Bound to You (Ruby Cove #1)

Chapter One

chapter one

ISLA

“I’m thinking we should probably move off the road before some sexy Italian man smashes into us in his fancy sports car,” May says from the passenger seat beside me.

A little hula girl bounces around in the hot sun on the dashboard of the VW Beetle, and I can’t help but feel like she’s mocking us as we sit here slowly melting in the middle of the road.

The car’s old school with a soft top. It’s classic, but the little beauty has turned out to be pretty useless. We’ve reached a premature stop in the middle of the road somewhere along the coast of Italy after it sputtered to a stop about an hour from the rental agency. And I, for one, do not have the specific skill set to revive it.

“I mean, it’s not the worst way to die, I guess, as long as Mr. Fernando is remorseful.”

I drag my eyes away from the hula girl to roll them at my best friend, holding back my grin at her stupid comment.

My eyes catch on the lush setting now surrounding us. A swift breeze weaves through the trees on either side of the road, the leaves whispering to each other as it passes through.

The paved road is a dark contrast to the burst of brightness at its edges. As quick as the inspiration for a painting comes to my mind, it fizzles out, the image watery in my mind. That’s been happening a lot lately. I haven’t had the desire to paint in weeks. It’s been fading more and more, even before the last thread of my ambition snapped three days ago.

I used to hold a paintbrush in my hand every day. I could be sitting there for hours without even noticing. I’ve loved it since I can remember—I was one of those kids who decorated the kitchen cupboards with crayon masterpieces.

I’ve never been a super ambitious girl. I never dreamed of climbing the corporate ladder or furthering an academic career, but art has always been the one thing I’ve connected with. It’s something that I didn’t necessarily have to be perfect at—it’s all up to interpretation, and I loved that. So when it came to a college degree, art was the obvious choice, the only choice.

For me, anyway.

Turns out my family didn’t share the same excitement that I did towards a career following my passions, and neither did my boyfriend Brandon.

My now ex-boyfriend, Brandon.

When May called me two weeks ago proposing an Italian summer, I brushed it off. Sun, sand, and pasta, she said. But I shut her down. We had only just graduated college, and I was planning on moving in with Brandon.

But when I came home to my parents and Brandon sitting around the dinner table, each with a serious look on their face, I quickly had a change of heart.

My dad and Brandon dug into me over a perfectly good roast about finding a ‘real career.’ What they meant was getting a job at a bank or something equally as financially stable and soul-sucking.

To them, my fine arts degree was a hobby, not the path towards my future success. That’s when the light winked out inside of me.

Since graduation, they had been acting weird, always asking me about getting a job, and tiptoeing around the subject. My confidence was already slowly waning, but that little intervention of theirs was where I drew the line.

I’m not usually the kind of person that lets someone else’s opinion affect me, but something about the way they talked to me that night just made me feel so small, made me second guess myself.

So that’s what this trip is about—reconnecting with myself, my goals, soul searching, whatever you wanna call it.

“Isla?” May waves her hand in front of me.

“Yeah, what? Sorry, I spaced.”

“Yeah, I got that much. We were talking about moving the car, remember? Trying not to get killed on our first day in paradise.”

“Right. Okay, you push I’ll steer.”

“I don’t think I can do this by myself,” May grunts as she attempts to shove the car so I can steer it off the road.

“Come on, May, you’ve got this. Use what your mama gave you!” I yell as she turns around, trying to use her ass to push the car.

“Seriously, Isla, Miles did us dirty by not being here when we need him,” she puffs, blowing her cropped blonde hair out of her face. It suits her so well, framing her heart-shaped face perfectly.

She used to have long, golden locks, but after college she chopped it all off, and she looks even more stunning with the shorter cut. She’s always had men turning their heads when she walks by, but now they practically trip over themselves to talk to her.

“Well, it’s not like we gave him much notice,” I yell back.

After the humiliating dinner party at my parents’ house, it took me approximately seven minutes of pacing in my childhood bedroom before I called May to take her up on her offer. The next day, we were at the airport with two one-way tickets out of New York City and now, here we are. So no, I didn’t give my brother much warning that we were coming to stay.

Miles lives in Sorrento. He’s an international pilot, and he spends his time off out here at his Italian villa. I use the term “villa” loosely because it’s more like a mansion. So free accommodation with him was a given until he broke the news that he is actually out of town for a while and is having the place renovated while he’s gone.

So that leaves May and I in limbo land for where we are shacking up for the summer. Including tonight, but we’ve handled worse.

I met May in college; we were roommates. Floor three, room twenty-four, right at the end of the hall. We clicked from day one, and that girl has dragged me into way too many situations I would’ve otherwise never experienced. I should’ve known I’d end up on the other side of the world with her—stalled on the side of the road, no less.

We’ve moved about a meter towards the curb—great progress.

“Okay, let me help you. Surely two asses are better than one, we just need to push it in the right direction.” I open the door and round the car to help her push. I quickly regret buying matching silk scarves from the airport shop as the warm afternoon breeze blows the fabric into my face. Admittedly we only bought them so we’d look cute. And we do—they offer a very seventies-esque vibe. But cuteness is not pushing this car very far.

“Did you leave the handbrake on or something? I feel like it shouldn’t be this hard,” May complains.

“No, May,” I sigh, “I didn’t leave the handbrake on.”

We both stop to catch our breath. How the hell is this rickety little thing so damn heavy? It looks like a decent gust of wind would blow it all the way to fucking Switzerland.

It’s been nearly an hour since the car first broke down. I hear the faint sound of tires on the road and turn around just in time to see a silver car drive up to us. The car slows as if deliberating whether to stop or not, but eventually speeds up, leaving us in their rearview mirror.

Great. We’re stuck here. I should’ve expected something like this to happen.

“I give up,” I say, sliding down the car until I’m sitting on the hot road. I can't believe this happened already. We aren’t even a day into our holiday, and we are already failing at it. Failing just like my parents predicted, and my asshole ex, for that matter. Not that they thought I’d fail at being on holiday. Just pursuing my heart’s desire, that’s all.

The sound of a rumbling engine floats towards us.

“Oh shit,” May curses.

“What?”

“It's Fernando.”

I whip my head around to see what she’s referencing. And sure enough, a sleek, inky black Ferrari is rolling up towards us. It looks so out of place against our lush green surroundings. I quickly get up from my position on the ground.

Surely whoever this is will just ignore us and drive on by like the last one, right? People don’t stop to help others anymore. Last week on my way home, I tripped on a crack in the pavement, and everything but the kitchen sink came spilling out of my bag. Everyone just walked on by, like they didn’t see me embarrassingly collecting my tampons up off the sidewalk.

Chivalry is dead. Not even chivalry, just general politeness.

My hope dwindles when the car slows to a stop about ten meters from us.

You’ve got to be joking. This is the person that stops for us? The one driving a Ferrari?

I’m aware of how cliché we look like right now—two American girls broken down on the side of the road. Poor, helpless damsels in distress.

“What do we do?” May frantically looks around as if trying to find something that will help her in this situation.

“Stop it,” I say, smacking her arm to stop her fussing. “Act casual.” The door to the Ferrari shuts and the driver slowly saunters up to us.

The guy is dressed up to the nines. He’s wearing fitted charcoal suit pants paired with a crisp white dress shirt that is tight in all the right places, showing off hints of crafted arms underneath.

Well hello .

He’s got his suit jacket casually thrown over his shoulder, and what are probably thousand-dollar shades cover his eyes. He comes to a stop in front of us, running a hand through his dark hair. It has a casual wave through it, as if he does that often. Of course this guy drives a fucking Ferrari .

“ Ciao. ” The greeting rolls off his tongue in a gorgeous accent.

“Uh...ciao.” The words barely squeak out of my mouth.

“Well, that was confident,” May whispers under her breath, which turns into a cough as I jab her in the ribs with my elbow.

“American?” The stranger’s eyebrow quirks up above the rim of his sunglasses.

“ Sì ,” May responds in an attempted Italian accent, and I have to force myself to hold in the laugh that’s threatening to escape.

“Yes, we are. And we are actually totally fine here, so you can get on your way. We really don’t want to hold you up,” I say genuinely. We can sort this out by ourselves, we don’t need a man's help.

The corner of his mouth tugs up in a smirk. “Are you sure? Because it looks like you could use a hand here.” He moves past us, effortlessly switching to English. “Is this your car?” He inspects the Beetle.

“No, it's a rental.” I look over to May, and she looks just as unsure as I feel.

“Oh good, cause it’s a piece of shit,” he chuckles.

“Hey! It was running well for a bit. We can’t all afford a Ferrari.” May tosses her hair to the side, looking the guy up and down.

“Okay, well, you couldn’t expect it to last that long. I mean look at it.” He gestures towards it, sympathy now lacing his words.

The car is definitely on its last legs. The sky-blue paint is rusting off the exterior. Something was rattling the entire way here that was doing my head in, and the front left wheel has been wobbling pretty off center. But if you don’t look at it too hard, it’s perfect. Plus, with our trip being so last minute, we didn’t have much choice; it was the only car left in the yard.

“Well, look, there’s nothing you can do about it now,” he says when he’s met with silence. “Let me help you move it off the road and then I can drive you wherever you need to be.”

“No, really, we can just call a tow service,” I argue.

He ignores me, and May and I share a confused look as he drops his jacket in the back seat of the car and starts rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. God, that’s sexy. I swear any man could do that and boom , immediate sex appeal.

I suddenly don’t mind this whole damsel in distress thing.

With his forearms now on full display, he tries to direct the car off the road.

For all his confidence, the guy hasn’t moved the car an inch.

He mutters a quiet, what the fuck? under his breath, before turning to see May and me watching him in amusement.

He frowns before walking around to the driver's side with a puzzled expression. His features lift as he reaches into the car, and it immediately jostles.

“No wonder it wasn’t budging; the handbrake was on.”

Oh god.

I can feel a flush creeping up my neck as I cover my face with my hands and throw my head back with a groan, bracing myself for the slander I’m about to receive.

May lets out a cackle. “Oh, this is good.” She can barely get the words out and I can barely keep a straight face.

“Okay, okay.” I roll my eyes, holding my hands up in innocence.

“You know I hate to do this to you, Isla, but…I told you so,” May says with a grin as she shrugs her shoulders.

“Okay, you’re the one who picked this car so...”

She waves me off before I jump back in the front of the car, leaving her to push with Fernando.

After successfully moving the Beetle to the side of the road where it won’t get absolutely totaled, I brush my hands off on my jeans—definitely a wardrobe mistake given the beads of sweat forming on my forehead.

“Is it a national holiday or something? No one has come down here in ages.” May looks over to our new companion, who’s now leaning against the car, his hands in his pockets.

“We’re not in a super busy area here. We’re actually just outside of a small historic town.” Great, we broke down in a secluded area—the perfect spot to be murdered and no one would ever know. “Where are you ladies headed?”

“Sorrento.” May brushes her hair behind her ear after the wind has pasted it to her face.

“May!” I scold. We’ve spent too many late nights cuddled up under a blanket watching true crime documentaries not to be hesitant right now, and we especially shouldn’t be telling a stranger where we are headed.

As if reading my thoughts, Fernando raises his arms innocently. “Look, I’m not going to kidnap you. I just want to help, really.”

“We can look after ourselves.”

“Really? Cause it looks like you’re stuck in a foreign country, on the side of the road, with no idea where you are and no way to get somewhere else other than me.”

If anyone else said that to me, I’d be shoving my middle finger right where the sun don’t shine, but he’s got this look on his face. He’s not being cocky, just stating facts. Facts that I can’t exactly argue with, so I just pop my hip out and fold my arms in front of me.

“I promise I’m not taking you to my underground death bunker, okay?” A smile slips from his lips, and one threatens to slip from my own like it’s contagious.

I look over to May in question. She shrugs, and I know her thoughts probably mirror mine: what other choice do we have?

The other choice would be either waiting for another car to come along or to walk.

Potential death by hot stranger? Or potential death by heat stroke?

“Fine.” Potential death by hot stranger takes the win.

I reach into the car to grab our bags so I can put them in his car. I’m still not a hundred percent sure about this, but we don’t really have another choice. At least not any good ones.

I stretch across to grab my purse from the other seat as the breeze catches my scarf once more and it quickly unravels from my neck. I squeak a noise of worry as I reach to catch it before it flies away, but my hands are too full.

Well, I won’t be getting that one back. Trust me to lose something the day I get it. Whether it’s my keys, my phone, or my car in a mall parking lot, I’m always losing something.

After loading my arms with my luggage, I turn around to see Fernando rising from the ground with my scarf in hand. He brings it up closer to his face while he takes off his shades, as if to get a better look at it.

“Here.” He pins me with his gaze as he reaches forward to return it to me.

“Thank you.” I wrap the scarf around my hands, fiddling with the ends without ripping my eyes from his. They are the most gorgeous shade of blue—bits of cerulean swirled with cobalt—with a dark ring around his pupils, like the depths of the ocean. You could easily get lost in eyes like his and never be able to find your way back, never be able to swim up to the surface for air. I can already imagine which hues I would use to recreate this color, but I’m not sure if I’d ever be able to do them justice.

May clears her throat and I quickly avert my eyes from his. She’s standing there with her eyebrows raised to her hairline and a teasing look plastered on her face.

By the time I look back, he’s got his shades back on and is grabbing his jacket from the seat of the car.

Shit.

Note to self: don’t eyeball the hell out of strangers minutes after you’ve met them.

I can’t help it though. Sometimes I just get the overwhelming sense that I need to take a mental picture of a certain moment. If I look away too quickly, the picture will blur too easily, and I’ll never be able to recreate that picture how I originally saw it.

Not that I’m recreating anything at the moment, anyway.

We pile our baggage into the Ferrari, and both hop in the back like this guy is our chauffeur. I prefer to think of him as that instead of potentially the last person to see us alive.

That new car smell invades my nostrils. The dark leather seats are in pristine condition, not a speck of dust in sight. No soda cans in the middle console. The dude is tidy.

“Where to?” he asks.

“Oh, just drop us in the center of town and we can find our way from there,” I reply.

“With all this stuff? No, let me drop you at your accommodation. I know the area. Just tell me where it is, and I’ll take you to the door.”

His kindness is met by silence from May and me as we look at each other, trying to speak telepathically through our facial expressions.

He turns from the front seat to face us. “What?” he asks, interrupting the silent argument and forcing our attention back to him.

“Well,” May starts, “we don’t actually have anywhere to stay yet.” She really emphasizes the “yet.”

“You came all the way here with no plans on where to stay?”

I struggle to hold in an annoyed groan. This trip couldn’t be going more haywire if we tried.

“No,” I snap, “it’s just that our first plan kind of fell through.”

“So you were just going to go to Sorrento, and what? Go door to door at hotels asking if they had any space?” he asks.

“Yeah, pretty much,” May responds after a long pause.

He turns back to the front and turns the key in the ignition.

“Okay, you’re not doing that.” He laughs like this whole situation is funny to him. “I know a place that has vacancies. I will take you there.”

“Look, this is really nice of you, but we can look after ourselves,” I add.

“Yeah, you really proved that with the whole handbrake thing.” My cheeks heat at the memory. “And you’re already in my car, so buckle up.”

“Are you at least going to tell us your name, Fernando?” May asks.

“It’s Caio.”

He doesn’t leave much room for discussion as the car rumbles to life, so we just strap in and hope for the best. I figure this is probably a good time to update my brother.

Me

We made it to Italy.

Miles

Alive and well? All limbs attached?

Me

Well, our rental car broke down about an hour into the drive and we’re now in the back of a Ferrari on the way to an unknown hotel with an unknown Italian man who picked us up.

Miles

I hope you’re kidding.

You’re kidding, right?

Me

If we die, make a true crime doco about us x