Chapter 17
chapter seventeen
LEO
Rome is putting on a show this evening. As I drive down the crowded streets toward Marisol’s hotel, it feels as if the city is alive with anticipation. Or maybe that’s just me.
I haven’t seen Marisol in a week, and I didn’t think that would be a problem for me, considering I’ve spent years only getting glimpses of her, but it seems now that I’ve had her in my grasp, letting go of her for a mere seven days has me going through withdrawals.
The day after she left, I got a call from Emilio. He gave me the name of the guy who spiked Marisol’s drink that night.
André Hugo.
He’s a French journalist who’s been living in Sorrento for a few months. Emilio couldn’t dig deep enough to figure out if he has any plans on leaving, and I spent hours reading his stupid travel blog to see if he mentioned his next trip. But no such luck.
I almost got in my car multiple times. Nearly drove to Sorrento with the intention of finding him. But Emilio wasn’t stupid enough to give me his address.
That’s not what stopped me, though. I could have walked into the firm and found the information for myself.
But this feeling, and that behavior, is exactly what I’ve been trying to get away from.
I can’t be that guy anymore. I’m not that guy anymore.
But here I am, with his name rotating around my mind.
I can’t bear knowing it and not doing anything about it.
I have to remind myself that it’s not about me, it’s about Marisol. I don’t know what she would want me to do. I don’t know if she would even want to know who he is.
I turn the radio up in an attempt to drown out my thoughts as I park in front of the hotel. I drove here this morning, preferring to spend a few hours driving through the countryside versus being stuck on a plane with air that doesn’t feel real, crammed too close to whoever is sitting next to me.
I spent the afternoon cruising around the city, stopping at a gelato store and sitting on a bench, people watching for longer than I meant to, before I could check into my hotel.
I step out into the warm evening air, locking my car before I open the glass doors to Marisol’s hotel. “Benvenuto, signore,” the doorman greets me.
“Ciao.” I nod to him as I walk across the marble floor to the front desk. A subtle but sweet scent fills the lobby, something that smells expensive.
“Buonasera, signore,” the concierge says. “How can I help you tonight?”
“Would you be able to page Miss Deo to the lobby, per favore?”
“Certamente.” He nods, moving to pick up the phone.
“Grazie.” I step away from the desk, ambling around the lobby, and taking in all of the details.
Large pictures hang on the wall, black and white depictions of the city I spent the day exploring.
I find myself getting lost in them, wondering about the people whose day was captured, frozen in time, forever preserved in a single shot.
I wonder if it was a day they would remember. If it was a day of importance for them.
“Signore.” I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I turn to the concierge, but my eyes don’t linger on him long, not when my attention is stolen by the woman walking toward me.
Marisol moves like an angel, like a true cover girl as she effortlessly struts toward me.
I feel a grin lift my ears with every second I spend admiring her.
A yellow satin dress clings to her body, and god, I have never loved yellow so much.
It’s as if the entire room—the entire world around us—is frozen, and she is the only thing in movement.
The last seven days suddenly feel like a blessing; all the time spent thinking about her couldn’t possibly compare to how I feel looking at her now.
“Hi,” she says, landing in front of me.
“Hi,” I choke out, suddenly losing the ability to fucking speak to her because how does the universe even allow me to breathe the same air as she does?
She reaches up, adjusting the black tie that hangs around my neck. “You’d better be careful,” she says. “I think I’m getting used to the look of you in a suit.”
Is she flirting with me right now?
I let my hand rest in the hollow of her waist. “Yeah?” I say.
“Well, I’m getting used to the look of you in my clothes.
” Marisol’s friend, Sabrina—the girl from the club—tagged her in a photo this week of the two of them sitting on a couch watching TV, blanket littered with popcorn.
But all I could focus on was the fact that Marisol was wearing my sweatshirt.
She looks down as a blush rises on her skin, absentmindedly smoothing down her dress as if she wasn’t the one who started this. I smile to myself, linking my arm with hers before I begin to lead her toward the door. “Are you nervous?”
She lets out a gigantic breath. “So much, it’s not even funny.”
“How many runway shows have you done?” I ask before thanking the doorman as he lets us out, that warm breeze tumbling down the street.
Marisol is quiet beside me, but I know she’s simply thinking. “Seven.”
“Pshh,” I scoff as I open the passenger side door for her. “You’re a pro, no need to be nervous, covergirl.”
“There are about a million reasons to be nervous,” she says as I shut the door, rounding the hood before sliding in myself.
“Like what?”
She looks at me like I might be the most stupid man to ever exist, but I don’t mind it so long as she is looking at me.
“Like the fact that this is my first true public event since Jack decided to torpedo my career,” she says.
“Like the fact that it’s Vittoria Ales. Like the fact that my fake boyfriend has a front row seat.
Like the fact that the director of Regina is going to be there, and is going to meet you too. ”
“Are you worried about that?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes. “No, I know you can charm the pants off anybody.”
“Yet somehow you’ve always had pants on when I’m around.” I grin.
Her mouth pops open as she looks over at me. “Shut up! Oh my god.” She slaps me across my chest. I laugh as I drift around a corner, and an incredulous giggle bursts from her lips. It’s fucking enchanting.
“I think Jack will be there,” she says quietly, and the grin slides off my face. “I mean, I don’t know for sure, but his agency has girls on the runway tonight, too.”
Silence hangs between us as I focus on the road ahead of me, wishing Jack, whatever his last name is, never existed in the first place.
But then again, he and his appalling actions are what led to me sitting here in this car with Marisol by my side.
I’ll never thank the asshole for it, but I can reconcile the fact that he is the only reason I’m here.
“Does that mean he’ll be backstage?” I ask. The thought has me tightening my grip on the steering wheel.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
“If he is,” I say. “You come find me.”
“I can’t come out unt—”
“I don’t care how you do it. Ask one of the stagehands or something, I don’t care. Just get word to me, okay?” I turn to look at her when she doesn’t answer, but she’s simply staring at me. I glance back at the road before meeting her gaze once more. “Okay?”
She’s nodding. “Yeah, okay.” But she doesn’t take her eyes off me.
“What?” I ask.
I see her shake her head in my peripheral vision, looking back out the windshield. “No, nothing.”
I don’t question her any further, letting the music from the radio fill the comfortable silence between us as we make our way to the venue.
When I pull into the entrance, flashing lights from paparazzi cameras skew my vision, but I follow the car in front of me until we make our way around the back of the exhibition center and to the private parking lot.
“Buonasera, signore.” I’m greeted as soon as I turn the car off, someone pulling open my door.
“Buonasera,” I respond as I step out, not knowing exactly what the etiquette is here. I round the car, leaving the man to shut my door as I head for the passenger side.
Another man is reaching for Marisol’s door. “I’ll get it,” I say, stopping him in his tracks as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself now that he can’t open the door like he was supposed to.
I leave him to his confusion as I open the door, and Marisol takes my outstretched hand, softly smiling up at me as she steps out of the car. “You could’ve let the man open my door.”
A frown pulls at my brows. “No.”
She laughs as she nods toward the door leading into the building, letting me know where I’m supposed to be taking her. “Grazie.” She nods politely to the men as we head in the opposite direction. She seems relaxed now, like a switch has flipped in her mind.
I scan the surrounding area as we walk, assessing accessibility from each direction and taking note of the people lingering around the parking lot. All of them look to be event officials, but you can never be too careful.
“Marisol!” A voice calls out, and I hold her close to me as she spins toward it.
She places a hand on my arm that holds us together. “It’s alright, it’s my agent.” I release my grip, and she almost skips across the space between her and Eva. “Hi!”
Eva wraps her in a warm hug before the two of them share a hushed conversation, a grin on Eva’s face. I hang back, keeping an eye on the parking lot. I’d rather we didn’t linger out here.
“And this is the infamous Leonardo Romano.” Eva holds her hands up as she approaches me.
“It’s just Leo,” I say, holding out a hand to shake hers. Why does everyone think it’s Leonardo?
“It’s good to finally meet you, Leo,” she says.
“Likewise.” I nod. “Shall we?” I gesture toward the door, and Eva turns to give Marisol a look before heading for it. The two of them file in first, and I shut the door behind me, except now that I’m in here, I have no idea what to do with myself.
“Makeup will want to see you pronto,” Eva says to Marisol, to which she nods in return as people move like ants around us.
“She’s already got makeup on,” I say.
Eva looks at me with a small smirk before reaching up to pat my shoulder. “So much to learn.” Marisol giggles as she meets my confused gaze.
“Andiamo.” Eva shoos Marisol and me down the hall, where people are filing in and out like a train station. “We’ve got three hours until the show. We need to get you ready.”
“Three hours?” I ask. What the hell am I supposed to do for three hours?
“You can sit with her while they do her glam, but after that, you’ll have to wait in the lounge,” Eva says, squishing through the doorway at the same time as two other people.
We weave our way through the backstage area, which is far bigger than I ever expected, before we hit a room with a big sign on the door that says MAKEUP. I simply follow as Marisol and Eva push through.
I don’t say a word as one of the many makeup artists in the room ushers Marisol into a seat. Another woman ties her hair back as the original woman wheels a suitcase-looking thing over, opening all the different compartments and pulling out a myriad of products.
“Never been in a makeup room, I’m assuming?” Eva asks as she sits down on a large sofa that faces the line of women getting their makeup done at the same time.
“Is it that obvious?” I say, sitting down beside her.
“This is show business.” She laughs.
“There are a fuck ton of people in show business.”
She tips her head. “That there is. But not many like your Marisol.”
My Marisol.
I’m not ashamed to admit how much I love the sound of that.
Both of our gazes drift toward where she sits, her eyes closed peacefully as she begins what I’m assuming is a long process.
“How are you handling all of this?” Eva asks.
I tear my gaze away from Marisol to look at her. “All of this?” I gesture to the situation in front of us.
She smiles. “Not this specifically. The relationship, I mean.”
Oh, yeah. That.
“Oh, I’m fine,” I say. “It’s not hard to pretend to enjoy being around her.”
“I can imagine.” She nods like I said something far more revealing than I did. “I’ve been reading some of the articles. Have you?”
“No.” I huff a laugh. “Got better things to occupy my time.”
“I like to do a little light reading at night,” Eva says, her tone alluding to her amusement. “And these internet sleuths are good, you know. It doesn’t take much for them to get going.”
“Indeed,” I mutter, keeping my eyes glued to where Marisol is being done up.
“It didn’t take long for them to figure out that you own a security firm, one that is currently up for sale.”
“Is there a point to this wee story time?” I ask, finally looking over at her.
She smiles before patting a hand on my knee. “It’s nice to know you’re looking out for her as well as getting perfectly timed Carnevale photos. Those were hot, by the way.”
I shake my head. “Even if I didn’t have a security background, I’d still be looking out for her.”
Eva bites the inside of her cheek, fighting a smile. “You’re good for her. She seems more herself lately than I think I’ve ever seen her.”
I look back at Marisol, who now has her eyes open, and she’s looking at me.
I can feel Eva watching us, but I don’t look away, and neither does Marisol.
She blinks softly, and the longer we sit staring at each other, the more a small smile tugs at her lips.
A matching one tugs at mine, and I don’t think it leaves my face, not until she is looking absolutely flawless and I am being ushered out of the room.
I want to kiss her on the way past, and I swear the only thing that stops me is the candy-looking gloss coating her lips.