by T. K. Leigh
“So…” I cleared my throat. “If you claim to be such an expert on reading people without so much as having any sort of discussion, tell me what you think you know about me.”
He pinched his chin, his fervent gaze disarming. I couldn’t help but feel he was able to strip away all the layers and see me for who I really was, even though I wasn’t quite sure who that was myself. I raised my glass to my lips, swirling the wine around my mouth.
“You’re sheltered,” he said after much thought. “You’ve been living in the shadows for so long, you’re unsure of whether you’re doing the right thing by breaking the chains that have kept you bound for years…and not the good kind of chains,” he added with a lascivious wink. “You were scared to get on this plane back in Los Angeles, but you were even more scared to stay.” He lifted a brow.
My jaw grew slack at his astute assessment. I wondered if he’d been watching me since I arrived at the gate, nervously pacing, debating whether I should even board the plane.
“Am I right?”
I straightened my spine, as I always did to make it appear I wasn’t intimidated. It often worked against my opponent in the courtroom or during negotiations.
“That couldn’t be further from the truth,” I responded in a strong voice, avoiding Dante’s eyes. This man was a stranger, yet he saw me with more clarity than anyone else in my life ever had.
How was that possible?
Chapter Two
I raked my fingers through thick, dark hair, my mind a complete blank as I reveled in the toe-curling sensation of this breathtaking, mysterious man moving on top of me with such expertise, as if his body was made for the sole purpose of bringing me unmatched pleasure. I had no idea what transpired that led us to sharing a bed. Hell, I could barely even remember getting into the chauffeured car I’d arranged to bring me to my luxury hotel high atop a hill overlooking the Vatican and St. Peter’s Basilica. The entire day was a blur…except for the electric current flooding my veins from the feel of Dante’s hands in my hands, his skin on my skin, his lips bruising my lips.
I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist, wanting to feel everything. I needed it harder, deeper, fuller. This was precisely how I’d imagined sex was supposed to be. It was spontaneous. It was passionate. It was wild.
Sweat formed on my brow as my motions became more hurried, the edge within sight. I closed my eyes, tuning out everything except what I was feeling. And for the first time since I could remember, I was feeling. I felt bliss, comfort, ease…happiness. Everything that had evaded me for years as I tried to be the perfect daughter, the perfect girlfriend, the perfect lawyer. I bid farewell to that woman the second I stepped foot on that Boeing 777. All the worry and trepidation I’d made the wrong decision disappeared as I relished in the feel of a stranger giving me everything I never knew I always craved.
“Don’t fight it, amore mio,” his husky voice groaned through heavy breaths.
I dug my nails into the skin of his muscular back just as he nibbled on my earlobe, setting me off.
“Dante!” I screamed. Waves of ecstasy enveloped me, making me shake and writhe.
I opened my eyes, expecting to stare into deep pools of lust and desire. My breath hitched, confusion flooding through me when I was met with an empty bed.
Frozen, I took account of everything. “It was a dream?” I murmured, trying to slow my racing heart. I’d never had a sex dream before. It felt so real…right down to the tingly sensation still rolling over my body. I had an orgasm because of a dream. Because of a dream about a man I barely knew who I’d never see again.
I briefly closed my eyes, taking a minute to collect my thoughts and try to return to reality. When I reopened them, I checked my watch. It was about ten in the morning in Los Angeles, which meant it was seven in the evening in Rome. I stretched, unsure how I could still be as tired as I felt, my mind still cloudy about how I’d gotten from the airport to my hotel.
As my brain slowly became more alert, the events of earlier trickled back. After the plane landed, I’d made my way through customs, inwardly hoping to run into my new acquaintance, but I hadn’t. I shouldn’t have cared, shouldn’t have even been seeking him out, but there was something about him that intrigued me. During the thirty-minute ride to the hotel, I couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said to me, how he seemed to know me better than my parents and even the person I was supposed to marry.
Sitting up in one of the most comfortable beds imaginable, I flung my legs over the side and switched on a lamp. I looked down, noticing I was only wearing my bra and panties. The rest of my clothes were strewn on the floor. Seeing them brought a smile to my face. It was such a small thing, but I never would have been able to leave them so haphazardly if Brock were here with me. He would have demanded I fold them neatly and put them in one of the dresser drawers. He had been a stickler for order and neatness. I supposed I was, too, but in a different way. I was organized without being obsessive about it. Brock turned being tidy into an Olympic event.
“Enough, Ellie,” I said, giving myself a pep talk. “That part of your life is over.”
I padded across the floor, stepping around the room service cart left over from the lunch I’d ordered before succumbing to jet lag. Pulling on a robe containing the hotel’s insignia, I drew open the curtains in front of the large sliding glass doors. I was instantly caught breathless at the view. I opened the door and emerged onto the balcony of my eighth-floor room.
Inhaling, the smell of flowers in bloom invaded my senses. The temperature was warm with a bit more humidity than I was accustomed to living in Southern California. The sun was beginning to set, the sky an orange hue. I leaned on the railing, gazing at the spectacular view of St. Peter’s Basilica, the sun reflecting off the dome.
I released a long, contented sigh, in total awe of my surroundings. The history. The beauty. The art. It hadn’t struck me until this moment. I was in Rome. Rome. Birthplace of amazing artists, musicians, thinkers. Home of the Sistine Chapel, the Colosseum, the Spanish Steps. I felt like I was worlds away, like I was watching a movie of someone else’s life. Perhaps that was all I had been doing the past twenty-eight years. Maybe I’d simply been watching someone else’s story. Maybe today was the day my story finally began.
It took being free of all those restraints to see how sheltered I’d allowed myself to be. I’d always thought I was a strong, independent woman, and I supposed I was…to an extent. I had no problem standing up to my opponent across the aisle of the courtroom or in a negotiation. But when it came to my personal life, I’d never pushed the boundaries that had been constructed for me since the day I was born.
Never again.
Glancing down at my hands, the diamond on my ring finger seemed so out of place now. It felt like it weighed hundreds of pounds instead of a few ounces. Resolved, I slid the inordinate ring off my hand for the first time in years, a burden instantly lifting. I formed a fist around it, squeezing it with every bit of strength I possessed. I didn’t care about this ring anymore. Everything I thought it symbolized had been proven to be fake. Reeling back, I chucked it as far as I could, catching a glimpse of the sunlight hitting the stone as it disappeared into a bunch of trees and shrubbery.
Feeling infinitely lighter, I retreated into my hotel room, wanting to wash the past few days off me, then go experience Rome at night. Opening my suitcase, I went about unpacking all my clothes. I studied the items I’d brought with me, scowling. Three-inch heels. Pencil skirts. Silk blouses. Not much suitable for sightseeing and walking around town. I’d been so used to accompanying Brock on trips for his work, I must have been on autopilot when I packed this bag, taking the clothes he’d expect me to wear when meeting with potential donors, constituents, and fellow congressmen. I had a feeling a shopping trip was scheduled in the very near future.
Pulling my toiletry bag out of my suitcase, I carried it into the exquisite bathroom. I set it on the marble counter, then headed toward the oversized sp
a tub, turning on the water and jets. As it filled, I went about organizing my things. When I finished, my eyes fell on my cell phone at the bottom of my bag. I’d powered it down before the plane took off and hadn’t switched it back on, not wanting to be inundated with all the messages and texts from everyone probably trying to reach me — my mom, my dad…Brock. Part of me wanted to keep it turned off until I landed back on American soil, but it wasn’t an option. Mila had stuck her neck out for me. At the very least, I needed to assure her I’d landed safely and was still alive.
Turning off the water, I stepped into the bath, leaning my head back against the ceramic. I released a long sigh, the warmth of the water relieving all the tension in my body. I reached for my cell and powered it on. After a few seconds, my home screen appeared. As I suspected, dozens of texts and voicemail alerts popped up. Many were from Brock, probably throwing a tantrum of epic proportions, but there were also quite a few from his parents, my parents, and even one from the senior partner at the law firm. The only one who hadn’t reached out to me was Mila. She had no reason to. She knew exactly where I was.
I opened the contacts on my phone and called her, listening as the line rang. I wondered how big of a shitstorm she had to deal with over the past eighteen hours.
“Ellie!” she answered on the second ring. “There you are!” Her voice was relieved…maybe even happy.
“Mila,” I breathed. It felt so good to hear her voice.
“How is it?”
“What? Italy?”
“Of course, Italy! What else would I be talking about? What have you been doing? See anything old yet?”
“This whole city is old.” I laughed, the familiarity of joking with one of my dearest friends comforting me in a world that seemed to be turned upside down in a matter of hours. “I landed around eleven this morning, but after customs and all that, I didn’t get to the hotel until after one. I ate lunch, then passed out from exhaustion. Now I’m having a nice soak in the tub before heading out.” I exhaled a long breath. “Mila, I can see St. Peter’s Basilica from my room. It’s just…” I shook my head. I didn’t even have words.
“I know, Ellie. Remarkable, isn’t it?”
“It’s exactly what I needed. I’m still not sure how you knew this was the perfect place for me.”
“Because it came to me in a vision.”
I rolled my eyes. Most of my acquaintances didn’t understand my friendship with Mila, including my parents and Brock. They didn’t exactly approve of her, mainly because she didn’t come from a wealthy or powerful family. We’d met during sixth grade when my father was trying to appear more relatable and sent me to public school for the first time. It was the best thing that ever happened to me, although I didn’t think so at the time. Mila had just moved to town. Being the two new kids at school, we’d formed a bond. Over the years, that bond strengthened.
“You deserve this after everything you’ve been through the past few years with Brock the Cock,” her voice cut through.
“Speaking of which.” I swallowed hard, my hands trembling slightly. “How was the fallout?”
There was a brief pause. “Just as we suspected it would be…for the most part.”
“For the most part? What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to explain,” she replied thoughtfully. “It all went as you asked. I told everyone you didn’t want to be disturbed while you got ready. Miraculously, they all bought it.” I could picture her rolling her eyes. “When you didn’t appear for the processional, I went to supposedly check on you.”
“And?”
“When Brock learned you’d stood him up, I thought he’d be angry…but he wasn’t.”
“Well, he probably realized he shouldn’t have fucked his secretary two days before we were to be married,” I shot back.
“I don’t know, Ellie.” Her voice was filled with unease. “If I didn’t know how he is, I’d probably be inclined to agree, but something was off. He had this kind of…strange look on his face. It was borderline creepy. Sinister maybe. I don’t know. It rubbed me the wrong way.”
“Brock’s always rubbed you the wrong way,” I reminded her.
“And I was right about everything, wasn’t I?”
“If you want to say ‘I told you so’, go on and say it, Mila.”
“People say that shit when they take pride in it. I can’t do that here.” Her voice lowered. “My being right means my best friend is hurting. I really didn’t want to be right this time.”
“It’s okay,” I assured her with a heavy sigh. “I’m okay.” It felt strange to say those words. You’d think, after walking away from the only life I’d ever known, there would be some regret, some remorse, some fear. Perhaps there was at first, but now that I was here, in Italy, I didn’t feel any of those things. Maybe I would when I finally returned home to whatever pieces of my life were left, but I didn’t right now. That was all that mattered.
“So, what’s first on Ellie’s Freedom Tour of Italy?” Mila’s voice turned playful once more.
I propped my leg on the ceramic of the tub, sinking against the jets massaging my back. At this moment, I would have been content to stay in this position the length of my time here.
“I’ll probably go find something to eat, then maybe see the Trevi Fountain at night. I hear it’s supposed to be gorgeous.”
“Just be careful. And promise me you’ll have a little fun while you’re there.”
“I am having fun,” I insisted.
“An evening out touring some old ruins sounds like a raging good time,” she scoffed. “Darling, you’re twenty-eight. That douchecanoe stole most of your twenties. And your parents stole your younger years. You’re finally free from all that. Live a little. Find some really hot Italian guy and have some really hot Italian sex.”
I swallowed hard, remaining silent as the dream came rushing back, the memories of Dante’s mysterious and erotic eyes making my skin flame, my fingers aching to reach out and run through his disheveled hair.
“Ellie? You still there?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” I shook it off, my voice becoming firm once more. “I don’t think hot Italian sex will help anything.”
“You’re the one who told me you wanted to erase Brock Kennedy Harrison from your life. You deserve to have some fun, and that includes between the sheets.”
“I don’t need to sleep with someone to have fun,” I insisted, although my words lacked any conviction. I fantasized about what Dante would do to me if he were in this very bathtub. I tried to shove those inappropriate thoughts below, where they belonged.
“After everything that asshole put you through, I think you do, Ellie. You need to open your eyes and see that nothing about Brock was normal. That most men make sure their partner feels just as good as they do. They don’t use their girl’s vagina to get off, then immediately leave to take a shower.”
“He liked being clean. He’s always had this thing with germs.”
“You need to find a man who will go down on you, who will give you a fucking orgasm. How you’ve described sex with him doesn’t qualify. He was pretty much just using you to masturbate. There needs to be some sort of mutual consideration in intimacy.”
“That may be true,” I conceded. “But I’m only here for ten days. I doubt that’s enough time to meet someone, then ask him to screw me.”
I could just imagine the smile on her face at the thought I was considering her idea. Mila was a very open woman. I’d listened to her stories about the guys she’d dated. After sleeping with Brock the first time, I couldn’t help but think Mila had grossly embellished the stories about her own bedroom escapades.
I didn’t exactly grow up with affectionate parents. I couldn’t recall them ever kissing each other, or even passing a loving touch. The only contact I’d ever seen between them was at public events where they would hold hands, which was probably more for higher approval ratings than because they actually cared about each other.
When Bro
ck and I began dating, I never felt anything was lacking from our relationship. I thought the fairy-tale version of romance was simply that…a fairy tale. But as more and more of my friends fell in love and got married, Mila included, I wondered if maybe I had it all wrong. Maybe there was such a thing as a fairy-tale, head-over-heels, can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t breathe love.
“You’ll be surprised what can happen in just ten days, Ellie.”
Chapter Three
Later that evening, my cab came to a stop in front of a restaurant the concierge at the hotel had recommended…a place named Inferno. I nearly choked, instantly reminded of Dante once more. It was like the universe didn’t want me to forget him.
A valet attendant strode toward the car, opening the door. I stepped onto the cobblestone sidewalk, staring at the façade, the architecture in that typical Roman style…cream stone, magnificent arched windows and doorways, exquisite columns by the entrance.
Heading toward the mirrored glass doors, I stopped in my tracks, the reflection looking back momentarily taking me by surprise. Instead of caking on layers of makeup, I wore just a hint of blush and powder on my face, a thin line of pencil around my eyes bringing out the hazel shade. For the first time I could remember, I hadn’t gone through the laborious process of straightening my blonde hair. Instead, I’d allowed the waves to cascade to my mid-back.
As I surveyed my new attire, courtesy of a charming boutique in the lobby of my hotel — skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder flowing white tunic top, coupled with a pair of wedge sandals that added about two more inches to my five-foot, six-inch height — I struggled to control the smile spreading across my face. I never would have been able to go out in public looking like this before. I no longer had anyone to tell me how to style my hair, how to apply my makeup, what clothes to wear. The world was at my fingertips, and I was going to enjoy the opportunity for however long it lasted.