L'amore: The Luminara Series

by SJ Molloy

  I try to convince Devon I’ll just get a taxi home, but he’s not flinching, so I explain it will be a late night. He nods and parks in Jess’s driveway, reaching for an e-reader device from the glove compartment.

  Happy reading, it’s going to be a long night.

  I do feel a bit bad he’s going to be left for a long time outside in the vehicle. Before exiting, I thank him in barely a whisper. I’m not sure he even heard me.

  The rest of the girls arrive refreshed after our cocktails last night. Oblivious to my rift with Lucca, they’re exceptionally appreciative for last night’s generosity and together have got him a little gift and signed a thank you card which makes my heart melt.

  Smart cuff links for his suits. Jessica purchased them today, but it’s from all of the girls. I need to dam the bubbling tears about to flood and clamp my quivering lip in a firm line at their gesture. They are so considerate and I love them all dearly.

  The tears are there flooding my eyes, but I’m conscious not to ruin their night, so we group hug when they see me emotional. Right now, I cherish my friends, and the love I feel for Lucca is consuming, which is why I’m even sadder about last night.

  They’ve all brought a change of clothes. Changing into our dresses, we drink two large glasses of wine while waiting on the taxi. Jess leaves the TV, music, and lights on for safe measure.

  “Ready?” Carrie asks.

  “Yes, let’s just go before I change my mind,” I reply. I’m a grown woman and am supposed to be mature and sensible, yet I feel irresponsible, selfish, and childish doing this.

  “You are one sexy chick. You look better than a million dollars. Seriously stunning, Lex,” Sam says, running her hand over my dress.

  “She’s right, you’re going to stop traffic, sexy Lexi,” Lucy adds, admiring my new designer look.

  Blushing at their compliments has me thinking of the day Lucca nearly had an aneurism when I wore this outfit at the Four Seasons Hotel in Florence. It’s very sexy and just what I need to boost my depreciating confidence today.

  The taxi drops us off at BarAsta, an exclusive cocktail bar and club in Glasgow with private membership only access. One of the many perks of being the future Mrs. Caruso has proven useful. We’re shown to a private booth area surrounded by silver and crystal chains hanging from the ceiling, acting as a decorative but shielding curtain, and we’re surrounded by tall, exotic flowers in large shapely vases. It’s very pretty.

  The bar is starting to fill with many recognisable socialites; it’s rather pretentious, but the girls love it, so I go along with their optimistic excitement and pretend I’m enjoying myself. Determined to stay upbeat for them, I join in on their girly fun despite my stomach churning for Lucca and the nagging ache from my throbbing ankle. I thought tonight would help me forget, but I can’t seem to get him out of my mind.

  I’ve opted to stay with Southern Comfort as opposed to cocktails tonight. It’s the most sensible option having had my fill of cocktails last night. The girls squeal and bounce out of their chairs to dance when their favourite R&B club remix blasts from the speakers.

  Using this opportunity to boycott the ass shaking, I make my escape to use the restrooms. Wincing as I stand in my heels, I bite the inside of my cheek, put my clutch under my arm, and signal to the girls that I’m going to the bathroom.

  Shambling past the huge centre oval bar, I’m conscious of people staring at me. The hungry eyes of men linger on me, while the women on their arms are rapacious with their beady eyes like intimidating predators. Keeping my head straight, I try to ignore the sleazy glances from a group of business men at an exposed raised glass table in front of a glass and water screen.

  I hobble through this futuristic maze, past the ornamental sculptures, hanging screens of silver beaded chains, and full-length glass panels with water flowing inside. These waterfall panels conceal more private booths. The screens I like; they’re very swish. As I weave through, I’m camouflaged and given privacy from prying eyes. I like that even more.

  It’s easy to make out shapes, colours, and body outlines through the opaque panels, but they do act as a great cover-up from the painful anguish evident on my face. Right now, I regret stepping out in this sexy little dress with the attention it’s drawing, and walking in these heels is proving very difficult which adds to my discomfort. I should have brought a pair of flats to change into.

  Exiting the restroom, I notice the bar has become more populated and is much busier with minimal empty spaces between the suspended silver curtains and glass panels. I suppose the temporary mask between these dividers was short lived. When I get back to the table, I plan on kicking these shoes off and not moving again tonight.

  I’m unnerved with an image of someone I think I see in my peripheral vision exiting a booth in the corner, but it’s difficult to be sure under the hazy mask from behind these screens. Maybe I’m paranoid, but then I’m sure I’m right. Another glance.

  Fuck!

  File C for confirmative. Confirmative intruder. Yes I’m positive.

  Shit.

  Oh God. Not here, not now. Why oh why?

  Taking two more unsteady steps, I’m conscious I need to discreetly fade into the crowd behind the partitions before I’m seen. My heart hammering against my chest causes me to fluster and stumble on my sore ankle. I lose balance and I’m about to topple over when a pair of muscular hands wrap around my waist pulling me back up and turning me around.

  A sexy male voice says, “Falling again? It really is your specialty, Alexis.”

  Jackson.

  Oh dear Lord.

  “Thank you, Jackson, for once again helping me in my klutziness.” I purse my lips and blush.

  He looks sexy, smart, and handsome. His rich chocolaty eyes have doubled in size, literally staring at me, all of me, head to toe.

  “You look absolutely stunning. You are simply beautiful. You always are, Alexis, but Jesus you’re hot shit tonight. I like your dress it’s um … very … nice.” He smiles his photogenic smile, smouldering in a tailored suit, shirt, and tie.

  His brown hair is styled in male model fashion. His coffee brown eyes are rich and dark and he smells divine. He’s not as sexy or handsome as Lucca, not even close, but he’s undoubtedly attractive, and I notice it more tonight because he’s smartly dressed and well groomed.

  Fuck!

  File W for worst. Worst fiancée in the world having inappropriate thoughts.

  “Thank you,” I reply. His hands are still wrapped around my waist, and it’s not lost on me that he hasn’t let go.

  “How’s the ankle? Should you be wearing those killer heels? Sexy but not very practical.”

  “Truthfully, it’s killing me. I can barely walk in them and they need to come off.” He frowns then instantly scoops me up and walks towards one of the private booths behind a glass panel of running water. He places me down on a white leather sofa and slips my shoes off.

  Again, impressing me with his chivalry. Fuckity-fuck!

  It’s heaven to wiggle and rotate my ankle. “Thank you, but you realise they won’t go back on now?” I sigh, but he laughs.

  “Well, looks as if you’re in a bother then.” I manage a pitiful laugh despite my humiliation and feeling sorry for myself. “Is everything okay? I mean, other than the ankle? You just seem very … distracted.” Sounding more sincere, he leans back on the sofa, undoes his tie and top button of his shirt, then throws his tie on the glass oval table in front of us.

  Please don’t. Too friggin sexy.

  “That’s better. I hate those fucking things.”

  I smile at his honestly, and he has a way of making me feel more relaxed.

  “Yes, I just saw someone whom I’d rather not have the pleasure of a confrontation with this evening, so I panicked to get away,” I confess.

  “Hmmm, so you’re trying to hide?”

  “You could say that, yes.”

  “I saw you come in with your friends. Where’s Lucca?” he ask
s. I need to let the girls know where I am, they will come looking for me.

  Just the mention of Lucca’s has me anxious. I’m pining so much for him, missing him terribly, and feel guilty for ignoring his calls. I wish he was back and I knew what the hell was going on with him. I need his arms wrapped around me. I want him close to me. I’m still infuriated, but I’m vulnerable and I want him with me even more than ever.

  Sighing, I explain. “Lucca isn’t back until tomorrow. The girls have brought me out to cheer me up.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “I’ve got 24-7 security, two bloody bodyguards suffocating me, so the girls helped me sneak out. Please don’t tell Cameron though.” I chew the inside of my cheek.

  Jackson bursts into a fit of laughter with a coy cheeky smirk framing his sexy lips.

  “So you’re on the run?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh dear. I’ve got round the clock bodyguards too. Although, you wouldn’t know it; they’re very discreet. They’re here with me as we had a press conference earlier, but I’m so used to it now. I just go about my business. I’ve no choice. I need to have them. They’re not so bad.”

  Being a celebrity I suppose he does warrant protection, but it’s ridiculous that I would need them. He watches me form a spiritless smile, unconvinced.

  “Hold on, I’ll be back in a minute.” He moves out of the private booth to the other end of the glass panel, but now I can’t see him as it acts as a complete concealed wall of water. Odd, I never noticed the water before. It just looked like opaque glass.

  He’s only away a moment then returns. “I’ve asked for a message to be sent to your friends to let them know you’re here and you’re good.” Gratefully, I shrug and smile.

  “Thank you.”

  “Okay, would you like a drink? And you can tell me why you need protection.”

  Is he serious?

  I wasn’t planning on staying here, but I’m not exactly walking anywhere just yet—unless I go barefoot—and I do want to keep hidden until my worst nightmare has left the vicinity. Lucca would be furious with me if he knew I was out without Men in Black, and alone with Jackson. Although, it’s all completely innocent.

  I hope everything with Lucca last night was completely innocent, but then the fire burns in my stomach with worry again. Meeting his hopeful eyes, I compulsively reply, “Yes, a drink would be lovely, thank you.” He smiles then strolls out the booth and returns with a bottle of expensive champagne in an ice bucket and one champagne flute.

  “You’re not having any?” I ask. He shakes his head, disappears again, and returns with a jug of iced water and two glasses.

  “I’m training tomorrow. I can’t drink alcohol.”

  “Oh.” Dear Lord.

  I’ll be sitting here like a drunken idiot and he’ll be sober, and I’ll say things that later I wish I had kept filed in the mental library.

  The cold champagne is lovely and easy on the palate. I feel much more relaxed when the bubbles start going to my head and try to forget all about my worldly worries. Jackson and I talk about properties and Lucca’s empire, my friends, his family, his career. I could easily be sitting talking to Cameron, Dominic, Steve, or Justin—the girls’ partners.

  Our conversations have been refreshing and very down to earth. Not awkward or uncomfortable. Easy, actually.

  Excusing myself, I stand to go to the bathroom and with the alcohol overtaking my rationality; I intend to hobble barefoot as I have no choice. Taking a few steps, Jackson sweeps me up and carries me. “You might step on glass. I’ll wait outside for you,” he says.

  I’m too sore and tipsy to protest. One of his bodyguards watches us from outside the booth then moves over to stand next to him. He places me down in front of the bathroom. Thanking him, I smooth out the bottom of my dress then go inside. Exiting after quickly drying my hands, he’s waiting on me and sweeps me off my feet again before the door even closes.

  He only manages to get two long strides towards the booth when flashing lights stop him in his track and he tilts his head downwards and turns around. Someone is taking photographs of us.

  Oh shit.

  Gasping, I instinctively close my eyes, turning my head away, covering my face with my hair. His body tenses at being photographed, yet he still doesn’t put me down. I can’t look up. I’m too ashamed but his bodyguard has intervened and confiscated the phone from the person taking the pictures. The flash is a trigger for my anxiety and sends me into a panic, my worst fears resurrected. Being photographed. Hazel must be walking towards the bathroom or coming to get me and stops in her tracks to witness the whole thing because I can hear her squawking.

  “What the hell is going on?” Hazel screeches.

  It’s the voice objecting and whining about the phone that penetrates through me, turning my stomach and forcing me to pry my eyes wide open. I’m angry and in no way surprised.

  “Does Lucca know you’re whoring about with a footballer behind his back? I’m sure he’d love this. I knew you were a dishonest little slut.”

  Kimberley!

  Stunned.

  Shocked.

  Soured.

  “That’s enough,” Jackson snaps.

  “Kimberley, I have nothing to say to you.” I can almost taste blood because I’ve bitten my inside lip so hard with rage.

  The bodyguard grabs her arm pulling her into the booth we were using to avoid unwanted attention. Jackson follows him in and sets me on the sofa, and Hazel also joins us, standing next to me with hand on hip.

  “Please leave. I don’t want to speak to you,” I say to Kimberley.

  “You heard the good lady, if you do not go, we will escort you off the premises.” I’m now thankful for the intervention and assistance from security in moments like this.

  “Not until we have a little chat.” She is smarmy and devious, even her deceitful voice sickens me.

  “I’ve nothing I want to say to you Kimberley.” My tone scathing.

  “You heard her, Kimberley, why don’t you just piss off. No one likes you and you’re like a fucking rash we can’t get rid of,” Hazel adds.

  “You’re worried because I’ve caught you cheating on Lucca?” She scoffs pointing at me, completely ignoring Hazel.

  I’m ablaze with fury and heat and intend to lash back at her. I’m not taking any of her nonsense. I’m so enraged that I could spit venom on her and singe her with it too.

  “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re saying. I’m not cheating on Lucca, and I never would. Jackson happens to be a friend, and he’s carrying me because I have an ankle injury. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “I knew it all along. You’re just a money grabbing slut. Now you’re after his money too and apparently fame. Typical. Lucca doesn’t deserve this.” She lifts her chin and flicks her hair over her shoulder.

  I practically jump up out my seat ready to launch myself at her until Hazel and Jackson both grab an arm holding me back. “You’re an evil, spiteful, jealous little girl, Kimberley. I don’t appreciate your fucking meddling in our lives. I’ve had to have twenty-four hour security protection because of you and your petulant sinister twisted fucking games. You’ll never get away with it, and Lucca will make sure your resume will be so tarnished you’ll never get another decent job!” I shout.

  “Is that what he told you? I happen to know different.” She smirks then laughs. I want to wipe that smirk right off her face.

  My body temperature rises, my head pounds, and my heart thunders out of control. She’s lying to provoke me. Jesus, I don’t think I can hold back.

  Blazing.

  Hot blistering fire.

  Deep inside.

  “Kimberley, you’ve got three fucking seconds before I drag you out myself!” Hazel barks.

  “Alright, you asked for it. I’ve done some meddling, and it turns out your past has come back to haunt you. I don’t need to waste my time hating you because apparently I’m not the only one who de
spises you.” She smiles, being very aloof.

  “I don’t have time for your shit,” I hiss. Pulling my arms free and shaking my head, I pick my clutch up and my shoes in the other hand and turn to leave.

  “Does the name Michael Parks mean anything to you?” I freeze, completely shocked, offended, and scandalised she even knows about him. I almost choke, holding my breath far too long.

  No words.

  No words.

  No words.

  “It appears he’s got unfinished business and is in the UK, looking for you coincidently.” She smacks her bitchy lips satisfied with her attempt to break me.

  She has.

  I’m broken.

  “You fucking lying little bitch,” Hazel spits. Losing all sense of awareness, the blood rushes from my head. I can’t take it. I can’t process it. I can’t breathe.

  Air, air, need air.

  “Why do you think you need security? He’s back to harm you. To take you or something. I don’t fucking know why, but I know that’s why you have security. I’m the least of your worries.” She speaks fast, trying to get her piece in before she’s thrown out. I haven’t turned around but I sense her approach me, she puts her hand on my shoulder to get my attention before someone drags her sorry ass back.

  Hazel.

  Time seems to stand still; the quarrelling chaos behind me is nothing but a muffled echo which I’ve zoned out of. The shock has traumatised me. Blood thrums in my ears, jaw slack and eyes glossed over.

  Staggering out of the booth in slow motion, barely breathing, I think I’m hallucinating when familiar azure blue eyes are drawing me closer amidst the bustling crowds. Seizing me. Owning me. Lucca’s azure blue eyes have locked on me. He’s sprinting towards me.

  Is it him?

  It can’t be.

  I want it to be him.

  I need it to be him.