by Holly Rayner
After a moment, Luca says, “I have learned one thing over the years, though. Mistakes can be fixed. It’s never too late to right a wrong.”
His statement settles between us, calming my nerves even more than the sugary carbs I’m eating. Maybe Luca is right. What I’ve done isn’t beyond fixing. After all, Derek does not even know that I took the money yet. Even if he found out, I could say it was a mistake. Maybe I could tell him that I tried to transfer ten dollars, for coffee that I purchased on my own card, but I typed in too many zeros by mistake.
Way too many zeros.
My head is spinning. I tell myself that I don’t need to figure this out right now. This isn’t a time for making any big decisions. I’ve done enough of that over the past few days. Right now, I just need to try to clear my head, relax, and enjoy the good company I’m keeping.
We eat in silence for a few minutes, and I attempt to focus only on the sweet dessert, the refreshing wine, and the sensation of sitting so very close to my handsome new friend.
I get the distinct feeling that Luca is enjoying my company as much as I’m enjoying his.
As the minutes pass, the golden sun sinks lower in the lavender sky.
“Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful sunset,” Luca says. “We’ve had a few days of rain, but tonight is going to be warm and clear.”
“I can’t believe the sun is already going down,” I say. “My internal clock is completely out of whack. I feel like it’s about noon. On top of that, I just had a nap, so I sort of feel like I’m just getting my day started.”
I lift my arms and stretch and sense Luca’s gaze drift over my body. A tingle of pleasure flits through me.
“I have an idea,” Luca says as he reaches for my now empty wine glass and begins filling it. “Let’s have one more glass of wine here, and then I’ll show you some of the city. I know the perfect place for watching the sunset—the Michel de Soult bridge, which is just a few blocks to the east. Then I can show you around for the rest of the night. What do you think?”
I lift my glass and grin as I bring it to my lips. “That sounds absolutely perfect,” I say.
An hour and plenty of laughs later, I feel more relaxed around Luca. He pays our bill and then leads me down a series of winding streets, each more beautiful and quaint than the last.
I feel like I’m walking through a picture postcard of a European town as we walk past historic buildings, beautiful gardens, riverside parks, and antique stone bridges. The spot Luca had in mind—a little lookout alcove on a long, curving bridge made of white stone and decorative iron—is indeed the perfect place for watching the sunset.
I snap several photographs of the sun as it slips below the river and cityscape, but most of my focus is on the feel of Luca as he stands next to me, leaning against the bridge’s railing. I can feel his hip, in the place where it is ever so slightly brushing against me. Just as the sun finally dips below the horizon, he reaches for my hand.
The warmth of his skin against mine threatens to make my heart stop. I feel electricity passing between us as he leads me out of the little alcove, and back onto the pedestrian portion of the bridge. Holding hands with him feels so right. My fingers seem to weave effortlessly between his. The heat of our palms, touching, is welcome warmth as the March evening air cools.
I become lost in the sensation of Luca’s hand in mine.
The city passes in a blur as we wander down several more streets. Luca pulls me gently to the right, toward an unmarked door. The door is painted green, but there is no signage on it. After he knocks, the door opens to reveal a warm and welcoming interior, bubbling with music, laughter and glittery, inviting lighting.
We walk through two small lounge rooms, Luca still leading me by the hand. Finally, we arrive in a dimly lit room filled with candlelit tables, a small dance floor, and a live band. A pianist’s fingers fly across ivory keys as a woman in a slinky red dress sings enchanting vocals. I catch sight of a saxophone player and a woman with a violin, though they’re not playing at the moment. Several couples slow-dance on a small dance floor in front of the stage.
Luca leads me to a seat, and I take in the unexpected environment happily as he orders drinks for us.
“What do you think?” he asks once the order is placed.
“I would never have guessed that such a magical little spot was inside such a drab building,” I say. “I didn’t even see a sign outside.”
Luca winks. “You’re getting the insider’s tour tonight, Phoebe. Not many people know about this little club, but I love it. I’ve seen some of the best live music of my life here within these walls.”
“And I think I stumbled upon the best tour guide in the country,” I say with a grin.
“I don’t like to brag, but I am in high demand,” Luca says, playfully buffing the front of his nails against his T-shirt before blowing on them. “Luckily, you caught me on a night when I didn’t have another tour lined up.”
I laugh again and then say, “You’re not really a tour guide, are you?”
I think he’s joking, but part of me wonders if showing tourists around the city really is his line of work. After all, he seems to know the location of all of the hidden gems that these winding streets have to offer.
He grins. “No, I’m not,” he says. “I do think it would be fun, though. I’d have one of those little boats that glides along the canals. I could give pretty visitors like you rides in my water taxi and point out all of the sites.”
It’s the first time he’s called me pretty, and I find that I’m flattered. I’ve sensed his attraction to me, but this is the first time he’s verbalized it. I feel like he’s a magnet, pulling me toward him. My attraction to him isn’t one-sided. He’s attracted to me, too.
I meet his eye, and unspoken words flow between us. A tugging sensation in my gut alerts me to the fact that Luca wants me—just as badly as I want him.
The waiter arrives with our drinks, and I find that the distraction is welcome. The tension between Luca and I is almost too much to bear. It’s overloading my circuits. I need to douse my nervous system with water.
Or, a sip of this gin and tonic.
I take a sip, and it helps to cool my nerves. I set the glass down and say, “So you aspire to be a water-taxi driver I see.”
He laughs. “Everyone has to dream.”
I giggle. “What do you do, now?” I ask. “I mean while you’re pursuing your dream of giving rides to pretty tourists.”
“Well, for the time being I actually run an outreach center.” His tone becomes more serious, and he moves his drink, turning it slowly in his hands so that it slides on top of the little cocktail napkin. “Actually, it’s not just a job for me. It’s a calling. I help the nation’s troubled youth. I have challenging days—days that make me dream about a less stressful line of work.” He grins. “But for the most part, I love it.”
He lifts his drink and sips thoughtfully. “There are some kids that just need a little bit of extra help. They need someone to care. One simple, genuine conversation or two can make a massive difference in a teen’s life. It can prevent them from doing things that they might regret for the rest of their lives. So that’s my job—I get to have those conversations. I get to be that person. My staff and I, that is. We’ve grown quite a bit over the years.”
The word “regret” makes me think of our earlier conversation, at the cafe. Luca did say that he made mistakes in the past, didn’t he? Maybe Luca knows, on a personal level, what it’s like to be a troubled teen. I feel curious about his past again, and this time, I can’t refrain from asking him about it.
“Are you passionate about your work… helping those teens… because you were once a troubled teen yourself?” I ask.
His expression darkens, just briefly, as if he’s recalling something unpleasant.
“Something like that,” he says. Then he lifts his drink and takes a quick sip. He seems to shake off the dark memory by straightening up and looking aro
und the room. “What do you think of the band?” he asks. “They’re pretty good, aren’t they?”
I nod. “Very good,” I say. “I haven’t heard live music like this in ages.”
“Do you want to dance?” Luca asks, motioning to the dance floor with his chin.
I smile and nod. “I’d love to.”
I stand, and Luca takes my hand. He leads me to the dance floor and then slips his hand around my waist. I move in closer to him as he reaches for my free hand. I fit so perfectly against his body. It’s as though we were made to fit together, just like this.
It’s easy to move with him to the rhythm of the music. The saxophonist is playing now, and the throaty notes weave through the air around us.
I begin to lose myself in the sensation of moving in tandem with Luca. His T-shirt feels soft against my cheek. His strong chest and shoulders are even more impressive, now that I’m leaning against them. He smells good—like aftershave and freshly laundered clothes. I catch a hint of whiskey on his breath.
As we move, the magnetic pull of his body against mine becomes stronger, more urgent. At the table, with drinks before us and conversation to distract us, it was possible to control the mounting tension that I’ve been sensing all evening. I was able to hold it at bay. But now, feeling every inch of his body move against mine, I’m at a loss. I can’t hold myself back anymore.
I surrender to a wave of attraction and feel myself melt into him, pressing my body closer. He holds me tight, and moves his hand softly against my back, pulling me into him. Breath escapes my lungs. I look up at him, and our eyes meet.
Without thought, I tilt my chin up. Luca leans down, and his lips meet mine.
The sensation of his lips on mine is just as powerful as the feeling of holding his hand for the first time. I’m shocked by the warmth of his mouth, and the instinctive way I part my lips.
I’m shocked at how good he tastes, and how right this feels.
When we part, I notice vaguely that the song has ended. It seems the band is moving off of the stage—for a break, perhaps—but it feels impossible to pull my body away from Luca’s. I meet his eyes again, searching his pupils for a message. Does he feel this magnetism, like I do?
As I look deeply into his eyes, I can tell that the floodgates have opened for him, as well. He presses his hand against my lower back, pulling me into him gently. Warmth passes between us, inviting and filled with possibility.
“What do you say we get out of here?” Luca whispers into my ear. His voice is low, deep, urgent yet gentle.
“I’m staying at the Ashford Hotel,” I whisper.
He nods, and with that, we begin to move off the dance floor. Once again, my hand is in his and he’s guiding me through the tables and knots of people.
We escape into the fresh air, and he hails a cab. The ride back to my hotel is a blur of body heat and shallow breaths of anticipation. Luca’s fingers caress my palm, promising the gentle touches he’ll deliver once we’re in a private setting.
I can hardly wait.
As soon as my hotel room door clicks closed behind us, I wrap my arms around Luca’s neck. I’ve been holding back—not wanting to kiss him while the cab driver was just a few feet away. Now I can wait no longer to feel his lips against mine again.
I get lost in the sensation of his mouth moving against mine, and his hands, exploring my body. Soon we’re in the bed. It’s impossible to think of anything but his hands, his touch.
My troubles are far, far away as Luca and I make love long into the night. The sky begins to lighten, and as dawn breaks I fall asleep in his arms.
Chapter 4
Phoebe
Sunlight filters through the gauzy white curtains of the small window.
I don’t recognize the curtains, nor the window.
Where am I?
I turn, and for the first time notice the man in bed with me. Luca.
He’s asleep, and his handsome features look peaceful. His bare, muscular chest and strong arms make me remember how it felt to be held in his embrace. The sunlight that filters through the curtain’s lacy pattern creates small circles of light on the white bedsheet that’s draped around his torso. I turn my body in bed, careful not to move too suddenly lest he wake up.
Once I’m facing him, more memories from the evening before flood me. The many times we made love come tumbling back into my mind, as though I’m replaying a movie. Before that, we were in the club. I recall the sensation of being held in his arms as we swayed to the music.
I smile and reach my hand out so that my fingertips rest gently on his chin. What magic. What luck. How fortunate I was to meet him at that little cafe.
I recall the way I felt when I saw him for the first time. Was some part of me aware of how my evening would turn out? Did some part of me know how intimate we would become before the night ended? Was that why he felt familiar?
I let my fingertips graze his jawline, savoring the feel of his skin beneath my touch. As my fingers move, Luca opens his eyes.
The twinkle of life, curiosity, and joy is still there in his pupils. His eyes seem to smile at me, and then his lips curve into a smile as well.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he says, as he looks into my eyes.
My face is just inches from his, and Luca shifts to close that gap. His lips meet mine in a gentle kiss.
I let him pull me closer, and I close my eyes as my body once again fits against his. He feels so good—so muscular, yet his skin is soft against mine. The warmth of his body creates a heat in my core that I’ve never known before. He kisses me again, and I feel his hands roam down my bare back, exploring my body with appreciation, just as he did the night before.
Again, I’m flooded with memories. They play through my mind with such intensity that it feels as if they are happening in the present moment.
The mixture of memories and the feel of Luca’s touch heats my body even more. I feel him begin to move against me, and for a few moments, I surrender to his touch.
It feels so good to be here, under the covers with him.
It feels so good to be so close to him—to feel his body against mine.
I recall the way it felt to dance with him—as though our bodies were meant to fit together. I remember standing on the bridge next to him. Though our bodies barely touched, as we watched the sunset, the intensity of my desire was just as strong.
I think I knew, as we watched the sun sink down, where the night was going to lead.
I think I knew, on some level, that Luca and I would return to my hotel room.
I wanted that. I needed that distraction.
From what?
My mind searches my memory, and more of the past few days cascades into my consciousness.
I stole money from my ex-boss.
Derek is going to be furious when he finds out.
The thought of Derek is like water on the flames of my desire. The fire in my core cools abruptly, and I pull away from Luca ever so slightly.
He senses my retreat and doesn’t resist. He opens his arms, and I move farther away.
I sit and reach my hand up, running it through my hair. I have a hundred thousand dollars in my account, and that money doesn’t belong to me.
“Are you okay?” Luca asks.
I don’t answer. I don’t know what to say. Am I okay?
I push the covers off of me and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Then I sit, with my back to Luca.
I don’t mean to be rude. I really don’t. I had an amazing time with him the night before. But now my reality is crashing in on me, so fast that I can barely keep everything straight.
My actions back in the States almost feel like a dream.
Did I really steal all of that money?
My intentions were good. Andy really does need surgery. Nicole doesn’t have the money to pay for it. But that money wasn’t mine to take. It doesn’t matter how good my intentions were—I still committed a crime.
“Phoebe,”
Luca says softly. “Are you okay?”
I turn to look at him and manage a smile. “I think so,” I say. “Hey, remember last night, when we were at the cafe? You said something about mistakes… that they could be fixed. Do you remember what you said?”
Luca nods. “I said it’s never too late to right a wrong. I meant it, too. I know, from experience.”
“I thought that’s what it was,” I say softly.
I turn away from Luca once again. It’s almost painful to look at him, lying in bed looking so handsome in the morning light. I want, more than anything, to fall back into bed with him.
But I can’t.
I look at my phone on the nightstand. I haven’t turned it on since leaving the airport yesterday.
I reach for it and power it up. Thankfully, it still has some juice. I watch as five more messages filter in. One is from Nikki, just checking in. Four are from Derek, and I scan them quickly.
They’re more of the same: his tirade against me for leaving on short notice, mixed with passive-aggressive insults. Some of the insults aren’t so passive-aggressive—they’re flat-out rude. I don’t even care. The important thing is that he gives no indication that he’s noticed that money is missing from his account.
I can still fix this.
I exhale. I have to fix this. This was all one big mistake.
I have to put that money back in Derek’s account before he realizes that it’s missing.
The problem is, I don’t have his bank account information.
That’s back in Philly, on my laptop, which I didn’t bring to Westegaard with me.
I close my text messages and check the digital clock on my phone’s home screen. While it’s ten a.m. here in Europe, it’s just four a.m. in the States. Derek isn’t even up yet. His day hasn’t even begun.
Surely, he’ll be tied up with work for most of the day. I know how careless he is about checking his business accounts. He might not log in to his bank account for days yet.