Chapter 20 Lorenzo
G etting a rise out of Sophia is turning out to be one of my favorite things to do. Dare I say it’s more fun than poker? She makes it so easy. When will she learn I’m not normal? Playing games is my thing. And as I’ve come to find out, it’s her thing, too. She can deny it all she wants. Be stubborn about it. It doesn’t make it any less true.
I know the group has been joking lately that we’re the same person, and while I know Sophia is offended at the thought, I find it interesting. I’ve never met a woman like her. Someone who likes to challenge me and call me out every chance she gets and is unapologetic about it. It’s my favorite trait about her—personality-wise, anyway. I can think of many favorite physical traits.
Her intense blue eyes.
Her long, shiny, perfect brown hair.
Her perfectly shaped lips.
Her round, perky ass.
The list is endless. It’s no secret I’m attracted to her. We slept together, after all. And even though people consider me the biggest playboy of the Chicagoland area—as everyone often loves to remind me—little do they know, that’s the farthest from the truth lately. I haven’t slept with anyone since I crossed paths with Sophia. I’m not pining for her or anything. I’m smarter than that. She has made it very clear she’s not going to touch me with a ten-foot pole, even when her eyes betray her sometimes and blatantly check me out. It’s just a game. No one has ever taken me seriously. Women want me for one thing: sex. They don’t care about getting to know me, why would they?
Women using me as a pit stop before meeting their prince charming should be depressing, but you can’t be depressed at something you’ve always done. Something you’re used to being. I’m not boyfriend material, much less husband material. Women come to me when they want to have the night of their lives, not when they’re looking to settle down. And even though I’ve always felt this hole in my heart, and I’ve come to find it tiring from time to time, I’ve never understood what has been missing from my life.
Companionship, maybe?
Love? Extremely doubtful. That was an unknown concept at my house. While other kids were being unconditionally loved by their parents—hell, even grandparents—I was being trained on how to make mindful business decisions. On how to always make more money. On how to carry on the stupid family legacy. And what do I have to show for it? A stuffy vice presidency position. Oh, and my misery.
I’m overthinking shit too much. My life is great. I have no one to tie me down, nor do I answer to anyone. I should be happy about it. I am happy about it.
Are you, though? Or are you simply ignoring this hole in your heart you’ve been feeling more often lately?
Blame it on sexual frustration. I haven’t slept with anyone in a while, and my brain is spinning with all these delirious thoughts.
As I’m deep in thought, Sophia walks out wearing a simple, short yellow summer dress that makes her skin glow. My gaze drifts down to her legs, smooth and flawless, but I quickly look away, trying to push back the urge to run my hands all over them and remind myself how good they must feel.
“I feel extremely underdressed, and it’s all your fault.”
I frown. “How is it my fault?”
She glares at me. “You should have told me our destination so I could have planned accordingly.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“Says the guy with a perfect outfit.”
I nod in understanding, biting my bottom lip momentarily before replying. “I’ll rectify that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I rise from the stairs where I was sitting and start walking. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you always this cryptic?”
I shrug without bothering with a reply.
She lets out a small, frustrated groan that makes me laugh as she quickly strides to catch up. “Where are we going?”
“There’s a perfect little restaurant around the corner that has, hands down, the best Ropa Vieja you’ll ever try.”
To be honest, every time I come here that’s the only thing I eat, because I’m dying to figure out every single ingredient and make it myself. I could ask, but that takes away the fun. I like to explore the flavors and play with ingredients until I can nail them. It’s the best part of being in the kitchen. There are endless possibilities and creations you can do until you find the perfect one .
“Ropa what ?” she asks, confused.
I laugh as I open the door of the restaurant, placing my hand on her lower back and guiding her inside. “The English translation is old clothes. I know the name doesn’t make it sound like the best, but I promise you it’s good.”
She scrunches her nose in the cutest way possible. “That doesn’t sound good at all.”
I roll my eyes at her comment. Of course, she argues with me. I don’t know why I expected any less.
The restaurant is tiny, and soft, overhead yellow lights adorn the ceiling, giving the space a peaceful and romantic vibe. The brick walls are adorned with bright-colored paintings and small Panamanian flags all around. From the research I did while scouting for the perfect restaurant location, I found Boca del Toro is one of the most touristic places honeymooners visit. And every restaurant has this local but romantic feel.
It’s fairly late, but the place is still bustling with activity. I request outdoor sitting, because I never tire of the view, the light breeze, and the smell of fresh ocean air. After a few minutes, they sit us on a corner table by the veranda with a perfect view.
While Sophia browses the menu, my eyes focus on her face. I hold back a laugh every time she furrows her brows when she can’t understand a word. I mentally slap myself, trying to get my shit together and not reach out to trace her lip with my thumb every time she unconsciously bites her bottom lip in concentration.
“I give up.” She drops the menu on the table. “I don’t know what I want. You choose.”
I purse my lips, holding back a chuckle. “Wise choice.”
She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms and resting them on the table, slightly leaning forward. “Don’t make me regret it. You’re surprisingly very knowledgeable when it comes to food. So let’s put that knowledge to the test.”
“I mean, I’m not trying to sound cocky or anything, but did you forget I own hundreds of restaurants?”
“That doesn’t mean you’re an expert, now, does it?”
I raise an eyebrow, contemplating how to reply. No one knows the passion I have for cooking. It’s not something I like to share. What’s the point? I’m a businessman. My job is to take care of payroll, investments, and all the boring administrative shit that brings me billions of dollars every year. Sharing my love for cooking will pique Sophia’s interest. I’m not here to be honest. I never claimed I was going to tell her the truth. The world thinks of me a certain way, and I prefer to keep it that way.
“Is that your question of the day?” I ask, threading my fingers through my hair.
She studies with squinted eyes, pondering. Her hair sways gently with the light breeze. “No.”
I nod, drumming my index finger on the table. “When are you going to ask it?”
“When you least expect it.”
Before I can reply, the waiter arrives and takes our order. We order a few rounds of Seco Sour , a typical Panamanian drink with a fruity yet sour taste. I figured this was something she would enjoy, since her typical go-to order is a gin martini with a twist. A few typical Panamanian appetizers, such as Ceviche and Empanadas . And, of course, the main reason we’re here—the Ropa Vieja .
“Dare I say, Blue, Central America suits you,” I point out.
The waiter arrives with our drinks and places them on the table, and Sophia takes hers with a gentle touch. Everything she does looks so smooth and effortless. She always seems so composed, but then she speaks, and her lively, fiery personality shines through, giving her an entirely different, vibrant edge.
“Dare I say, Ace, the real you suits you,” she replies very matter-of-factly.
I raise an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Is that your question of the day?” she asks, her eyes gleaming with amusement.
I grab my glass and take a sip of the fruity, slightly sour drink. As I gulp, I contemplate momentarily before replying. “Yes.”
She’s the one looking stunned now as she drops her elbow on the table and rests her chin on the palm of her hand. “Today, how you were talking about your newest business venture?—”
I interrupt with a small laugh. “Not a new adventure.”
She glares at me. “Let me finish.” She takes a sip of her drink before continuing, and my eyes travel to her neck as she gulps. My cock comes to life with the idea of wrapping my hand around her pretty little throat and owning her mouth. Kissing her like my life depends on it. Kissing her until I can’t breathe. Savoring her sharp tongue and getting lost in her.
“It’s no secret you know what people say about you in gossip columns. But this side of you I saw today.” She sighs, moving her head to the side and admiring the soft beach waves. “It’s a good one, Lorenzo. One I can’t fully understand yet, but still worthy of being seen.”
My breathing falters for a moment, my heart stabbing my rib almost painfully. In my thirty-six years of life, no one has ever read me so openly. The fact she could figure out a small part of my life so easily after one day together puts me on high alert. My mind is screaming at me to shut this shit down right now, before it’s too late .
“Why do you hide yourself?” she asks, plain and simple. Direct. Unfiltered. Just how I like her.
Words escape me somehow. My heart is soaring, demanding me to be honest.
Would it be so bad to be honest for once?
Strangely, I feel safe with Sophia. Anything I can say to her, she’ll accept it without judgment. If anything, she would be understanding. There’s something behind those eyes of hers, something I recognize.
“Because nothing about me is worthy, Blue,” I rasp.
She looks directly at me, her shiny blue eyes roaming every inch of my face. “Somehow, I doubt that, Ace.”
Dinner was amazing, and the company—unsurprisingly—was even better. Sophia ended up eating an entire Ropa Vieja platter without an ounce of shame, which made me smile so much that my cheeks are still hurting. She was so full by the time we walked out of the restaurant, she rested her head on my shoulder and interlaced our arms as we walked, claiming she needed the support if we were going to walk back. I happily complied, because any excuse to touch her is more than fine with me.
The villa has a small staircase that takes you to a private part of the beach, so now we’re sitting on the sand, enjoying the sound of the waves and the calm breeze of the night. If I were still trying to drown my thoughts, I would probably be at a club getting drunk and trying to find someone to get lost in. But I’ve come to care less and less about the partying, the going out, and the sleeping around. The day I slept with Sophia, my brain chemistry shifted. I’ve never—and I mean never —felt such a charged chemistry with someone before. It has always been about chasing that high, about finding release. With her, it was like every nerve of my body came alive for the first time, and I’m dying to get another glimpse of that feeling again. How is that possible? We didn’t know each other. We were two strangers looking for a wild night. Yet it changed everything for me. I’ve been sitting on these thoughts, these unknown feelings, since she waltzed back into my life, and they are scaring the crap out of me. No point in denying it.
I watch as she adjusts, sitting up to face me. She pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, and rests her head on her forearm. The soft lights coming from the villa give Sophia a beautiful glow, even in the dark of the night. I find myself studying her, wanting nothing more than to engrave her into my memory.
“Let’s play a game,” she whispers.
“Sure.” I shrug. “What game?”
“I ask a question, we both answer it, and then vice versa.”
My laugh echoes. “Curious about me, Blue?”
“Yes,” she answers honestly, shrugging nonchalantly.
I nod. “Okay, shoot.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“That’s what you want to know? My favorite color?”
“Humor me.” She pats me on the shoulder jokingly.
I shift and face her now, placing my hands on her legs, my fingertips caressing her smooth skin back and forth. Every time I’m near, I have the urge to touch her. I’ve never cared much about showing affection to someone. That was a strange concept in my house, after all. I can’t even remember the last time I received a hug just because. These things are strange to me, but still, with Sophia, it’s the most natural thing.
“I don’t have a favorite color.”
Her eyes roll slightly, followed by a light laugh. “Come on, everyone has a favorite color. Mine’s periwinkle. Now spill it—what’s yours?”
I can’t help but smirk. It’s funny, considering I gave her a flower of that exact color earlier. I let the silence hang between us for a moment before my eyes lock onto hers. “The color of your eyes,” I say, opting for honesty.
Her brows knit together as her nose crinkles, making her look unintentionally adorable. “Blue? That’s such a basic color. I thought you were more creative.” She lets out an exaggerated sigh, her tone playful. “What a shame, Ace.”
I shake my head, tucking her usual wild strand of hair behind her ear. My hand travels to the nape of her jaw, and I start stroking her soft skin. “Your eyes aren’t just blue,” I whisper. “They’re deep and vibrant, like the ocean at its calmest. But when that fire flares up in you, they become more intense, like the sea before a storm. Blue doesn’t even begin to cover it. And they are anything but basic.”
She tenses under my touch, her breath hitching at my confession. Even in the soft lighting, I witness for the briefest moment how her eyes sparkle before she looks the other way, avoiding my gaze. “Uh, your turn to ask a question,” she says weakly.
I roll my lips, holding back a satisfied smile. It’s not often I get to witness Sophia looking nervous. Can’t say I don’t enjoy it. I also can’t say I didn’t mean what I said. It’s the honest-to-God truth. Her eyes are unique, wild, and anything but ordinary. They fit her perfectly because she’s extraordinary .
My hand drops to her leg again, continuing the caress. “What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to do?”
She looks up, tilting her head as she ponders for a moment. “Skydiving.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Someone likes the adrenaline, huh?”
She shrugs. “I’ve always said it’s the Evans’ curse. We all have our vice. Mine is feeling. I want to feel exuberant. Alive .”
“What do you mean?”
She tsks. “This is not how this game works. It’s your turn to answer.”
Before I can register what I’m saying, I confess, “Work in the kitchen. Be a chef. Ditch the suits and put on an apron. Create new, exciting recipes.”
Her eyes zero in on me, studying me. Scrutinizing me. Almost like what I said makes her look at me in a different light. “Why don’t you?”
This is exactly what I feared. Exposing something so personal makes me feel like crawling out of my own skin. It’s like a wave of discomfort rising up, making me itch with the need to escape, to disappear before the vulnerability can settle in.
I pull my knees to my chest and rest my elbows on them, looking over the ocean. It’s so dark, I can barely see anything, but I know it’s there from the smell, and the soft sounds of waves crashing against the rocks.
“Not what I was meant to do. I was born to carry the Mancini legacy. To think and act like a businessman. I was meant for something greater, or at least that’s what my father used to say.” The anger I feel every time I think about this starts to surface, but I fight to keep it down, steadying my voice. What I’m doing—being honest, letting her see the real me—makes my chest tighten .
Sophia’s gentle hands cup my face, and she grips my chin, making sure I meet her eyes. “Don’t let others dictate your life, Lorenzo. It’s up to you to shape your own future and find your own happiness. Do you understand?”
The corner of my lip tugs with the softest, smallest smile.
“ Do. You. Understand? ” she asks again, the grip she has on my chin tightening.
I nod, grinning now. “Careful, Blue. If you keep this up, I might start thinking you actually care,” I joke, trying to ease the tension. This whole game is getting a bit too real, too fast. And while opening up to her feels surprisingly natural, I’m not ready to lay bare all my scars. That would probably drive her away, and I selfishly want to keep her close. In such a short time, she’s become someone I can connect with and confide in. She’s become a part of my tiny, tight-knit circle.
She pulls her hands away from my face, and I immediately feel the absence of her touch, a wave of disappointment washing over me.
“Wouldn’t that be something?” she says, tilting her head with a hint of amusement in her voice.
Her words make my heart clench. Maybe, just maybe, I’ve started to care a little more than I thought. Hell, I probably started to care the moment she stormed back into my life like a whirlwind, knocking the wind out of me with her laughter, her eyes, her smile—all of her. The thought is completely crazy, because she’s only been around for a short time, yet it’s like I’ve known her forever. Something about her pulls me in, and not knowing what it is drives me wild.
“You deserve to be happy, Lorenzo. Never stop chasing that.” Her voice is steady, serious now, not a hint of the playful tone from before .
“Are you happy?” I ask.
She grazes her bottom lip with her teeth, contemplating. “I’m trying to be.”
In this moment, I make a vow to myself to do whatever it takes to make her happy this summer—completely and utterly. But I also make a promise to myself. To chase happiness, even though deep down, I doubt I’ll ever find it. It’s not as easy as walking away from everything and starting fresh. The guilt would eat me alive. Like I still owe my father something, even if I’m not sure exactly what.
“Have you ever been in love?” she asks softly, throwing me out of the loop.
“No,” I reply honestly. “I’ve never witnessed what love is like, so I’ve never given it a chance, and I don’t think I ever will.”
While I never knew my mom, I saw the cause and effect of loving someone so deeply to the point of ruin. Love ruined my father. I didn’t have to witness it when he lost his wife to know he grew cold and distant. To know he depended on alcohol to numb the pain a little and focused all his energy on business. He was grasping for something to keep him above board. If that’s what heartbreak does to you, then what’s the point?
I look up. “You?”
She sighs, contemplating. “I thought I was, but the more I think about it…” She crosses her legs, and I mirror her, our bodies naturally moving closer. “No. I don’t think I’ve ever been in love. I’ve just been heartbroken by people because the need for validation was so strong, I overlooked a lot of things.” She shakes her head. “I don’t think love is for people like me.”
A dull pain settles in my chest at the tone of her voice. While I understand where she’s coming from, there’s no way in hell a wonderful woman like her won’t find love. If anyone deserves it, it’s her. Truly. Whoever sweeps her off her feet will be one lucky son of a bitch.
I shake my head. “You’re wrong. You just haven’t found your person, but you will.”
A sharp, bitter laugh slips from her lips. “That used to be my dream, you know? Find my person, build a family. Live in a house with a white picket fence, hosting Sunday dinners with friends and family. Have my mom living closer to me.” She lets out a long, wistful sigh. “But I’ve grown used to being alone. I’ve always had to take care of myself, and I don’t think I could let anyone else do it for me. The whole idea feels...strange.”
I interlace my fingers with hers, ignoring the burning sensation that travels from my fingertips to the rest of my body. Ignoring the charged electricity that happens between us every time we’re near each other. “You deserve to be looked after. Loved. Worshipped. Cherished. Promise me to never stop looking for it.”
She avoids my gaze and remains quiet.
Not good enough.
It’s my turn to grip her chin tightly now, forcing her to look at me. “ Promise me , Blue.”
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “God, this game sure took a turn.”
I let out a short, sharp laugh. “We sure know how to live it up.”
“I have another question for you.” She bites her bottom lip, and it’s so damn sexy I have to fight the urge to run my thumb over it. “Do you ever think about that night?” she asks barely above whisper. I almost missed it.
The air between us changes to something so thrilling and dangerous, I can almost taste it .
My voice drops an octave. “Not a day has passed where I don’t think about what happened between us.”
Her lips part softly, as if she wasn’t expecting that answer.
Taking a bold chance, I allow myself to run my thumb across her bottom lip, just like I was dying to moments ago, and it’s so smooth. I would love nothing more than to swipe my tongue instead before owning her fucking mouth.
“I think about these pouty lips of yours,” I murmur, my hand sliding down to the column of her neck. “I think about kissing and biting this pretty neck.” Slowly, my fingers trace her collarbone. “I think about kissing you right here, too,” I say softly, my voice dropping as I follow the line with my touch. “I think about your moans and how perfect you felt coming around my cock and how much I’m dying to get another taste of you because once was simply not enough,” I finish gruffly.
Her pupils dilate, her face flushing and chest heaving. All my blood rushes to my cock at the sight of her, and fuck, I meant it all. I need another taste. That would be the logical thing to do to get her out of my fucking system. We both can keep denying the attraction all we want, but we both know it’s there. In every interaction, every retort, and every bantering moment.
“Then why don’t you?”
Oh. My. Fuck.