Chapter 12 Elena
Elena
The next two days I spend exploring around.
I grab a taxi to the beach, which I admit is much nicer than the city, though it’s very different from any East Coast beaches.
The people, the sand, the wildlife, it all seems too foreign.
As much as I try to enjoy it here, I can’t shake this sense of unease, like I don’t belong in this place.
I sit on the beach, a cool breeze blowing in from the ocean, and watch the waves. So… what do I do now?
Three days ago, I literally disappeared on my family, and ran away from Maximo.
Sure I can call my sister and tell her I’ve decided to take an impromptu vacation, but what do I do about Maximo?
If I go home to Manhattan, he’ll be after me, I’m sure of it.
At the same time, I don’t want to stay here. This city and I are not a fit.
It’s a predicament.
With a sigh, I pick up the one book I brought with me on the plane and continue reading. Escapism’s exactly what I need right now, because I don’t have any answers.
The day wears on. I watch the sun set over the water, which is a moment that I do fully enjoy. It reminds me of my time in Italy. More nostalgia threatens to suffocate me, so I find a nice restaurant for dinner. Where I eat alone.
After my meal, I decide I’m not yet ready to call it a night, so I step into a loud, trendy looking bar. The number of people crammed in here is dizzying. I weave my way through the crowd to the bar, where a seat happens to open up, and I take it.
“What can I get you?” one of the bartenders calls.
I have to shout over the music to be heard. “I’ll have a strawberry margarita, please.”
The guy nods, moving effortlessly behind the counter. I usually drink wine, but I’m attempting to let loose a bit tonight. One last stab at getting into the LA vibe before I call it quits.
My drink arrives and I pay for it so that I can duck out of here as soon as I want.
As I sip the cold cocktail, I glance around the dimly lit space.
Couples and groups grind together on the dance floor, others sit at tables chatting and laughing.
All of it makes me feel even more like an outsider.
The strangest thing is I can’t even envision myself joining one of these groups.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
I glance at the man who’s claimed the chair next to mine at the bar. He’s looking at me, so I assume he spoke to me too. I offer him a weak smile. I’m not really in the mood to talk with strange men in a bar. Although… Maybe that’s what I need.
“Hi.” My grin widens. He’s handsome enough, so why not chat with him for a bit? No harm in that, right?
He leans forward so I can hear him better. “Are you here with anyone?”
I shake my head.
“Really?” His eyebrows creep toward his blond hairline. “I guess it’s my lucky night.”
I’m not entirely sure what he means by that, so I just smile.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
I hold up my half consumed beverage. “I’ve already got one.”
He calls the bartender over anyway and orders us both another drink.
Are all men such bad listeners? I mean why ask if I want a drink if he’s just going to order one anyway?
I let it slide, as I’ve never been on a date, so I don’t know how these things work.
Maybe an assertive man is supposed to be a good thing.
When our drinks arrive, we cheers, tapping our glasses together, before taking a sip.
The guy leans in to say something, when my phone vibrates with a text. I grab my phone.
Ravenna:
Hey, you’ve been quiet. Are you okay?
“Sorry, I need to take this,” I say to the attractive stranger. “I’ll be right back.”
He smiles and nods. “I’ll keep your seat warm.”
Okay…
I have to leave the bar in order to call my sister. There’s no chance I could hear her at all over all that noise. Yes, I could text her back, but it’s easier to explain it all at once, instead of a back and forth exchange.
She answers on the first ring, “Hey.”
“Hi. So, yes I’m still alive and I’m fine.”
“Oh good. Are you coming out with us for Sunday coffee tomorrow?” She pauses. “What is that sound? Where are you?”
I cringe a little before admitting the truth. “I’m in Los Angeles. Only temporarily. I just had to get away for a few days.”
“Elle, what are you talking about? You just got up and went to LA without a word?” When she puts it like that, it sounds horrible. But that’s what I did, isn’t it?
“Yeah. It’s fine though. I just— I don’t know, it was impulsive, but I’m glad I did it. We can talk about it when I get back.” Am I really committing to going back to New York? “I have to go.”
Worry laces Ravenna’s tone. “Okay, I’m going to trust you that everything's all right. We will talk later. Be safe.”
“I will. Bye.” Hanging up, I make my way back inside to where I left my drink. I’m not dumb enough to finish it, but I might order a new one. Except when I get to my seat, the guy is nowhere to be found. Maybe he got bored and left? It doesn’t matter, I should get out of here anyway.
Returning to my hotel that night, I stand on the balcony and further contemplate my situation. Los Angeles twinkles all around. At night it’s a pretty city. It’s just not the city that’s welcoming to me, but I’m not willing to give up on my dreams just yet.
I spend much of the night looking at places all around the world in Google Maps.
So many possibilities, yet none of them feel quite right.
To compare, I finally open a tab on my browser to show Manhattan.
As soon as the screen fills with iconic images, my heart does a little flip.
That sense of homesickness doubles, and I release a groan.
How is this possible? A week ago, I loathed everything about New York City. It made my skin crawl and I couldn’t wait to leave. Now I want to go back? This is so stupid. I absolutely do not want to live in a place that holds that many bad memories for me.
I search for Italy, which seems to be the only other place in the world where I feel at home.
Most of my years there I didn’t venture out of Aunt Antonia’s house.
I had absolutely no social life, no boyfriend, no real contact with anyone except those who came to visit. Like Maximo on rare occasions.
Then one day my cousin Ginevra showed up and decided she’d had enough of my hermit lifestyle, so we toured around Italy as she revenge-spent her husband’s money.
It was the most fun I’d had in years, maybe ever in my life.
Every city we visited brimmed with adventure—of course we were heavily guarded, so we didn’t get into too much trouble.
But each and every one of those new experiences thrilled me, unlike Los Angeles.
This place feels like a dead end. So where do I go from here?
Putting my internal crisis on hold, I decide to get some sleep. Tomorrow is another day. I have time to sort through my crap. No rush.
But that night brings the same nightmare as I relive those metal bars, the fear and hopelessness.
Only to wake up more disappointed than ever that being three thousand miles away from where that happened hasn’t changed a thing.
I’m no more free from my past here than I was in Manhattan.
That realization sends me spiraling as I shower and dress in a pair of leggings and a long T-shirt.
Already tired of the room service options, I decide to go in search of a cafe for breakfast. I unlock the door and turn the handle. The door slams open, much heavier today than usual. I yelp and jump back as a man falls inside my room. The back of his head smacks the carpet.
“Ow. Cazzo!”
I’d know that voice anywhere. “Maximo?”
He gazes up at me from where he’s lying on the floor. “Good morning, bella.”
The familiarity of him fills me with relief, overshadowing any sense of danger or panic. My eyes burn and thickness clogs my throat. As much as I hate to admit it, Maximo’s a small piece of home, of everything that’s missing the mark for me in LA.
He’s also a problem.
“Get up.” I kick at him. Instead of fighting me off, he scowls, rolling up to his feet, far too agile for a man his size.
“What are you doing leaning against my door?” I demand, chiding myself for being happy to see him—of all people. Really, Elena? What’s wrong with you?
“I was sleeping.”
“Sleeping? In the hallway? I don’t understand.”
He rakes his fingers through his already mussed hair. “I was going to knock on your door last night, but I knew you wouldn’t open it if you saw me. So I decided to wait for you to come out instead.” His brows pinch. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep but the past few days have been very, very long.”
I fully take him in. Dark circles under his eyes, rumpled suit, and he hasn’t shaved in a few days.
“How did you find me?” I wrap my arms around my middle, stepping away from him.
His hands drop to his sides, and his gaze scans down my body. “I’ll always find you, cara mia. That’s a promise.”
“Tell me how.” I have a burning need to know and I won’t back down until he tells me the truth.
Sensing my determination, he admits, “There’s a tracking device in your purse. I put it there.”
My gaze darts to the Fendi on my arm. Of course he’d plant trackers on me, why the hell not? He’s exactly that kind of man. And I’m sure he did it for my safety. Whatever.
“If that’s true, then you should have found me much sooner. What have you been up to for the past three days?”
He glances away, pink tinges the tip of his ears. “That’s not important.”
“I think it is. Answer me.”
Maximo stalks toward me, and I step back until my back hits the wall. He cages me in, his large frame enveloping my smaller one as his intense gaze pins me in place. My stomach flutters—not from fear. I glance at his lips. Does he taste as good as he smells?
He presses closer, his breath tickles my hair when he speaks. “Watching over you. You shouldn’t be chatting up strange men in bars.”
I gasp. Maximo ran off that guy last night?
“Protecing you, whether you like it or not. That’s what I’ve been doing every day and every night. You’re mine to protect, bellissima.”
The conviction in his raw voice has my knees growing weak. A soft moan escapes my throat without my permission.
I turn my head and we’re so close that our lips brush. Awareness and need thrum through every cell of my body.
Tentatively, his mouth moves over mine, like he’s asking and pleading at the same time. Kiss me, please. I hear the words though neither of us spoke.
In the next moment, I’m not sure which one of us moved first, but my fingers are in his hair, his lips crush against mine. We’re touching and moaning, our bodies pressed together in desperation. His tongue teases at the seam of my lips and I let him in. He tastes like sweet liquor and earthy mint.
His knee parts my legs as he slides his thigh up to my core. He gently rocks and I gasp. Heat pools between my legs. He does it again, slowly at first, then picking up speed. I grab onto his broad shoulders to steady myself.
Without breaking our kiss, he lifts my leg, spreading me wider and I’m slightly embarrassed by how hot and slick I am. But I can’t tell him to stop. I don’t want him to stop. I desperately need this release.
He grinds his thigh against my clit and I moan into his mouth. Pressure builds low in my belly. What I’m doing is completely reckless, with the wrong man, but right now I don’t give a damn. I’m tired, lonely, confused, and he feels too good to resist.
“Come for me,” he says against my lips. “Just let go.”
And I do. I let it all go. I fall apart in ecstacy.
His pure masculine rumble of satisfaction sends me over the edge a second time, leaving me trembling in his arms. Oh my god.
Gradually coming back to earth, I gaze into his lustful blue-green eyes.
Oh god, what have I done?
He straightens my glasses and kisses the tip of my nose before pulling away. “Are you ready to come home?”
I’m not sure what to make of this version of Maximo. Is he actually sweet when he wants to be?
I clear my throat, attempting to stand on wobbly legs. “I’m ready to return to Manhattan. But I’m still not going to marry you.”
He smirks, his thumb brushing over his swollen lips. I did that to him. A mix of mortification and satisfaction swims in my stomach.