10. Il gigolò
10
Il gigolò
The Gigolo
Omar
I have no idea what she thinks she’s achieving with these calls to her cat. She spent a solid ten minutes giving Bella a blow-by-blow account of last night’s dinner, while the furball just sat staring out the window, clearly not bothered. Bri was about to wrap things up when a black cat suddenly ambushed Bella and all hell broke loose.
The tablet went flying, Bri was screaming, Amelia was shouting through the tablet, the cats were screeching, and then— boom ! The video cut out. Pure chaos. It took me five minutes to calm Bri down, and even then she didn’t really settle until Amelia rang her back to confirm that the two little warriors had been put in separate rooms for a time-out. Honestly, cats are mad.
Amelia kept reassuring Bri that Bella and the other cat, Smutty, usually got along before I managed to get her back in the car so we could finally continue our journey.
I’m exhausted by the time we get to Milan. These have been two long days of driving, especially with the time wasted in the traffic jam. The new route took us through Switzerland and when we got close to some of the highest peaks of the alps Bri’s eyes filled with so much amazement that I took her up the St. Gotthard Pass rather than taking the much quicker tunnel under the alps. There was already snow on top of the pass but thanks to the warm sun we were able to have lunch on the terrace of a hotel next to one of the small lakes dotted around the pass.
It's only because we had a booking for a hotel in Milan that we eventually moved on rather than spending a night up there. The view was amazing and I’m sure Bri would have loved watching the sun set.
Our unplanned trip in the alps meant that we arrived in Milan well past sunset. After settling into our hotel not far from Milano Centrale—I have to show Bri the food market there before we leave—we decided to head out again for something to eat. The young receptionist in our hotel gave us a tip for an authentic restaurant frequented by locals which sounds a lot better to me than one of the more prominent tourist hot spots.
The waiter greets us with an enthusiastic, “ Buonasera. Benvenuti nel nostro ristorante. ”
He seats us at what he describes as the best table in the house but I can guarantee he says that about all of his tables. I thank him as he hands us the menus and ask him for some water. Out of the corner of my eye I see Bri hanging on every word I say. She looks mighty impressed every time I speak a different language and I’ve a hard time not to let this get to my head.
“Oh my god, this all sounds delicious. I can’t decide,” Bri groans. In the end she’s torn between the Carbonara and the Lasagne so I offer we order both and swap half way through. She loves the idea and seeing the joyful smile on her face was worth the suggestion. Every time she smiles at me like this I feel a pulling in my guts. Some romance authors would call it butterflies but I’m calling it a bad idea. Nevertheless, I seem to go out of my way to do or say things that make her give me this smile.
She looks around the room after the waiter has taken our order.
“I can’t believe we’re here,” she says and for the first time since my conversation with Khalid yesterday, I look at her differently and not just as a paying passenger.
I hold up my glass and say “ Benvenuta in Italia !” Bri clinks her glass with mine.
During dinner Bri entertains me with stories about her children and I laugh because they sound oddly familiar.
“Reminds me a lot of what happens when me and my brother visit my mum.”
“You also turn into small children?” she smirks.
“I’m nearly forty, but of course, I still let my mum spoil me,” I object.
“So it’s the mother’s fault.”
“Well—” I laugh whilst Bri feigns indignation and throws a piece of bread at me.
“Who’s the child now?” I ask, picking up the piece of bread from where it landed on the table and putting it in my mouth. All I get in reply is a big smile. The one that causes the knots.
Of course, we can’t resist tiramisu for dessert and it’s then that I notice Bri keeps looking behind me. I’m about to turn to see what is going on when she stops me.
“Don’t! Don’t turn around. There is a man who keeps smiling at me,” she explains lowering her voice.
I don't need to see the guy to know he’s a wanker. Anyone who flirts with a woman who’s with another man is a bit of a knobhead. There was nothing in mine and Bri’s interaction to indicate that we’re not a couple. Actually if anything, it was a tad flirty, so what he’s doing is rude. But I don’t say anything. It’s not my place.
“I think if you were to leave he’d come over and make a move,” she giggles like I'm one of her girlfriends. A new feeling is filling my guts and I swear it's jealousy and maybe also a bit of disappointment that she can push me aside so easily.
“Do you want me to leave?” My voice sounds cold even though I’m trying to be casual.
“Is that rude? I'm rude. I'm really sorry. It's just... I’ve got a secret kind of mission to have a little bit of fun and this Italian stallion looks like fun.” Her cheeks turn pink with embarrassment. She looks adorable when she blushes. “You're judging me,” she whispers.
“I’m not.” Not sure if my protest holds up though. My voice gives me away.
“Yes, you’re. And I think that's not okay from a guy who’s called AWOL.” She crosses her arms in front of her defiantly.
“I haven't said a word. I’ve not judged you.”
“Yes, you have. Why is it that it's okay for man to go on holidays and have a fling or two, but when you do it as a woman it’s wrong?”
“It’s not wrong. I just didn't think you’d be that kind of woman.” Uh oh, I’m digging my hole deeper.
“What kind of woman would that be?”
Yup, I had that coming.
“I don't know. Don't listen to me. Let me go back to the hotel room and give you a chance with your Italian stallion. Just promise me you will stay safe. And text me if he gives you any problems.”
Not sure how I feel about leaving her here with this knobhead. Ben and Amelia wanted me to go with her to look after her and now I’m leaving her open to an attack from this gigolo. But she's a grown woman and I’m not a babysitter, right? Well, now I sound like a stroppy child.
“Stay safe,” I tell her again before walking out of the restaurant. I give the wanker a stern look but he ignores me; his complete focus is on Bri. Oh, I fucking hate this.
When I get back to my room I jump in the shower and let the warm water wash away the day. This is only day two of our journey and I’m already fretting over Bri. Khalid and his stupid talk have me completely muddled up and turned me into some protective alpha-hole and I need to cut it out because otherwise I’ll drive her and me bonkers. Especially if I get between her and her mission. If I know anything about her it’s that she will make it happen, come what may.
It’s her decision, right? I was never concerned when Ben made me drive him and one of his many hook ups back to his house and there's no difference here really. But then I never—never mind. I need some sleep. That’s what I need!
I must have drifted off as a loud bang wakes me up. It’s coming from next door: Bri’s room. She’s giggling. I would recognise that giggle anywhere. The walls are thin as paper and I can hear mumbled words and laughter. How is it that I always end up lying and listening to other people fuck?
Well, they're not really fucking yet. They're just giggling. But if she brought him back to her room I know what to expect.
He has a phony laugh and if I didn’t already think he’s a twat, I would now.
I don't know what he's doing but I hear Bri say, “Saucy,” followed by more laughter.
Earplugs, I need my earplugs . I dig through my bag but come up empty. I must have left them at home. There's no way I can listen to this. I swing my legs out of the bed and slip on my tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt. I hear Bri moan as I tie my trainers. Nope, enough is enough . I don't need that. From tomorrow onwards I'm going to insist that our rooms are not next to each other. I grab the key from the table and leave. Time for a midnight run.