3. Portia
3
PORTIA
“Then what?” Jayla demands, her jaw damn near on the floor.
“Will you chill? He told me his name. So I told him mine. Though pretty sure he already knew it. He was obviously expecting us at his restaurant tonight. He has to know we’re the ones staying in this loft.”
“You’re telling me to chill when billionaire Rafael Calderone saved you from a mugger? Did you hit your head on the cobblestone?”
I roll my eyes as I step toward the sink and swipe a makeup remover wipe across my face. Jayla’s at my side in the middle of brushing her teeth—or she would be if she’d stop interrogating me and stick the damn toothbrush in her mouth.
We’ve returned from our night dining at Appetito and are finally winding down for bed.
“It was a quick thing. A few sentences and then it was over. It’s no big deal.”
“You said he invited you out tomorrow night?”
Huffing out a sigh, I toss the makeup wipe in the trashcan. “He mentioned he would like for me— and my friend, which means you—to join him at some nightclub.”
“And?!”
“And what? I said maybe. It depends.”
“Depends? What do you mean it depends?”
“As in depends if we have something better to do,” I say, shrugging.
“The answer is yes!”
“What is wrong with you? Why are you so starstruck?”
Jayla almost chokes on her toothbrush. She coughs, wrenching it out of her mouth so she can spit up toothpaste into the sink. She rinses her mouth out with water, then twists off the faucet.
“I’m starstruck because it’s something that never happens! Famous billionaire men don’t just invite anyone to their restaurant. They don’t go around rescuing people from muggers. Have you seen him? He’s fine as fuck! Sissy, this means something!”
I roll my eyes a second time, fighting off a dismissive smile. Jayla goes on and on about Mr. Calderone’s impressive business portfolio, detailing how he’s made numerous smart investments all across the globe.
“The restaurant is just the tip of the iceberg,” she says excitedly.
I’m only half listening as I tie my hair up in my silk scarf and then pull my night cream out of my toiletry bag.
The truth is, my mind’s on the same person—Rafael Calderone had come out of nowhere and taken over the situation with an assertive sense of ease. He was cool and collected, almost teasing as he knocked the guy out and then gathered my hand in his. His dark eyes gleamed peering into my own, the very corner of his mouth ticking up.
My body reacted to his so naturally.
So immediately that I was frozen. I was speechless as he introduced himself.
“P-Portia,” I sputtered out, licking my lips. “Portia James.”
“I know,” he had said, then he covered my hand with his other hand and pulled me even closer. Only a few inches separated us, his spicy cologne swimming in the air. “I would like you—and your friend—to join me tomorrow night at Ballare. It is a very popular nightclub in Catania. Some wait for months to get in. I’ll send a car for you, yes?”
I hadn’t known what else to say. His dark eyes put me under his spell.
At least in the moment, I was powerless to do anything but give a nod.
“Okay,” I mouthed. “Sure.”
“ Eccellente, dolcezza . I look forward to seeing you.”
His fingers grazed the back of my hand slowly, so sensuously I shivered as he turned and walked away.
All details I left out when telling Jayla about the encounter.
All details still on my mind as we finish up in the bathroom and wish each other good night.
Jayla goes to her room and I return to mine. I lay my head down on my pillow and stare up at the dark ceiling unable to do what I scolded Jayla for.
I’m unable to get Rafael Calderone off my mind.
* * *
Francesca waits for us the next morning with a big smile and sunglasses. She calls up to our loft from the curb where Faro is parked in his bumbling little Italian sedan. Jayla and I rush out onto the balcony to see her waving down below.
“Girls! You’re awake,” she says brightly. “Come quickly! We have a day of exploring for you.”
Twenty-three minutes later, we’re piling inside Faro’s car, barely dressed and slightly hungry.
“Do not worry. We will stop for espresso and croissants. We believe in eating well in Sicily.”
“I believe you,” Jayla says. “Last night’s dinner was amazing.”
“So it went well?” Francesca turns in her seat up front to smile at us. “I knew you would enjoy your time at Appetito. Mr. Calderone would not allow for any less. He has had excellent tastes as long as I’ve known him.”
“Have you known him a long time?’
“Our families are from Ragusa. Everyone in the village—in all of Sicily, really—know who he is,” she answers before pivoting topics. “Today we will be taking you sightseeing around Catania. You will get to go shopping at some of the best boutiques. Free of charge.”
My brows knit in surprise. “I didn’t realize this vacation came with a shopping spree too…”
“All expenses paid,” Francesca says as if it’s the end of the discussion.
For the next two hours, Jayla and I are driven along the picturesque coast of Catania. Faro stops at all the tourist locations, where Francesca leads us out and shows us around. We head deeper into the coastal city and visit some of the cathedrals and museums. We stop for espresso and then later gelato and a lunch of authentic Sicilian pizza.
I’m full enough for a nap by the time Francesca starts steering us in the direction of the boutiques she’d mentioned.
Jayla squeals in excitement and grabs my arm to pull me along.
It’s not that I’m not enjoying myself.
Catania is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been in my entire life. It’s almost so beautiful it feels unreal, like some sort of dream.
I’ve filled the camera roll on my phone with pictures of just about everything. The sidewalks. The locals. The coastline. The gorgeous historic stone buildings everywhere you look.
But I can’t shake the feeling I’m missing something.
It’s all just too good to be true. A little too perfect.
As we walk out of a designer boutique clutching shopping bags, I notice the stares we receive. The locals who quietly whisper to one another and then divert their gazes when they realize I’ve seen them.
Francesca notices too and says, “Everyone recognizes you as the contest winner. You’re a celebrity! Our American princess.”
She’s kidding, yet as we pile back inside Faro’s car, I glance over my shoulder and see that the stares haven’t stopped.
We’re out until dusk. The sky’s lit up in streaks of gold when Faro finally circles back to the loft where we’re staying.
“Go on and rest, girls,” Francesca says. “I hear Mr. Calderone is sending another car for you tonight. I believe it will arrive at eight. That gives you a few hours to relax and then get ready. You should wear one of your new designer dresses.”
“We’ll wear what we want,” I snap.
“Sissy,” hisses Jayla. She returns Francesca’s smile and says, “We got so many goodies, we’ll definitely get a lot of wear out of them. Thanks for taking us out!”
The moment we’re alone, riding up in the caged elevator to our loft, Jayla whacks me with one of her many shopping bags.
“What was that for?” she asks. “How can you complain about free stuff? Free designers!”
I blow out a slow breath and concede her point.
It’s true.
How can I possibly be mad at the fact that we were taken on a shopping spree and thousands of euros were dropped on us?
We had the kind of day people would die to experience. It’s time I stop overthinking so much and learn to enjoy myself…
* * *
For a second night in a row, Jayla and I head out dressed to the nines. I’ve opted to show some skin in an off-the-shoulder cherry-red cocktail dress with ruffle detailing at the hem. Since we’ll probably be on our feet more tonight, I’ve worn chunky sandal heels that feel comfortable enough to dance in. I feel sexy and feminine, aware I look damn good.
Even better than last night.
A part of me wonders if Mr. Calderone will like how I look before I chastise myself.
I shouldn’t care what men think, especially a man I barely know.
Regardless of how many dollars may be in his bank account.
The same luxury car and cute driver from last night await us. We learn his name is Gavino. He drives us even further than last night ’til I’m seconds away from questioning where he’s taking us.
Finally, we pull up outside a strip of bars and clubs, each with bright neon lights and pulsing music coming from inside.
We don’t have to question which nightclub we’re supposed to go to. Maurizio from last night emerges as if informed the instant we pulled up that we had arrived.
“This way,” he says in a deep baritone. Tall and stoic, he’s otherwise unreadable.
Jayla glances at me and says, “He’s fine but needs to smile sometime.”
Mr. Calderone wasn’t exaggerating when he said Ballare is a club many want access to. We bypass a long line of hopefuls and waltz straight into the nightclub.
“The music’s not in English,” Jayla whispers in my ear.
I whisper back, “We’re not in America.”
Ballare reminds me of the swanky lounge bars in the upper west side of Newport City. It’s low lit with plenty of tables and leather seating. There’s a stage for a live band to play and a dance floor where men and women mingle and move to the music playing.
Much like last night, they’re all dressed up. A sea of suits, ties, cocktail dresses, and heels.
We’re led to the largest table in the club.
Both Anthonys are seated, as well as Olivia and Adagio. We’re given a warm welcome settling down at the table.
“So nice of you to join us again,” Anthony says, winking. He’s puffing on another cigar.
“We appreciate the invite.”
Anthony shares an amused glance with his son, then inhales tobacco into his lungs. “Well, you are the special guests of honor. How could we not invite you?”
I’m not sure what Anthony means, but in another second, a server comes by to fill everyone’s glass with more red wine. Two more glasses are set down for Jayla and me.
“To tonight,” says Anthony.
Everyone raises their glass. I’m the last one to do so, forcing a smile onto my face.
“So, do you all live in Catania?” Jayla asks.
Olivia, who seems bored tonight, checks her perfectly manicured nails. “We live lots of places. But Sicily is home, yes.”
“What do you know about Sicily?” Anthony asks, chuckling. He gestures at his son and his wife. “These two. American born.”
“Whose fault is that, Pa?” Anthony Jr. asks.
“Newport City?” I offer, already aware of the answer.
Jayla turns to Maurizio and Adagio. “What about you?”
“I’m afraid even I’m not a real Sicilian either according to il vecchio .”
Anthony Jr. laughs between puffs on his cigar while his father glares at Adagio.
“You laugh now, cazzo . But everybody grows old. I’m still smart. What’s your excuse?”
I learn quickly that roasting each other is how everyone interacts in this group. It’s nothing for both Anthonys to make jokes about each other or give one of the others a hard time. Jayla and I remain neutral, laughing at the war of words taking place.
Anthony Sr. starts telling me about how he grew up in Catania. Places like Ballare didn’t exist then. The coastal city wasn’t held in as high of an esteem as it is today. I’m listening along, acutely aware of the fact that Jayla’s flirting on my other side.
She and Adagio can’t stop grinning at each other as she asks him about his life in Newport City.
“Crazy I’ve never seen you around,” she says, leaning closer.
His grin broadens. “Well… now I know you. So you can give me your number.”
“Only if you promise to call.”
I almost roll my eyes.
The only thing worse than listening to Jayla shoot her shot is thinking about all the nonstop gushing she’ll do later at the loft.
It’s been like that since we were kids. Jayla’s the boy crazy one while I’m usually more reserved and cautious. Yet, somehow , I ended up married to Lincoln only a couple years out of college.
That was the last time I took a chance with love.
Never again.
“Excuse me a second,” I say with a gracious smile. “I need some fresh air.”
It’s the truth—all the cigar smoke is giving me a headache. I slide out of the leather sectional I’m seated in and approach the front door.
The cool air kisses my skin like it had last night.
This time I don’t go far. I step right outside the entrance where there’s lighting and the security can see me.
Breathing in and then out, I take a second to admire the narrow street we’re on.
It truly still feels like I’m dreaming. I’m in the heart of Catania in Sicily on an all-expenses-paid luxury vacation. I’m wearing a dress that cost three thousand euros and drinking some of the finest wine with a group of Italians who are clearly very well-off in life.
What did I do to deserve any of this?
I smile to myself, a little tipsy from said fine wine.
No wonder I felt like I needed some fresh air. I’ve had a glass and a half when I’m not much of a drinker to begin with.
I turn to head back inside and then stumble back. Someone’s in my way.
Someone who is none other than Rafael Calderone.
My cheeks flush with warmth. A bashful smile comes to my face. “Oops, sorry. I didn’t notice you.”
He stares at me for a moment, his hands deep in the pockets of his suit pants. “You have a thing for wandering off alone, don’t you, dolcezza ?”
“I was… stepping out for fresh air.”
He ignores what I’ve said, stepping closer to me. “I’m glad to see you’ve come tonight. I was concerned you wouldn’t show.”
“I wasn’t sure if I would,” I say candidly, biting my bottom lip. “My friend… my sister insisted. She’s having the time of her life on this trip.”
“Hmmm,” he grunts. “And you?”
“I am too. I’m enjoying myself.”
“But not like her?”
A small, breathless laugh leaves me. “Jayla is always more hype than I am. That’s just our personalities. But… but thank you. For everything. I’m still not sure how we won or why you even hosted this contest to begin with?—”
“You look beautiful tonight,” he interrupts. “Very beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the club.”
The warmth flushed over my cheeks spreads. It migrates as his gaze does.
As his dark gleaming eyes travel the length of me, the heat sears my brown skin. The night’s air is no longer enough to keep me cool under Rafael’s scorching stare.
I swallow, practically feverish.
What is it about this man and the instant effect he has on me?
This isn’t good. It’s actually dangerous.
It’s making me lose my bearings as I practically melt under his heated gaze.
“Um… thank you,” I manage seconds later. “And you… you look very good in that suit.”
He glances down at what’s clearly an expensive suit and tie—all black everything—and then changes the subject again. Holding out his hand to take mine, he says, “Would you like to dance?”
“Dance? With you? Inside the club? To that music?”
He smirks. “I’m sure you’re good.”
I’m not so sure as Rafael Calderone guides me back inside Ballare. I’m cognizant of the many envious glares I receive from women still waiting in line outside the club. They’re probably wondering what the Rafael Calderone is doing with me.
Rafael holds my hand as he walks us toward the dance floor.
A song called “Una Notte a Sicily ” is playing, filling the club with the seductive crooning of the female singer against the swirl of percussions, strings, and horns.
As the other dancers on the floor realize Rafael has arrived, they promptly step out of the way, clearing the path for him.
We’re practically the only ones on the dance floor as Rafael slips an arm around my waist and pulls me close.
We begin to move to the music, face-to-face, steps in sync. A deep chord strikes and the mood in the air changes. The watchful audience blurs into nothing more than the background and all thoughts empty from my mind. I’m staring up into Rafael Calderone’s handsome face, admiring the mysterious glint in his dark gaze, finding it impossible to look away.
My hand’s in his and my body’s responding to his lead.
He’s smooth guiding us across the dance floor. As smooth as everything else about him is.
Any nerves fade away. Hesitation and self-doubt disappear.
I’m tuned into the moment as the seductive Italian music deepens and the world outside is forgotten. So is the noise inside my head.
Only Rafael and I exist as we dance together in the middle of the club and make this moment ours.
The heat between us intensifies until it’s undeniable.
It’s hot, smoldering, staring us boldly in the face.
This chemistry feels uncontainable. It feels intimidating and explosive. It’s combustible and we’ve just lit the match.
Rafael gives me a sharp spin, then reels me back toward him. His gaze settles on my lips as if about to kiss me, stealing the breath from my lungs before he ever does.
He has such a powerful effect over me, yet I can’t resist him even if I wanted to.
My body sashays to the swelling music, feeling bolder the more I move. The more I meet Rafael’s gaze and realize he’s as attracted to me as I am to him.
I rotate my hips and do what feels natural.
We glide across the club floor like this dance is our foreplay. The prelude for what’s to come.
I’m whipped around ’til my back’s to his front and we’re gyrating to the slow beat of the percussion drums. His hands settle on my hips and his breath teases the back of my neck. I shudder against him and close my eyes, so lost to the passionate music that I’ve forgotten where we are.
When the song finally comes to an end and the crowd cheers, I’m dazed.
“Very good,” Rafael whispers into my ear. “You’re a natural.”
He turns me around in his arms to face him. My voice has escaped me while my heart pitter-patters hard inside my chest.
He reaches up and gives my cheek a brief stroke. “Will you join me for a nightcap at my villa?”
“Your… villa?”
“Yes,” he answers. “I would like to get to know you. Somewhere without all the music and people.”
I shake my head and move to pull away, though his arm around my waist keeps me where I am. “I’m sorry, I can’t. My sister?—”
“She’s invited. Everyone in my party will be coming to the villa. It’s only a few miles away.”
“It’s late.”
“Only for a few hours. I will make sure you are driven safely back to your loft… or you are welcome to stay at my villa.”
His dark eyes shine peering down at me. I can see my reflection in them.
As hard as I try, no good excuses come to mind. I’m too entranced by this sexy man gripping me by the waist like I’m already his. I’m ensconced in the spicy scent of him and how his very touch makes me feel like I’m burning up.
“Okay,” I answer, and he smirks slightly. “But only if Jayla agrees.”
“I’m sure she will, dolcezza . I will be waiting for you outside in my car. Everyone else will come with you.”
He suddenly lets go of me and then steps away, quickly swallowed up by the people crowded around the dance floor.
I take in a sharp breath and do my best to play it cool. The problem is, I feel like anything but. I turn toward the table where Jayla’s seated with the others already aware of what her answer will be.
Only minutes later, we step outside to the town car waiting for us. Jayla and the others slide inside one by one while I hang back.
Don’t over think it. It’s just a nightcap.
It’s what I tell myself as I take the plunge. I get inside Rafael Calderone’s car to go to his villa.