Chapter 7 Aurelia
Aurelia
Constantine stepped out of the shower, drops of water clinging to his naked skin like drops of dew on a summer morning. A living sculpture that had a beating heart, he moved to the dresser and grabbed a fresh pair of boxers. He ran his fingers through his damp hair absentmindedly.
Naked on his bed, I lay there and admired him.
“Do you like seafood?” he asked suddenly. He pulled on the black boxers before he tapped the screen of his phone to see what messages had popped up since he’d last checked it. There seemed to be nothing of importance, because he turned to look at me.
“Of course.”
“I know a good spot.” He grabbed a watch from the counter and slipped it onto his wrist before he clasped it closed. The face of the timepiece was turned toward me for an instant, and I recognized it as a Patek Philippe.
The most expensive watch brand in the world.
The only reason I knew that was because of some of the weddings I shot. Sometimes rich clients hired me, billionaires, and I’d seen glimpses of that world. They wore watches just like that. “For . . . ?”
“Dinner.” He moved toward the bed, then took a seat at the edge. He reached for my ankle, his fingers lightly touching the skin and feeling the gold anklet that sat there. His eyes were on me like he didn’t think twice about his actions. So subtle and quiet, but somehow sensual and intimate.
“The tour continues?”
His eyes held mine for an instant before a smile slowly lifted his lips. “Keep paying me well, and I’ll show you the world.” His fingers went still on my ankle before he rose to his feet and moved back toward his closet.
I watched him go until he disappeared, and my heart gave an inexplicable lurch. Even the simplest touches left invisible marks on my skin. I barely knew anything about the man except his name and his homeland, but I felt close to him. “Is it a nice place?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll swing by my hotel and change.” I left the bed and pulled on everything I’d been wearing, before I grabbed my purse. “Want me to meet you there?”
He came back out of the closet, a black button-up shirt open across his tattooed chest. He worked the buttons without needing to watch his fingers work. “You think you could find it?”
“Heard of Google Maps?”
He smirked. “Then I’ll meet you there in an hour, sweetheart.”
When I arrived at Osteria RossoDiVino, Constantine was already seated at a table underneath an outdoor space heater. The patio was full of other couples enjoying a bottle of wine and their dinner.
It was a longer walk from my hotel than it was from his, but Taormina was small and safe, and walking alone down the cobblestone streets and the narrow alleys felt more like an adventure than a risk.
He sat with his arms crossed, a candle burning low on the table with a bottle of wine already placed there.
He spoke with the waiter, and judging by their body language, they knew each other.
The waiter said something funny, because Constantine flashed his signature mouthwatering, panty-dropping smile.
God, he was so hot.
Seriously, the hottest piece of man I’d ever laid eyes on.
And for tonight and hopefully the rest of the week . . . he was mine.
He seemed to know I was there, because he turned in my direction. His smile fell, and a hardened, intense expression replaced it—and that was the look I preferred. His eyes roamed down my body even though he’d taken me against the headboard before he’d showered and gotten ready for dinner.
When I reached the table, he rose to his feet, something I didn’t expect him to do. He bent his neck and gave me a gentle kiss, even though I still must have tasted like him mixed with the cannoli. Eyes still focused on mine, he pulled out the chair for me and waited for me to sit.
It took me a second to shake off the magnetism in his eyes. To break the hold he had on me with just his stare. He could be such a gentleman but in a masculine way rather than a domesticated one.
He returned to the chair across from me, the candlelight highlighting the angles of his face. The sleeves of his collared shirt were pushed to his elbows to expose the chiseled muscles of his forearms, the black ink over beautiful tanned skin.
He grabbed the bottle and wordlessly poured me a glass.
I’d spent the whole day with him, but he looked so absolutely dreamy, it felt like the first time I’d met him.
When I was so nervous I thought I’d throw up.
When I felt completely unsure of myself, unworthy of his stare and his attention.
I grabbed the menu just so I could break the connection between our eyes.
“Why do you do that?”
My eyes flicked back up to his, my heart in my throat like I’d been caught red handed robbing a bank.
He brought his glass to his lips and took a drink.
“Do what?”
“Pull away.”
“I was just looking at the menu.”
A smile moved over his lips, but it wasn’t the kind he’d worn before. It was knowing, sinister, his eyes suddenly turning a little sharp. “All right, sweetheart.” He took another drink of wine but continued to stare at me.
I felt a little weak at the comment, even more uncertain of myself now. I felt like I’d stepped into a poker match with a shit hand.
The waiter approached our table and placed a wooden table beside it.
He returned to the kitchen and came back with a large tray piled with fresh fish before he set it beside us.
“Our fresh catch of the day, sea bass. We can prepare it Sicilian way, baked with potatoes, tomatoes, vegetables, and oil. Is this something you’re interested in?
” He glanced to me, then back to Constantine.
Constantine looked across the table. “Would you like fish tonight, or did you prefer something else?”
I set the menu down. “You’re the tour guide . . .”
I expected him to smile, but he didn’t. He turned back to the waiter. “We’ll split this one.” He selected one of the fish that was presented on the tray. “Sicilian style.”
The waiter nodded before he carried the fish back into the kitchen.
Constantine took another drink of his wine before he returned his glass to the table. “One of the things I like about this place. You get the freshest catch prepared authentically by people who take pride in their cooking.”
“I’m sure it’ll be delicious.” I grabbed the glass he’d poured for me and took a drink. I let the previous tension fade away at the change of subject. I felt grateful for it, because the way he’d looked at me . . . I’d never forget it.
I felt like I’d just met a different version of him. “So, where do you live in Rome?” I didn’t want to invade his privacy too much, but now that we’d spent the last couple days together, I felt like I could ask him.
He answered right away. “The Parioli area.”
“That’s a nice neighborhood.” Which convinced me even more that he was wealthy. Really wealthy. Like significantly richer than a millionaire. I didn’t have a ton of evidence for it except for the watch and the room he rented at the hotel, but his presence implied it.
“What about you?”
“The Prati area.” I was just across the river from the Pantheon and the Trevi Fountain. I could also see the dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica through my living room window. Well, my old living room, because I’d be moving out the second this fuck-cation was over.
“Also a nice area. You must do well with your photography.”
“Not really,” I said with a laugh. “I can only afford it because—” I swallowed, realizing the corner I’d just backed myself into.
“Because I have a roommate.” Because Enzo made good money working at his hedge fund company.
I reached for my wineglass and took a drink, needing the bile of memory to be washed away.
Constantine said nothing. He just stared at me across the table like I might say more.
I cleared my throat. “How long have you lived there?”
He didn’t answer the question right away. He continued his stare like his mind was elsewhere, so far away that it took time for him to come back to me. “Five years. You?”
“All my life.” All the historic sites of that ancient city were second nature to me.
Millions of tourists came to the Eternal City every year to see what I got to enjoy every single day.
I couldn’t count the number of times I’d done a shoot at the Colosseum or the Trevi Fountain.
Ancient Roman history was just . . . history to me.
“What’s your family like?”
“Well, I don’t really have a family. Just a few friends.”
He didn’t press further with his words, but his eyes dug into me.
“My dad took off when I was young. Being a parent wasn’t for him. And then my mom died.”
The sharpness in his eyes dulled. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, it sucks.” I tried not to think about it too hard.
Otherwise, I’d cry. She was what I’d needed these last few months.
If I could have spoken to her, I was sure she would have helped me leave Enzo.
Would have talked some sense into me. Slapped me if I needed it.
“She got sick, and I took care of her until she died. I’m grateful for a job that allowed me the flexibility to do that.
If I were stuck at a corporate job, that wouldn’t have been possible. ”
He inhaled a slow breath, but I never saw him release it. “I’m sorry.” He repeated his words like he forgot he’d already said them, or he meant them even more now than he had before.
“She didn’t deserve it, but that’s how it goes. I felt so much relief when she passed away on a truckload of morphine, because for the first time in months, her little body wasn’t tense. She was just relaxed . . . and she slipped away.”
He didn’t apologize again, but he listened like every single syllable of my words mattered to him.