PORTOFINO, ITALY
The familiar sound of continuous tapping caused me to stir awake. My revived limbs rolled over in search of the soul likely responsible for the disturbance, only to find he wasn’t near. I rose from the bed, dragging the flat sheet along with my naked body, and followed the source of the sound. It led me toward the seating area of the cabin.
Duke was focused, his cinnamon rounds glued to the screen of a laptop, clacking away at the keys. A blue glow illuminated his red-undertoned skin. His chest was bare, but shorts covered his lower half.
“Did I wake you?” He asked, daring not to drag his attention away from the task that had captured it.
“I was stirring beforehand. You may have helped,” I said, easing onto the sofa beside him.
He scratched his beard, blinked long and slow, and then his eyes fell on me. Stunned by their appearance, my face crumpled at the sight. They were red.
“Did you sleep at all? You look exhausted.”
He stretched, groaned, and yawned. “A little.”
“Why don’t you try to get some sleep before we land?”
“We land in an hour, Bee.”
“Will you tell me where we are now, or will I be left to make that determination upon our arrival? And what about my passport? And customs? I don’t have—”
“I have your passport, Bee. Don’t worry about a thing,” he urged between a yawn. “I think I’ll make you wait a little longer before I share our destination.”
“How did you get my pass—”
A smirk pirated his handsome face. “I have my ways. If I want to get inside your condo, a door and an outdated alarm won’t stop me. You really should be more concerned about that. Your brothers should have had that sorted.”
“So you’ve been in—”
“Inside you and your home, yes. Is that a problem? Would you have preferred for Reed or some other nigga to invade your space?”
“No. But how—”
“No more questions, Bee.”
Yielding to his request came with a frown and crossed arms. In turn, the sheet nearly fell from around me. Duke hardly paid me any mind. Pressing the issue would get me nowhere.
“Fine. But come back to bed, baby.” My bedazzled nails pushed the laptop lid closed to drive my point home. “ Now .”
By hand, I led him to our sleeping quarters. He was exhausted, falling into a deep sleep as soon as his head touched the pillows. An hour lapsed in a blink. Regret was so heavy that I’d called him back to bed, knowing I had to wake him shortly. The man was depleted of all energy. It took a while before he finally stirred. Afterward, it was a battle for him to peel his limbs from the bed as well.
Half an hour later, we made it off the plane. The flags flooding the airport perimeter enlightened me of our destination since he still hadn’t told me. A sea of green, white, and red surrounded us. Italy . He’d taken me to Italy. He remembered.
I’ve always dreamt of spending time in Italy or some small French town. Enjoying the stillness. The quietness. The present.
“Weeks have passed since that night we’d first met, and you remembered that small detail.”
“How could I forget? If your heart desires it, it’s never too small or too big for me to see it through. Remember that, Bumble Bee,” he said, flicking a finger down my bottom lip.
A kiss was planted atop my head as he led me down the stairs to a cherry-red Aston Martin parked in a hangar. This must have been what Sadie and Tori felt like when my brothers showered them with romance. I was both excited and amazed. This was utter and pure bliss.
After securing me inside, Duke took his seat on the driver’s side, shielding his eyes in shades. We took off into what was the start of a new day. Long, winding roads took us through an abundance of trees that were still green. I rolled my window down and stuck my hand out, enjoying the breeze. Utopia and relaxation seasoned the docile air. Italy smelled like new love.
Slowing to a mild cruise, the Aston came upon cobblestoned roads. We arrived at a small but colorful village right off the coast.
“Welcome to Portofino,” Duke announced, creeping as we entered the more congested areas of the town.
From ear to ear, my face split. While I’d never visited the city, I’d heard of how it drew the wealthy in with its charm. It wasn’t a frugal vacation spot by far. The sleepy coastal town cost a pretty penny to enjoy.
Portofino was still experiencing mild-summer-like weather. The crowds summoned by an August solstice had died down substantially for September. At 77o, we’d arrived right before the rainy season.
Forgoing a fancy resort or five-star hotel, Duke cruised the Aston Martin to a stop out front of a peach-colored building with green shutters. Exiting the car, he jogged to my side to assist my exit. At the front door of the house, a key was dragged from his pockets and inserted to allow us entry inside.
“I’ll be right back,” he announced with a kiss on my lips.
Turning around, I watched as the trunk of the car was opened, and two suitcases were retrieved from inside. Experience with the Miller men taught me not to attempt to help. Men like Duke didn’t believe in women doing physical work. He returned, setting the luggage down near the front door inside. He left again, mumbling about moving the car to the proper parking spot.
The inside of the dwelling, which I realized was a home, was small but airy. A sitting area greeted me immediately upon entry. Pale white furniture with pine accents furnished the sitting space. The bland colors were offset by vibrant, colorful walls that opened to a courtyard.
Searching around the interior, I noted the lack of a bed, kitchen, and even bathroom. I appreciated the quaintness. It was better than anything I could dream of, but my bladder ached for release. Where the hell is the toilet ? Duke returned, startling me as I continued my hunt.
“What are you looking for?”
“Everything else . The bathroom?”
“Bee, this is the sitting room. The rest of the house is upstairs.”
Grabbing the luggage, he smirked and led me to a staircase tucked away from everything.
The peach staircase opened to an even airier space above. I wasted no time roaming around the interior. Rife with neutral furniture, it was accented with colorful pillows. Vibrant paintings of the Italian Riviera adorned the walls.
A sizeable arched glass door was open on the far end of the living room, permitting a breeze to blow through the sheer white curtains that hung above. The door opened to a terrazzino lined with vibrant red begonias. A view of the city further complemented the design. I closed my eyes and clung to the sensation as my hands clung to the balcony. A melody of peace rang through the air. Everything was absolutely perfect.
Returning inside, I set my sights on the kitchen. Colorful mosaic tile embellished the modern space with peach cabinets and deep green cupboards.
Like a dream, everything was magical, serene, and unforeseen. Everything was picturesque. I couldn’t have asked for more.
“If you don’t like it, I have a reservation on standby.” From behind, Duke made the suggestion.
Inhaling smog-free air flavored with freedom, my eyes closed. Turning around, I exhaled and smiled for the fucking umpteenth time, decimating the few feet that kept me distant from Duke.
“It’s perfect, baby.” With my arms leisurely wrapped around him, I leaked of contentment. “I love it.”
“You ain’t even seen the room yet,” he frowned.
Hand in hand, Duke led me to the bedroom. No distinct bold colors claimed the resting space. Again, all-white furniture coated the room with pine accents and driftwood on the dresser. The placid vibe reminded me of the ocean. A set of large windows lined a single wall, offering more views of Portofino and the Italian Riviera. Peculiarly, a freestanding tub rested in the corner of the room on an elevated platform. The actual bathroom was in a separate space on the opposite side of the room with a walk-in shower.
Immediately, I headed there to relieve myself.
I hated this. Hated feeling like such a simple bitch. Hated being so easily impressed by him. Hated giving in so easily to him. Still, it was what my heart had ached for. The calm. The ease. The relaxation I often served up to people on a platter with my spa but couldn’t locate it for myself.
Tears. So many of them fell from my eyes as I tinkled. Happy tears. They freed themselves, unsanctioned and uncaring of who saw. Unable to help myself, my sniffles became audible. In an instant, Duke had joined me in the bathroom and was by my side, stooped down in front of the toilet, with my head in his hands. I wanted to be embarrassed that he’d seen me so vulnerable and on a toilet, no less, but I wasn’t. Being in his presence felt so organic. So authentic.
“What’s wrong, Bee?” His brows endeavored to connect, attesting to his confusion.
Midstream, I sniffed, shaking my head from left to right. A sucker for sweetness, I puckered my lips. He didn’t disappoint. He met my need for physical touch while wiping my tears.
“I’m overwhelmed, Duke. This is so much more than I could have ever expected.”
“A nigga has never taken you out of the country?”
“Not like this. Not to make one of my dreams come to fruition.”
“So, to be clear, these are happy tears?” Concern colored his not-quite-hazel eyes.
“Mmh hmm.” I nodded, finishing up on the toilet, wiping, and flushing.
“Okay. I’ll be in the room,” Duke announced, leaving me to recollect myself.
It took me several minutes to locate my composure. In the mirror, I patted my face with cool water to alleviate the puffiness. In the short month I’d been acquainted with Duke, he’d muddled my thoughts and quickened my heart. Upon return to the bedroom, I found him stretched out across the bed, shoes still on, snoring. A sight that caused my face to fracture into a smile. Shaking my head, I moved toward his feet, removing Ferragamo loafers.
At only a quarter past noon in Italy, I figured he could use our excess time for rest. As he slept, I showered, rinsing the funk of travel from my body, and stood in the generous white towel covering my limbs.
The realization hit me that I had nothing to wear. On the plane, Duke was prepared with a set of leggings and a Demure t-shirt for me to throw on. Recalling the two suitcases he’d hauled from the car earlier, I moved toward them in the living room.
The breeze from the open window was bountiful, and the sun from high noon was warm and bright, further illuminating the colorful interior of the house. The views overlooking the water added to it all. They were a maraschino cherry atop a Sundae.
It felt like a scene from an independent film. Italian sparrows chirped away a song similar to the dialect of the natives. The sound of romance, the sensual language, floated through the air as men and women alike shared the tongue and bickered back and forth. Pleasant and gentle in melody, the cadence was. They could have been cursing one another out, but it still sounded like one of the sweetest things I’d ever heard. Paired with Duke’s unruly snores, Portofino sounded like a slice of Heaven.
My damp feet carried me to the luggage, where I kneeled in place and unzipped the bag. Men’s tees, shorts, and jeans lined the inside. Rezipping it, I moved to the other suitcase. Opening it revealed several midi dresses courtesy of Demure , Dior, and Prada. Duke had ensured I wasn’t without. For the consideration and extra mile he’d gone, my heart was overflowing. Settling for a flowy white linen Demure dress, I pulled it over my limbs, musing over how perfectly it fit.
Tucked in the zippered section of the luggage, I located lace and mesh panties along with bras. Achy nipples encouraged me not to bother with a pesky bra. Sensing a looming period, I slid on underwear and smiled at how pretty the undergarment was.
In another section of the luggage were a couple of shoes and sandals for me to choose from. The selection caused further internal praise of the man lying unconscious on the bed. His sense of style was immaculate, as was his thoughtfulness. Never had I been regarded by anyone outside of family –man or woman– so thoroughly. From the grouping of shoes, I chose a pair of brown sandals that matched my Louis bag.
A peep inside the bedroom revealed that Duke was still slow dancing with the sandman. The soft vibration of his nasal and throat passage confirmed it. After a long week of work and little to no sleep on our flight, his rest was vital. Undeterred by his lack of presence, I collected my purse and headed out the door to explore the new world around me.
An overcrowded boating dock surrounded us. Along with smaller boats, there were a couple of massive yachts along the harbor. The hum of running boat motors persisted like an instrumental to the city. Cicadas. So many of them chimed in, adding to the soundtrack a steady rattle. The constant lapping of the sea crashing against the rocky harbor packaged it all together in a bow.
Cobblestone streets lined colorful dwellings. Yellow-legged seagulls harassed tourists for morsels as if entitled to their food. Clothing lines strung from one building to another with various articles of apparel dancing in the wind. Motorists drove by on mopeds, seemingly absent a care in the world. Despite the lack of traffic lights, there were no accidents, which begged to question if we created the motorist problems in America.
Walking past several ristorantes, the smell of seafood caused my belly to tap dance. I hadn’t eaten since our time in the air. The small fishing town was known for its crustacean offerings, and seafood sounded like a dream. Without further thought to the matter, I was led by my nose inside one of the establishments. Seated outside, I ordered a glass of wine alongside mussel linguine. As I waited for the food, my stomach continued its performance, attempting to inform the world of my neglect.
Up and down the walkway, tourists ambled by alongside a few locals. On each side of the eatery, I noted the presence of armed men stationed at the entrance as well. Security , I supposed.
Mussel linguine finally arrived and was placed before me, settling the uproar in my belly. Absolutely perfect, it was. The taste of freshly made noodles, mozzarella, and Parmesan blended in harmony as a party of flavors danced in my mouth. I left little behind. Once finished, guilt forced me to grab a plate to go for Duke. I ordered him a grilled lobster with lemon linguine. While waiting for that to arrive, I resumed people-watching, marveling at mundane moments as if it were my first day on earth.
With the check paid, I rose with Duke’s food to go and made for the peach-colored house with green shutters. As I began walking from the restaurant, I noticed the armed Italian mens’ movements as well. With every step I took, theirs was successive. Though peculiar, I attempted to disregard their presence.
Quickened steps in sandals were met with the quickened booted feet of the armed men. Growing nerves encouraged me to hasten my pace in an attempt to test a theory that they were following me. At a quarter to 2, the sun was still high in the sky, but if a criminal sought to engage in felonious activity, daylight wouldn’t be a deterrent.
Passing the peach house with green shutters seemed to have slowed the men’s pace. As I turned down the alley beside the building, anxious fingers located my phone and began tapping toward Duke’s number. The length of my stiletto nails made what should have taken a few seconds a difficult task. A peep over my shoulder revealed one of the armed men stalking behind me.
With the phone to my ear, I listened to Duke’s line ring out, worrying when he didn’t answer. A gate leading into the house’s courtyard halted my worrisome steps. I tugged at the latch, simultaneously looking over my shoulder. The gunman was closing in on me.
With an exhale, the gate to the courtyard was unlocked. I used it as an opportunity to run inside the house and through the sliding doors. Panting and depleted of breath, I hurried up the steps and through the short hall where I thought I’d find Duke asleep.
He wasn’t.
“Duke?” Breathless, I called out, fighting nerves that were looming to overpower me. Left and right and behind me, I scanned, checking for a threat. Checking for Duke.
My hammering heart refused to be tamed. “Duke!” Louder, I yelled for the man who brought a sense of safety into my world.
“What’s wrong?”
A palliative sound of silken bass proffered the question. Emerging from a steamy shower, Duke appeared wrapped in nothing but a towel. The presence of water dripping down his limbs was a slight distraction. I’d never been so relieved. My disturbed soul flung into his arms in an instant.
“Oh God!” I mumbled into his wet chest. Toasted vanilla and bergamot established a cocktail of calm. Drunkenly, I lived in that moment.
His arm was wrapped around me, though when I looked up, his handsome features were coated in confusion. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I was being followed.”
The trembling of my voice startled me. Though frightened as I recalled my time headed back to the house, I barreled it out and gripped him tighter.
“By who, Bee?” Duke’s fingers were under my chin, forcing my head upward. “Who, baby?”
“I don’t know,” with shuttered eyes, I sighed. “I went to a restaurant where I noticed them. Two armed Italian men. I thought they were security for the ristorante, but as I left, they followed me here. I don’t know what their intentions were.”
“Aight. Let me get dressed, and I’ll look into it.”
Duke shifted slightly. My arms were still fastened around his waist.
“You’re safe.” A hand palmed the back of my head as a kiss was planted atop it. “You’re safe now. You know that, right?”
“Yes.” I squeezed tighter.
“Bee?”
“Hmm?”
“I need to get dressed. You have to let me go.”
“Oh.” Reluctantly, I dropped my arms from around him and stepped back. He moved to the luggage in the living room, leaving me standing in the bedroom. On the nightstand, I noticed the presence of a gun near his phone. I hadn’t noticed that earlier. Duke returned, half-dressed, to the room and sat on the bed, pulling me into his lap.
“You still seem a little shaken up.”
“You seem calm,” I noted, being eerily reminded of my brothers. He held a similar demeanor.
Duke shrugged.
“Why do you have a gun?”
He glanced at the nightstand. “Why wouldn’t I have a gun? I always carry.”
Dragging a shirt over his head, he rose, grabbed my hand, and stalked toward the balcony. Once outside, he looked around the promenade before his gaze was directed downward. He focused on the front door.
“Is that one of the men who was following you?” He pointed near the front door to an armed man dressed in all black. My eyes trained on him, nodding as recognition swept over me.
“ He was following you.” Stated as a matter of fact and not a question, Duke laughed.
“Come on,” he urged, grabbing my hand to lead me down the stairs. At the front door, he opened it and spoke something in Italian to one of the men who’d terrified me on my journey back to the house.
“Bee, this is Angelo,” he spoke, introducing me to the soul who’d nearly caused my heart to escape my chest. “Angelo and Michael will be part of our security team for the duration of our stay.”
Security team .
Angelo waved, offering a dimpled smile.
Weakly and sheepishly, I waved back.
Closing the door, Duke stalked to the back entrance of the house near the courtyard. Instinctively, I followed, feeling silly that I’d gotten so riled up over men hired to protect me.
“This is Michael.”
Again, Duke introduced me to a hired gun.
“Tonight, they change shifts, and two others will take their place. I’ll show you their photos in the meantime in case your ass decides to scurry away alone again,” he laughed. “If you had woken me before you left, I would have shared this intel with you.”
“Why do we need security?”
It didn’t make the slightest bit of sense to me.
“Bee, do you know my net worth? Adding to that, I brought you out of the country. The first thing I intended to do was ensure your safety. Judging by how quickly you disappeared, I see it was a sound decision. Come ‘ere.”
Absent delay, I stepped into his arms.
“Do you feel better now?”
“Yes,” came out as I wrapped my arms around him, sighing relief.
In an instant, I was lifted from the ground, and my legs were positioned around Duke’s waist.
“Imagine something happening to Ramsay Miller’s daughter outside his jurisdiction and on my watch.”
“My daddy would kill you,” I tittered with my arms interlocked behind his head.
“ Exactly .”
Duke carried me back up the flight of stairs, showering my face in kisses.
The sunsets, like kisses from heaven, pecked my skin, leaving behind hickies disguised as tans. Italy felt like an indie film, full of quiet and soft moments that were in excess. Novelty posters and colorful concrete alleyways designed for making out with your lover littered various streets. Cast iron bistro tables—perfect for writing or having a cup of café or maybe both—cloaked the promenade. All one had to do was stand still to appreciate it all. The moments.
Life for me had been exhaustive and constantly full of work. Of going, going, going. Of seldom rest and infrequent breaks. It was easy to forget softness. It was easy to lose sight of stillness. Being in Italy—being with Duke reminded me of the softness I carried. Exposure to a slow pace aided me in tapping into that energy.
Recalling the man who’d dragged me away from the constant toil of the daily grind, gratitude swelled in my heart. This was the reaping of Duke. He’d forced me to be still, and it was the sweetest immobility there was.
Our walks down the harbor and through peaceful alleyways would forever be etched into my memory bank. On one of our many strolls after dinner, we approached a cello player on the side of the street playing “ O sole mio .” In awe of the raw talent, I paused and smiled to watch the performance.
At the close of the song, I reached into my bag to offer a few euros Duke had given me. Swiftly, I was halted by him. Instead of allowing me to give the tip, he’d placed €200 in the man’s hat on the sidewalk.
“ Grazie !” Our cello performer called out his gratitude.
“ Prego ,” came out of Duke’s mouth.
Several paces from the performer, he halted our steps again. Grabbing my hand, he examined my nails. “Do you understand the history behind having nails the length you have?”
“What’s that?” I smiled. A surplus of anecdotes, Duke always had a story about one thing or another.
“The longer the nails, the less work a woman performed. Nails were a symbol of wealth and aristocracy. Women with long nails didn’t engage in labor or any form of work.”
“Well, I’ve put that theory to the test, and it failed several times,” I shrugged.
“Indeed. You have, shamefully. It highlights your fucking nuances.”
“I’m a walking, talking, working contradiction. What’s your point?”
“ My point …” He stepped closer. Pulled me closer. Tilted my chin upward to meet his eyes.
“…is you aren’t to lift a finger around me. Let those pretty claws do nothing in my presence. That includes reaching in your bag to pay for anything and everything, understood?”
While free to protest, the opposition wasn’t welcome. Resisting ease served no purpose. A fool’s effort, that was. Resistance and war weren’t welcome in the Duke’s presence. Choosing flow instead of force, I nodded my compliance.
“I can’t hear you, Bee.”
“Yes, baby.”