The Rivals

by Allen , Dylan

  “Enjoy. My fantasy Italian fling is more in the style of Jude Law in the Talented Mr. Ripley. He looks like he could eat Jude Law in a single bite.”

  “Or me,” I drawl with a wink and stand up. I run my hands down my dress.

  Cass grabs my arm and yanks me back down in my seat. “Where in the world are you going? You are not going to approach him,” she says as if scandalized.

  I glance over at her and grin, because I am so going to approach him.

  “You never approach anyone. You’re still getting over Nigel. Who are you?” she asks, green eyes wide with surprise.

  “I’m Confidence Ryan, and I’m about to go climb my very own Mt. Olympus,” I say with a suggestive waggle of my eyebrows.

  “Are you drunk?” she asks when I start to stand up again.

  “Yes, but so what?” I say.

  “You’ll regret it in the morning,” she frets.

  “Maybe …” I shrug.

  “This isn’t you.” She peers up at me.

  “Again, so what?” I shrug off her questions. “I’m in Italy. I’m single. And I think that if I’m ready to walk over and put my ass on a table for another man to make a meal of me, then I might be over Nigel,” I say.

  “True facts,” she says with an enthusiastic nod.

  “And if I have regrets … then, at least it will be for something worth regretting. I want to know what that kind of regret feels like,” I say in a moment of rare vulnerability.

  “Okay,” she says, relenting in her attempts to stop me. Even if she doesn’t quite sound convinced.

  “Just be safe. Get your own drinks and drop your glass so it shatters if you need a rescue,” she says and takes a sip of her drink.

  “I won’t be breaking any glasses. If I need a rescue, I’ll do it myself.” A sudden bolt of doubt flashes through my mind.

  This is very unlike me.

  I self-consciously glance down at myself.

  “Do I look okay?” I cast a sheepish glance at Cass. My bravado has failed me now that I’m about to walk the walk.

  “You look better than okay. You look wonderful,” she says with all of the sincerity of a dutiful and loving friend who would never say anything other than how wonderful I look.

  I lose my nerve and lower myself back into my seat. I grab my wine and take a moody, resentful sip.

  Cass puts her drink down and grabs my forearm.

  “What happened?” Her dark brows are furrowed in concern. “I thought you were off to get laid.”

  I sink down in my seat and pout.

  “Why in the world would he be interested in me? She said he’s filthy rich or something. He’s young and hot, too. Do you know how rare that is? I bet he’s engaged to marry one of those princesses—Eugenie or whatever.” I fling my hand in his direction, but my eyes are fixed on the drink I’m lifting back to my lips.

  “If he is, then I feel sorry for her because he’s going to be leaving here with the hottest woman in the room,” she says with a little too much enthusiasm. And I roll my eyes.

  “Confidence, you’re a catch,” she exclaims.

  I give her a disbelieving look. “Oh yeah, I know thousands of eligible, sexy men who are beating a path to be with a broke, failed lawyer whose family is a poster for dysfunction,” I say grumpily.

  “That’s not all you are,” she whispers fiercely, squeezing my arm. I chuckle—it’s humorless, short and dry.

  “Well, I’m glad you agree that it’s some of what I am,” I quip and take another swig of my wine.

  “For God’s sake, one lost job doesn’t mean you failed,” she cajoles.

  I throw her a glance. “I was almost disbarred.”

  “That was all that fucking Nigel’s fault,” she reminds me.

  “True. But it’s certainly not his fault that I’ve spent sixty percent of my life savings in the last three months. A good chunk of it on this last minute, incredibly glamorous vacation. Who doesn’t find a financially irresponsible spendthrift irresistible?”

  “You think anyone worthy of you will care about any of that?” Cass asks me softly.

  “One of us will have to care. Even a lifetime of sex with that beautiful man won’t make up for my flagrant disregard for budgets.”

  She chuckles. “Now you’re just being dramatic. At least you have your life savings. If I lost my job, I would have to move back home with my parents after one month,” she says and nudges me with her shoulder.

  I sigh and look back at my man … God, I’m ridiculous. He’s not my anything.

  “I’ve never broken a rule my whole life, Cass,” I say to her. “I didn’t even shave above the knee until I was twenty-one. I did whatever I thought I had to, to get out of Arkansas. I had a good run, and in one fell swoop, I’ve managed to ruin my life.” I drain my glass and drop it on the table. “So, If I’m hanging out in rock bottom city, then I’m at least doing it in style.” I wave an arm around the opulently decorated room to make my point.

  “Well, you can thank Jules for being smart enough to land an Italian count with enough money to pull off a party like this.”

  “To Jules,” I say.

  “To Jules,” she repeats as we clink our empty glasses.

  “You know what?” I ask and stare at the bubbles clinging to the lip of my glass. They remind me of myself. I’m holding on. Long after life should have swallowed me whole.

  “What?” Cass asks when I don’t continue.

  “I’ve found that rock bottom might be the best thing to ever happen to me. I’ve spent the last three months shopping, traveling, eating, and sleeping to my heart’s content. Sure, after this, I have to move home. But, have you seen how round my ass has gotten?” I lift and point to my silver sequined covered backside and wink. “It’s amazing, right?” I grin at her.

  “It’s got that Beyoncé circa 2014 magic,” she says with authority and we clink our glasses together.

  “And you have not hit rock bottom, TB,” she says reproachfully.

  “No, I have. Really,” I assure her with a falsely proud smile. “But, I have a plan. And being back home will light a fire under me. Not to mention taking this trip has brought me perilously close to poverty. It’s time to give up my apartment, go home, and regroup.”

  She pats my arm consolingly. “Well, if all of that fails, you could turn your new hobby into a business,” she says.

  “Yes!” I clap my hands and hoot with laugher. “Like I could be some sort of plus one for hire.”

  “You’ve had enough practice in the last few months,” she ribs me.

  “I know,” I crow with delight. “Weddings are such a score. I mean, I have classy-as-fuck friends, so the venues are always marvelous, and I get it at the block rate.” I laugh out loud and stop when I see Cass isn’t laughing with me.

  “What?” I ask and blush.

  “I’m glad you’re letting that crazy dark hair go. Your hair is the prettiest natural blonde I’ve ever seen. I’ve missed the fits of jealousy I used to have every time you wore it down.”

  “I do look good, don’t I? A life of leisure is apparently the real fountain of youth.” I wink. “But tell me why you’re looking at me like my mom did the first time I managed to bait a hook myself,” I tease, but I’m blushing at the unfiltered pride in her eyes.

  “It’s just that I’m glad that you’re doing what makes you happy. It is slightly reckless to blow through your savings this way. But, I also know that you’re a brilliant, passionate attorney, and the minute you’re ready, you’ll have a score of job offers. I’m thrilled you’re being a sexy, lazy, beach bum for once in your life. You’ve earned it, ” Cass says with the most sincerely delighted smile on her face. I smile back at her with equal delight.

  This is why she’s my best friend. She loves me as much as I love her. And when I’m happy, she is too. My heart swells with gratitude that I have her in my life.

  I look back at my dream man. He’s sitting with his arms crossed watching the dancing
people like he’d rather be anywhere else. His heavy, square chin has a cleft.

  I want to stick my tongue in it. I regain my resolve.

  “I’m about to add slutty to that sexy and lazy,” I say and give her a bawdy wink. Then, I stand up again before I lose my nerve. I’m about to turn and walk his way when I remember something and lean down to talk to Cass.

  “The guy behind the bar—his name tag said Luca—he’s a dead ringer for Jude Law, and I saw him checking out your ass when we walked through earlier,” I say.

  She leaps out of her seat. “I can’t believe you saw him and didn’t tell me.” She scowls and starts to gather her phone and the lipstick and gum that spilled out of her tiny gold clutch.

  “How was I to know what you were in the mood for? And if I told you every time a guy checked you out, we’d be here all night.”

  “You sweet talker.” She swats my arm and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “Be safe, have fun. And remind me to stick an extra-long pin in my Nigel voodoo doll when we get home.”

  “I love you,” I say through a giggle.

  She really has a Nigel voodoo doll at home. It’s a pathetic little stick figure made of popsicle sticks. All of its limbs are broken.

  “How could you not?” She wiggles her fingers goodbye and disappears into the crowd. I run my fingers through my heavy hair. Thank you for low humidity and great hair products. There’s not a hint of frizz in sight, and there hasn’t been since I got here. I take all of this as an omen. Beautiful setting, great company, best hair day of my life—the stars have aligned. Of course, the man of my sexual dreams would be here, too.

  With that thought, I take a deep breath and turn to face my future conquest.

  I hope that tonight, though, I’ll be the one who’s conquered. I’m five foot three. Tall, well-built men are my weakness.

  The strapping, dark-haired, Duke of Midnight across the room looks like he might be up for the job. I say a quick prayer that I didn’t misread things in the elevator this morning and that I’m not about to make a fool of myself and start toward him. As I weave my way across the moderately populated dance floor, I lose sight of him once or twice. But when I step off the other side off the dance floor, my view of him is completely unobstructed. When his eyes swing in my direction, they land on me right away. His eyes sweep up my body, his head’s angle marking their current position. My feet, my legs, my hips, stomach, my breasts, and on my face.

  I feel a shot of confidence that propels me forward. I’ve never done anything like this before. But when I saw him this afternoon, I thought, mine.

  Despite my little blip of doubt, I’m excited about the possibility of having a night with him. That’s all I really want.

  Since we’ve been in Castigniocello, I’ve felt different—freer, happier. It’s the most beautiful place my admittedly limited travels have ever taken me. The sea’s perpetual whispers and roars lend an air of magic to the cove of neighboring villas we’re staying at this weekend. As soon as we stepped off the dreary shuttle that brought us the forty miles from the airport in Pisa, I knew this would be a trip I’d never forget. Until now, I thought it would be because of the spectacular views, the clean, fragrant air, and being with Cass. Yet, as I approach Mr. Tall Dark and Glorious, I know that this is going to be the experience that defines this trip. Lord knows, I was in desperate need of something glorious and unforgettable right now.

  When I’m two tables away, his eyes come into focus. Like my mama would say, Lawd ha’mercy. While I’d been gawking at his body, the shadows in the hallway had been hiding the real treasure. They’re a heart stopping disc of pure hazel ringed in what could be a mossy green or nutty brown … the light doesn’t allow me to see clearly. They’re fringed by a thick tangle of lashes and burning with intelligence and ... wariness.

  He stands up just before I reach him.

  His tall, broad frame is a little leaner up close. “Hello,” he says and takes my hand. He presses a kiss to it and offers me a seat by pulling the one next to him out.

  Holy Father. If this is how they make men in Europe, then I was born in the wrong place. Because this man is straight out of one of those fairy tales that I never believed in because I never saw a girl like me in one of them.

  “Thank you,” I say demurely, the flutter in my stomach turning to a vibration as I plant myself in the offered chair.

  “You’re welcome,” he says noncommittally and then just watches me. That trace of wariness grows as he observes me.

  “Why aren’t you dancing?” I ask.

  “I don’t dance,” he says shortly.

  “Oh. Okay,” I say with a grimace of shame when he doesn’t speak. I feel a surge of mortification when I realize that I have, in fact, been too presumptuous.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking,” I say. I wish I could snap my fingers and make myself disappear. “I thought … maybe when we saw each other earlier on the elevator … that you seemed interested. I’m sorry. I’ll just ...” I start to stand up and pray I can run in these stupid shoes that I spent too much money on. I want to cry. I scrape my chair back and he grabs my wrist.

  “No, don’t go. I’m glad you came.” His voice is deep and smooth like the molasses in my grandmother’s gingerbread cookies. And he’s American, too.

  Thank you, God, I mouth down to my lap before I look up and smile.

  “My mouth is good for a lot of things … small talk just isn’t one of them,” he says, gaze smoldering and yet so relaxed. I’m so startled by the innuendo that a bubble of laughter escapes me. I cover my mouth with my hand. He reaches over to stroke the back of my hand and then circles my wrist. He tugs my hand away from my mouth. “Your smile is beautiful.”

  “Oh, my …” I sigh and my stomach does a summersault. I can’t believe this is happening. He’ s actually into me.

  He gives me a small, quick smile that I feel a surge of pride at having pulled it out of him.

  “So, you’re in business?”

  “That’s cute,” he says quietly and takes a sip of his drink.

  “Huh?”

  “No, I’m just an ordinary man.” His glass hovers in front of his lips and he watches me out of hooded eyes.

  “There’s nothing ordinary about you,” I say and stick my hand out, “I should introduce myself. I’m Confidence Ryan, and I don’t really know the bride or the groom, but I’m my friend Cass’s plus one,” I say.

  “Your name is Confidence?” he asks, perplexed.

  “I know, it’s kind of weird at first. But I promise once you get used to it, you’ll see it’s actually a really great name,” I assure him.

  “No, not weird at all. Hayes Rivers,” he says without any other detail. Not that I need any more for what I’m hoping is going to happen. But, his smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

  “I love that name. Is it a family name?” I ask.

  His smile dims slightly. “No,” he says shortly.

  “Well, my parents named my siblings and me after things they hoped we’d grow up to possess. I definitely lucked out. My siblings are named Happiness and Fortune,” I tell him and then wish a hole would open up and put me out of my misery.

  Why am I not better at flirting?

  It’s his turn to laugh, and he says, “Now, that is a great line.” He shakes his head. “Can you imagine if people actually gave their children names like that?” he asks and I cringe. Hard.

  He stops laughing. “Oh …”

  “Yeah,” I say slowly.

  “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, real contrition in his eyes

  “No, it’s okay. I’m used to it and they grow on you,” I say and change the subject. “So, you friends of the groom?

  “No, my aunt is. She couldn’t go, so I came in her stead.”

  “Well, you’re a lot nicer than an RSVP and a gift card that most people send when they can’t come to a wedding. It’s nice of you to come. Even though, I bet it wasn’t that hard of a sell. It’s beautiful here,�
� I say.

  “I’m not nice. My aunt raised me. So, when she asks something of me, I do it.” He shrugs and takes a sip of water, and I glance back at our table for a second to see if Cass is back. She’s not.

  “May I?” he asks, and I turn back to face him. He’s watching me expectantly.

  “May you what?” He nods to the table. His hand is hovering right above my wrist.

  “Oh, you want to …” I ask in surprise, but smile and nod. “Feel free to put those big hands wherever you’d like,” I say and groan internally at how thirsty I sound.

  He smirks a little before his thumb swipes once on the tender skin on the inside of my wrist. I shiver and bite back a moan at the tremor that runs down the center of my body. I’m shouting YES in my head.

  He lifts my hand to his face. His breath tickles me before he draws in a deep breath, his eyes closed as he rubs his nose back and forth across my wrist. My insides liquify.

  “You smell like roses,” he whispers so softly, his breath floats over the inside of my forearm and a tingle dances all the way up my arm.

  If I’m dreaming, please don’t ever wake me.

  I lean into him and put on my sauciest smile. “It’s this body lotion I bought in duty free—”

  “It smells cheap.” His voice is no longer soft and seductive. Heat rises up my neck and spreads on my cheeks as his words sink in.

  I yank my hand out of his grasp and lean away, “Excuse me?” I ask in affront.

  “Didn’t anyone tell you before you came over that I only entertain heiresses and above?”

  “‘Entertain?’” I put the words in air quotes while I gawk at the man who just turned from a prince to a toad in less than three minutes.

  “I’m not interested in being your next payday,” he announces.

  My jaw drops.

  “Don’t feel bad,” he says without looking at me. “Go try it on one of the drunker, more persuadable men here. I’m sure you’ll leave with enough money to at least cover your expenses,” he says and my head snaps back so hard, I’m surprised it’s still attached to my body.

  His gaze flits over me. “No question. You’re a knockout. But, if you’re looking for something more than a weekend, I’d suggest you invest in your look. Off-the-rack dresses aren’t going to cut it with this crowd. Dress for the job you want, and all that,” he says and falls back in his chair.