28. When Relaxing Isn’t Relaxing
Chapter 28
When Relaxing Isn’t Relaxing
Antonella
I lean further into the lounge chair near the in-ground swimming pool. Sipping on a delicious pina colada I made at the mini-bar in the kitchen. I could be an awesome bartender if I wanted.
I pick up the romance novel I was reading earlier—before I swam in the pool in my new swimsuit. Which, the price on the black bikini? Ten dollars for both pieces? Remarkable .
Love a good sale.
Shaking the previous thoughts from my mind, I flip to the next page in the book, enjoying the weekend endeavors. The sun’s setting—causing the outdoor string lights to flick on, and the entire pool to light up in a bright blue color.
Peaceful.
The day I leave this place will be a sad one, indeed. I exhale a puff of air upward into my hair, placing my bookmark in my book. I can’t focus on the words on the page anymore. I place it down on the white, wrought iron side table next to the lounge chair. I stare at the vibrant colors of the gold, fuchsia, and periwinkle sunset.
He fucking told his mother he wants to marry me one day. His words can’t possibly mean anything. We’re still only friends with benefits. Even if he doesn’t want me to call us friends anymore. It’s what we are until we make it official—one day.
I haven’t gotten to know who he truly is, aside from him spoiling me all the time. Which is… honestly enjoyable in this economy.
Stupid moral dilemma.
Spend his money—don’t spend his money.
On one hand, he’s a billionaire with gobs of money to spend—and he wants to, on me. On the other hand, it’s not mine to spend.
And, there’s still all of this secret keeping going on between us. It’s eating away at me—the wrong type of eating going on here. One of the double doors opens, pulling me out of my head.
“Ciao, amore,” Giordano says. Speaking of eating.
“Hey.” I flip my legs over to the opposite side of the chair to face him. My hand flies up, holding onto my sun hat so it won’t blow away in the wind.
“You look—” His darkening forest green eyes roam over my curvy body; a smile growing wider across his lips. “Bellissima.”
My cheeks heat into a bright blush.
“How was your day?”
“Quiet. Yours?”
“ Not quiet.” He chuckles. “I’m going out tonight with Xander. Is that okay?”
He doesn’t need to ask me. I’m not his girlfriend. Granted, even if I was, he wouldn’t need to ask to go out—he’s a full grown adult. I rise from the chair and grab my book in one hand, drink in the other. “Have a wonderful time. I’m staying in.”
A night alone in the jetted tub with this book, sandalwood candles, a face mask, and a glass of wine sounds like Heaven right now.
I’m entirely relaxed out here. But, it’s getting dark.
“You sure you don’t want to come?” He raises a brow while rolling up his sleeves on his black button-up shirt. He looks like a handsome devil. However, his offer is tempting—to go there and scowl at all the women who want my man.
My man?
“No, thank you. You go have a boys night, have fun for once.” I pat his chest and walk toward the french doors which lead inside the villa.
“Grazie. You’ll come to Sunday dinner tomorrow night, yes?”
I sigh with a reluctant nod.
“Momma would love to meet you again, I’m sure.” He smiles a wide-toothy grin at me. What is he up to?
I narrow my eyes and poke his chest. “You better not be planning anything crazy.”
“Swear I’m not.” He laughs, taking my hand in his.
We stand together in silence, watching the sunset for a few moments before going inside. The sky’s a beautiful blend of pinks and purples this time. Not a cloud in sight. The wind’s coming out of the south at the moment, making it a little bit warmer.
“What a beautiful view,” I whisper. I lean my head against his shoulder, keeping attention locked on the sparkling water of the lit-up infinity pool, as the sun unhurriedly sets.
“Yes, you are.” He presses a gentle kiss on my temple.
“There was a conversation I had the other day…” my voice is quiet. Finally bringing up something that’s been looming over my conscience—now related to the little attempted break-in earlier. “I tried telling you twice, both times interrupted.”
“Oh?” He pulls back, cocking his head.
“I called Cillian.”
“You what?” His right eye twitches.
“I called Cillian. After the shooting. I asked if he did it. He said yes.”
“Why the?—”
“He told me he’s the head of the Irish Mob.”
“He told you?” he asks flatly. “My left arm hurts. Why does my arm hurt all of a sudden?”
“Are you okay?” My eyes round, glancing over my arm.
“Fine. What did he tell you?” He growls.
“Not much else, honestly. But they’re onto you. I have to do research on you.”
“For who?” He squints.
“My boss gave me your company name. Said it’s the front of the Italian Mafia. I wanted to laugh in his face when I found nothing. It’s silly. The mafia thing. There was some information on your father; nothing about you or your company. I deleted everything I found.” I glance between his eyes; my brows knitting together. Please believe me.
“Wait, slow down. Who is your boss?”
“Aisling O’Duinn.”
“I need you to listen to me very carefully, Antonella.” He places his hand on my cheek, rubbing his thumb across it.
I nod, tears threatening to prick my eyes. Is he mad at me?
I didn’t rat him out, for whatever it is he’s done—is doing—hasn’t done. I don’t know. But they won’t know even the brand of underwear he buys.
I’m loyal.
“You’ll tell me every single thing that goes on there. You’ll tell me when you leave and when you arrive. Tell me when you get home safely. Please give me your phone location. For your safety. Not because I don’t trust you; it’s them.”
“Fine.” Slowly, I pull out my phone, sending him my location to be visible all the time.
“Grazie.” He presses a gentle kiss on my forehead, inhaling a deep breath. “Don’t forget, family dinner is tomorrow.”
“Right.” I nod. “You told me that already.”
“Just reminding you. If anyone asks, you’re my girlfriend—the whole fuck buddy term… won’t go over so well with the famiglia.” He grabs my hand, gripping it tightly .
“Got it. No problem. Just the word. For your mother’s sake.” I glance down, admiring the veins on his hands run all the way up the length of his forearm.
Much like the length of his ?—
“Have a lovely evening, amore.” He winks at me as he kisses the back of my hand. Heat rises to the surface of my chest, spreading across my cheeks, down my neck—everywhere throughout me.
Flustered indeed.
“Please tell me if you plan on going anywhere else, tonight.”
“I’m not,” I admit.
“Goodnight, amore.” His hands slide from my arms to around my waist as he kisses my lips softly, claiming me. The roughness of his touch, mixing with the gentle pressure from his lips sends shivers down my spine.
I manage to pull away from him, leaving me breathless. “G-goodnight,” I stutter, my heart palpitating in my chest. “Stay safe,” I whisper as I’m left alone in the dimly lit house.
I pour the lavender-scented soap into the jetted tub. The sparkling, purple bubbles fill up well-over half of it. Maybe I added a little too much?
No— no such thing as too many bubbles.
My hands release the towel, allowing it to fall down onto the rug. One foot into the hot water, then the other as I ease myself into the deep tub. The perfect temperature. I click play on the remote. Ambient rain and thunderstorm sounds play at a quiet volume, setting the vibe.
Now, for the white wine.
I take a lengthy sip and then place the glass on the bamboo tray which sits fully across the width of the bathtub. I dry my hands completely off, and grab the same book I was reading earlier.
Ah, yes.
This is the life.
It isn’t so bad being here—the perks of falling in love. Self -princess treatment here I come.
An hour later, my phone vibrates—pulling me out of my story.
I click the green button immediately. “Hello?”
There’s no response, so I listen carefully for a few moments. Most of the noise is distant drunken gibberish.
“Giordano!” I attempt to get his attention.
Maybe, it’s a butt-dial. However, I don’t hang up the phone. Am I going to overhear something I shouldn’t?
“Oh! There you are, amore. I was beginning to think you were ignoring me,” he slurs.
“I said hello.” My eyes practically roll to the back of my head. “What’s up?” I snort.
He’s clearly plastered. “Listen— listen , I’m going to marry you one day, okay? Not now, you said you’re not ready, yet. But, you’re the girl for me.”
Oh, God .
“You’re drunk.” I laugh, unsure of how else to respond to his babbling. My hand draws lazy circles around in the plethora of bubbles in the water.
“Drunk and in lo—ove ,” he slurs.
Another man, I’m assuming Xander, says, “Pathetic.”
He slurs, again, “Statazit, Xander. You don’t know the real deal.”
I roll my eyes and rub my forehead, spreading bubbles across it. “I’ll talk to you in the morning, okay?”
“Amore, wait?—”
I wait.
“I love you.”
This is the first time he ever said those words to me. Mixed feelings swirl in my heart. He loves me. I mean, I figured, but to listen to it in spoken words is a different thing.
“Say it when you’re not drunk.”
“Drunk words are the sober thoughts, amore. I’ve never had more clarity.”
I scoff. “Goodnight.” I hit the end call button and place my phone back down on the bamboo tray, ignoring the incoming call from him, again.
My right eye twitches through the cracking, dried mud mask I slathered all over my face.
If what he says is true, then he can tell me when he has a nasty hangover in the morning.
Reality slaps me in the forehead, dawning on me. I admitted earlier, in thought , I’m falling in love with him. But how could I when I have no clue who he truly is?
I clear my throat and take the last sip of wine for the evening. I get out of the bathtub, wash my face, and slip into some soft silk pajamas. Lock my bedroom door and slide into bed.
Silk on silk has an immaculate vibe.
I check my phone, one eye open, squinting at the bright screen. Three missed calls from him truly, a voicemail.
And thirteen text messages.
Giordano
You’re so beautiful
Ti amo
I hope you didn’t drown in the bubble bath and I’m not there to give you CPR.
I’d lvoe to give you mout h to mouth. (;
Naughty girl, ignoring me.
I hope you’re sleeping and not looking at these messages and choosing not to reply. It says delivered. I’m assuming you didn’t turn off the read receipts.
I’m not sure which would make me more sad…
I wish I chose to stay home with you tonight instead of going out.
Don’t let me drink bourbon again.
Wanna cuddle??
You from Tennessee? Because you’re the only ten I see hahaha
Kidding, you’re from Wisconsin.
I’m on my way home to you
Come home safely… Amore.
AMORE! (:
You read my messages.
I love you.
I beam like an idiot at the screen, choosing not to reply. I switch my phone on Do Not Disturb and place it onto the nightstand, hoping to close my eyes and get some legitimate sleep for the night.
THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.
“ Amore ,” Giordano grumbles from the other side of the door.
I peek with one half-opened eye at my phone to check the time. Three in the morning. I groan. Is he seriously just now getting home?
“ Antonella—a ,” he sings. Oh, he’s drunk -drunk.
“Is this cagacazzo serious?” I grumble, sliding on my fuzzy slippers, and reluctantly stand off of the bed. I stomp over to the door and unlock the handle. The door flings wide open against the wall and I stand there with a huff crossing my arms. “What could you possibly need at this ungodly hour?” I growl, scrunching up my nose.
“Oh, someone needs their princess sleep.” He chuckles, then yawns, stretching his arms above his head.
Don’t look at his exposed abs from the shirt lifting up, Toni. Don’t do it. My gaze flicks down to his hips and the ‘v’ shaped line and his happy trail.
I did it.
“Hmm, where did that come from?”
Is he talking about his yawn? “Your mouth.” I slowly blink, one eye at a time.
“Sassy girl. You’re not being nice.”
“You’re drunk and you woke me up. Of course I’m not being nice.” My nose scrunches. “You smell like someone dumped a bottle of whiskey on you.”
“That may have happened, and that someone may have been me.” He brushes past me and flops onto my bed, face down on the other side—where I don’t usually sleep— unmoving .
“Hey.” I groan, taking a step toward him. He doesn’t budge. “Giordano, you still have your shoes on.”
Nothing.
I roll my eyes while I take his shoes off, and place them on the floor by the door. I turn, finding him snuggled up with my blanket and pillow.
Seriously?
“Why don’t you love me, Antonella?” His face is shoved into the pillow; I can barely make out what he’s saying. “I love you so much. I want you to want me back. You’re everything I desire,” his voice is quieter now; a sexy, deep, sleepy voice.
His words tug at my heartstrings. I hate this, being torn one way and another. I want to fall into his arms and allow myself to love so easily versus knowing who he is. How could he lie right to my face? Omit details for the sake of safety? He says, you wouldn’t be safe if you knew.
My lips flatten into a thin line. “Get some sleep, I guess.” I pat his back and lay down next to him. And hopefully, he won’t remember a thing in the morning.
I get to be the little spoon tonight. I don’t mind cuddling with him.
He’s warm.
He pulls me in and wraps his arms around my waist. “Awe, damn… whiskey dick,” he whispers in disappointment, pressing his hips upward into my ass.
“The fuck is a whiskey dick?” I settle in with my back to his chest.
He snores almost immediately. Leaving my question unanswered . Thankfully, he isn’t snoring loudly—otherwise I’d be going to sleep in his bed instead.
It’s been a while since I’ve cuddled with someone to go to sleep. I don’t think I’d count the time I accidentally slept in his bed—we didn’t cuddle, only slept next to each other. Right? Did we cuddle?
“Huh,” I whisper. I don’t know.
This newfound feeling swirling in my stomach is strange. Yet, I’m welcoming it with open arms. He fits into my life as a missing puzzle piece.
He’s home. Safe and sound—even if he reeks like a bar.