasses and holds his glass up to me. “To a fun weekend.”
I smile back. “Thanks for inviting me, Lorenzo. This is all pretty amazing. My friends will be super jealous when I tell them I had dinner at a private museum.”
A dark shadow crosses his face for a moment, and he lowers his chin. He nods curtly. When his eyes meet mine again, they’re clear and he offers me a tight smile. “Buon appetito.”
“Buon appetito,” I respond, wishing he had a dog.
* * *
I eat seven gnocchi. Seven. I feel sick to my stomach, imagining the carbohydrates turning into cellulite on my thighs. Even if I could go back to dancing, it would be too late now that I’ve turned into a complete glutton, eating everything that passes under my nose.
“That was delicious, thanks.” I smile at Lorenzo, placing my fork down next to my plate to indicate that I’m finished eating.
“What? You barely ate anything! You didn’t like it?” he asks, his eyes zeroing in on the leftover gnocchi on my plate. His voice holds a hint of hurt, and I feel badly.
I look down at my plate and shake my head. “It was delicious. I’m just full.”
His eyes narrow. “Really?”
I make a cross over my heart. “Swear it. Thank you for cooking dinner,” I say sincerely.
He nods. “Welcome. Wait till you see what I have for dessert.”
“What?”
He laughs out loud. “You’ll just have to wait till later.” He puts his fork down. “Come with me,” he says, standing and extending his hand. I follow him out of the dining room and down a long hallway. At the end of the hallway, a winding staircase greets us, and I follow Lorenzo down.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Lorenzo
I watch Mia’s expression as she takes in the indoor pool enclosed by stone walls and large windows. A tiny waterfall sits at one end, the water bubbling softly over the natural rocks. Surprise flickers across her face, followed by a smile.
“Wow,” she whispers.
I laugh. I love how easily impressed she is, how much joy she experiences in such simple things. I link my fingers through hers, swinging our arms back and forth. “Want to go in? The water’s warm.”
Her face immediately flushes. “Now?” she asks hesitantly.
“Sure, if you want to.” I smile down at her.
The last time I brought friends here was in June, right before the season really picked up. Caterina, Giulietta, Sandro, Marco, Rosa. We had a great time. I shake my head slightly as memories of Giulietta’s striptease floods my memory; I ended up taking her right under the waterfall. Sandro snorted beer out of his nose when I told him and swore to never swim in the pool again.
This time, being here with Mia, everything is different. For starters because we don’t actually own the home anymore. But it’s more than that, its simpler, quieter, more relaxed. Everything is more real, genuine, in her company. Gone are the loud parties with bumping music and too much Campari. With Mia’s hand clasped in my own, it just feels right. No more having to put on a show.
Well, except for the party tomorrow night to draw out Benito. That’s out of necessity, not boredom. A very different motivating factor.
I tug her closer to the water’s edge.
“Don’t push me in,” she whispers, a hint of fear laced in her words.
I look down at her appalled. “I would never push you in.” Who the fuck would do something like that? She’s fully clothed.
<
br /> “Okay.”
“So…” I unlink our hands and pull my sweater up over my head “…want to go in?”
Her eyes widen slightly and track my hands, watching as I unbutton the top of my jeans.
“Uh, I don’t have a bathing suit,” she says uncertainly.
I want to laugh. God, she’s so sweet. I don’t want to embarrass her, so I shake my head instead. “You don’t need one.” I unzip my jeans and let them fall around my ankles before stepping out of them and kicking them to the side. I stand before her in my blue Armani boxer briefs and watch the blush work up her neck, spreading over her cheeks as she checks me out. Her gaze lingers over my tattoo, takes in my pierced nipples, but she doesn’t say anything. Damn, I want to kiss her.
Who knew innocence could be such a turn-on?
“Your turn.” I smile at her standing before me in multiple layers, the top one being a heavily crocheted sweater.
“Um …” She stutters again, her fingers playing with the ends of her sleeves. She’s unsure. That’s fine.
“I won’t even look,” I tell her, diving into the pool neatly. I swim to the waterfall and come up for air, making sure I keep my back to her.
After several moments, I hear a tiny splash as she enters the pool. I wait until she swims the length of the pool and is standing next to me before turning to meet her gaze.
And when I do, I groan inwardly. Because sweet Mia is sexy as sin.
Chapter Forty
Mia
Skinny-dipping? Really? I want to die. I grimace as I can only imagine Emma and Lila cheering me on in this moment and Maura laughing hysterically at my predicament. Tall, dark, and handsomes. Living in the moment. Being present in the present. Adventure. Travel. Having fun.
I can do this.
If I’m being honest, I want to do this.
I want to do everything with Lorenzo.
Jeez, he has pierced nipples! What am I supposed to do with that?