Chapter 5
LORENZO
The sea doesn’t crash so much as lap and whisper in the air, kissing the atmosphere with a sense of salt and of calm enjoyment. Pausing to look out at the water, I’m reminded of the beautiful blues of the Mediterranean and home, although this Caribbean water is clearer once you get up close.
Too bad this island is so small. If I could take my bike out and really turn it loose around here, it would be paradise.
Turning away from the sea, I go back inside the spacious suite.
Casa Del Mario, not the best name, in my opinion, but I don’t get asked my opinion on such things.
But what this resort lacks in proper naming, it more than makes up for in architecture and design.
The sweeping white sandstone and stucco are a sight to behold.
And this suite is interesting, though that has more to do with the two women sitting on the couches inside than the décor.
They started by whispering, trying to keep me from hearing their conversation, but the breeze swirling from the balcony has carried their words right back to my ears.
Now, they’re not even trying to be quiet.
“What the fuck, Abs? This is our big shot, an opportunity that comes once in a lifetime, our chance to seize everything we’ve ever wanted, and you’re letting it all slip away!” Janey hisses.
She is fiery. Though I’ve never met her before, I like Janey instantly. Her hair is short, her eyes are bright, and her skin is like cappuccino. She could easily rest on her beauty, but she seems to be the yin to Abigail’s yang.
“Do not paraphrase Eminem to me and make it sound like you’re some lyrical genius. I know this is all fucked up, but I didn’t know what else to do!” Abigail’s response is equally passionate, and the two women lock eyes in a visual battle for dominance.
I’m not surprised when Janey drops her eyes first. Abigail, for all her bubbly free-spiritedness, is still a powerhouse.
“Okay, Lorenzo, let’s do this. You start. What are you doing here?” Abigail demands.
Not one accustomed to being ordered around, I give her only the bare minimum, knowing how it will set her off and waiting with hunger for the fireworks I know are coming. “Cooking.”
Her growl is intended to be badass. It’s adorable, like a tiny kitten thinking itself a fierce tiger. “For the Johnson-Kennedy wedding?”
There’s something fearful in her tone now, and though I typically enjoy pushing buttons and boundaries, I find myself wanting to ease her concerns.
“Yes. They had a dinner at Avanti, and the bride quite enjoyed my fettuccine alfredo. They invited me, through Meredith, to come to the festivities this week and cook for a few of the meals, including a few options for the wedding itself. Seeing as I have never been to Aruba, it seemed like an adventure I would enjoy and an opportunity to learn a new cuisine from a local chef.”
I do not answer people’s inquiries that fully, ever. But once I began telling her how I ended up here, her direct gaze never left mine, and I find myself wanting to keep sharing more just to keep her attention.
Now, though, the room is quiet, and I can almost hear her brilliant mind putting things together.
“The dinner at Avanti must’ve been the centerpieces I prepared. I only knew they were for a dinner, not the venue. So it does sound like a bit of a coincidence for us both to end up here, I guess,” Abigail gives me.
“Or fate putting me in place so that I could step in with your other situation,” I correct, knowing that the quirk of my lips will be enough to set her off-kilter once again.
I like her flip-flops from rash to reasonable, finding them exciting.
But though I seek out adventure and enjoy danger, Abigail is a danger I’m not sure I can afford.
She flops back on the couch morosely, her head shaking back and forth as she rolls her eyes toward the vaulted ceiling. “I cannot believe I said that. Do you have any idea what I’ve done?” she asks.
Perhaps she’s asking the ceiling, or maybe me and Janey? Maybe even herself? I’m not quite sure.
Janey jumps in before I can. “Tell me again. Who the hell is this Emily character and why do we give a single fuck what she thinks? Screw her and the broom she flew in on.”
Abigail rolls her head toward Janey as though she hasn’t the energy to even lift her head. “It’s stupid. I know that. I do. But you weren’t there. It was constant through school. Anything I would show interest in, there was Emily doing it too. Until she was literally doing my boyfriend.”
Janey gasps indignantly.
“Oh, mio Dio,” I whisper. “Seriously?” Whoever this stupido was, he had clearly not understood what it would mean to hold Abigail in his heart. How could someone cheat on her with that . . . Emily?
“She was just a catty bitch, but we’ve always run in the same crowd, you know?
So she never went away and would keep picking and poking .
. . at me, at my family. And when she was all fake sorry that I’m alone, I could feel her glee at my failure, and I wanted to shove it in her face that I’m not a failure.
” She sounds so sad, and surprise at the layers to this woman works its way through the steel surface of my heart.
For all her strength and shine, she is battered and bruised just like the rest of us.
“You could’ve, you know, told her how you’re doing the flowers for the biggest wedding of the year. She would’ve seen that you’re not a failure then,” Janey says logically.
Abigail shakes her head. “That’s not Emily’s currency. She truly doesn’t understand the value of that. But she understands . . . you.” Abigail’s eyes, dark and hopeful, turn to me appraisingly. She might think that only Emily understands my appeal, but Abigail does as well. I can see that clearly.
“Okay, so it is settled then. We will do this charade for Emily and go to dinner and blow away the wedding guests with our combined genius. It sounds like an exciting week, an adventure waiting to unfold,” I summarize.
Truthfully, Abigail is an adventure I’d like to fold and unfold in countless positions.
But she is Violet’s best friend, and Violet is not someone to upset carelessly.
Nor is her entire family branch. And though Abigail might flirt and play at being a fun girl, I think her heart is fragile, easily bruised like a peach, and I do not want to be the man who destroys her for some short-lived enjoyment.
I’m an asshole, but I’m not a monster.
That’s why I left that night at the wedding. Not because she wasn’t enough but because she’s more than I deserve. More than I need right now.
Except she needs me. For now, at least.
I pick up my small bag and stride toward the bedroom Abigail set her carry-on in.
That has her moving double-time off the couch, beating me to the bedroom doorway where she stands with her arms outstretched, one hand on either side of the door frame as a scowling, but cute, blockade.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she balks.
“To our room, mia rosa,” I tell her calmly, absolutely knowing the effect it will have.
“Oh, no. That’s not part of the deal,” she argues, as if this is a negotiation. But she’s already lost this hand.
“Of course it is. Otherwise, when Emily and Doug come to meet us tonight, they will wonder why we are spending our honeymoons in different parts of the resort. Especially when your room is so luxurious and spacious and mine is a last-minute crew quarter space not much larger than a coffin. I think perhaps I have married up.” I flash a bright smile, knowing she’ll see reason.
Her arms cross and her eyes narrow, but nothing comes out of her mouth.
“Very well. Which side of the bed do you prefer, mia rosa?” I call out over my shoulder as I enter the bedroom, making sure to brush against her as I pass.
It’s large and bright. The king-size bed is crisp with white linens and fluffy pillows and surrounded by floor to ceiling windows.
The one centered on the far wall is a slider that opens onto the same balcony as the living room.
I drop my bag and take a running leap for the bed, bouncing onto its lush cushion.
“Aah, this is exquisite,” I moan.
“You can take the couch,” Abigail instructs, still standing in the doorway and pointing to a couch in the corner. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
I quirk a knowing brow and let my voice drop low and turn to gravel as I say, “I did not say anything about sleeping, Abigail.” She crosses her arms protectively again, but I see the way her thighs squeeze together.
“And if I am doing this favor for you, I will not be sleeping on the couch. You can if you choose to, but I’ll be here in this bed that should not be missed.
” I pat the open space beside me in invitation.
She waves a dismissive hand. “Whatever. We can figure that out later. Right now, I need to get to work. I have an email to read, apparently, and I need to get down to see the coolers and check our shipments. I’ll meet you back here at seven so we’re ready for dinner?”
Reluctantly, I hop up from the comfortable bed. “Yes. I should get down and introduce myself to the chef as well and make sure the kitchen is up to snuff.”
Abigail’s brows rise nearly to her hairline. “You told Meredith you’d already done that!”
I shrug carelessly. “I lied. I’ll take care of it, and everything will be fine. I’m a big boy, don’t need her checking up on me. There’s no need to hand her ammunition.”
I can’t decide if Abigail is impressed with me or horrified that she didn’t think of it herself first. Or maybe considering how big a ‘boy’ I am, I think with evil delight.
Testing that theory, I reach down and adjust myself.
Abigail’s mouth closes with a clack of her teeth. Ah-ha, got you, mia rosa.
“Kitchen. Coolers. Seven p.m. Don’t be late,” she orders, pointing a finger to me, then herself, before settling it back toward me.
“As you wish,” I reply, giving her sarcastic bow.