Chapter 3
Chapter Three
TALLY
A fter leaving Joe, I spend a solid ten hours sleeping and dreaming of pizza. Waking with a craving for cheesy pizza and chocolate gelato, I order both, and while I wait for my delivery, I make the snap decision to spend my break in Italy.
Once I’ve devoured a whole pizza, I decide on Genoa and then focus on the best way to get there.
It’s a risk travelling so soon after being pulled from my job, but I’m also pretty confident that, once I deal with the blonde extensions Nina wore, and lose her whole getup—glam on a budget—I’ll be unrecognizable.
By the time the hair stylist removes the extensions and strips the color, dyeing it closer to my natural copper, and I slide a pair of thick-rimmed black glasses on, instead of the blue contacts I’ve been wearing, I look more like myself than I have in years.
“What do you think?” he muses, running a comb through my hair while I pay his assistant.
“Stop asking! You know I love it.” And he should. I’ve lumped enough praise on the man.
“It’s so different, though, ducky.” He leans against the counter, his fingers running through the new long bangs he added after umming and ahhing for too long.
Well, honestly, it was probably a minute or two, but by the end of the third hour, I was ready to snatch the scissors from his hand and finish the makeover myself.
“Love it. Already left you a glowing review, and now I’m seriously late.”
I smile like a hussy, sliding into the persona I adopted as soon as I walked into the salon. Perhaps if he wasn’t so chatty, I would have stayed the real me, but covering my tracks and blending in is also a learned skill I can’t immediately shake.
With another dozen air kisses, I finally make my getaway and jump into a cab. The driver is pissed when he realizes we’re just taking a trip around the block, but I tip him enough to make it worth his time.
Speaking of time, I go on a spending frenzy, swapping out my wardrobe completely and purchasing everything I’ll need for three weeks away.
Sitting at the small in-house café inside the department store, I pack everything I bought into my new luggage before leaving the clothes I was wearing and all the tags and boxes of my purchases in the bin.
I make my flight with minutes to spare and settle into my window seat, listening to the two women next to me talking about their girls' weekend away and the things they’re going to do.
I tug my hoodie over my eyes, use the new AirPods to block their chatter, and am asleep before the seat belt sign turns on.
When we land, it’s late enough I don’t have to wait long for the cab driver to make it to my hotel, although hotel would be an understatement. Hotel Le Nuvole Residenza d'Epoca reminds me of a palace.
The interior decorator clearly paid credence to the renaissance era, but they also brought the hotel into modern times with their selection of colors and the endless details.
Contrasting colors on the walls and moldings are modernized by a pastel palette, while the plush rug is a clotted cream color with charcoal checkers over pale, white-washed floorboards.
And the bed is made for an Omega and their pack—huge, decadent, and I’m going to struggle to get out from under the pile of pillows and blankets.
Despite the chill in the air, I open the window, and the fresh air is as cold as I expected. The light drizzle drags me instantly back to my next assignment.
I lean out the window and have to imagine how special the view is, given the late hour.
Closing my eyes, I let my thoughts slow as I fill my lungs with the salty air.
It’s going to do me good being here, I just know it.
And I’ll need the break if I’m to go to Ireland, a place I swore I’d never return to.
So many memories from one summer eons ago. Another lifetime, really, one where our family was bigger and we all laughed a lot more. I get that life is like that, but it still feels like everything started changing then.
The house phone rings, which is odd, given my late arrival.
“Ciao?” I answer.
Thankfully, the reception has multilingual staff, since my Italian is nothing short of offensive.
“Pardon the late call. We forgot to mention, tomorrow parts of the city will be shut down because of a parade. You have heard of it? St. Paddy Day? Green beer free at Irish Pub.”
“That’s fine,” I offer back, laughing under my breath at the way the world works sometimes. Here I am, trying to escape Ireland and all thoughts of it, yet apparently Ireland is coming to me.
“Our bar and restaurant will shut from lunch. We can’t compete with free beer. Will you go? Everyone does.”
Perhaps free beer is the perfect start to my break. Getting completely shitfaced with a bunch of strangers sounds like exactly what I need.
“Probably.”
“Good, good. We’ll also have free hats and green face paint, sponsored by Jameson Irish Whisky. Okay, goodnight.”
And they’re gone before I get the chance to thank them.
Leaving the window open, and the lights low, I soak in the tub and eat a packet of crisps until my eyes get heavy. Crawling into bed, I start making plans about talking with reception about the brand of linen they use, but I fall asleep before I can figure out how to start the conversation.
The sounds of raucous laughter and one of those plastic horns bleating startles me out of sleep. Rolling over, I should be horrified to see that I slept past two, but clearly, I needed it.
Padding over to the window and belatedly grabbing the sheer curtain as a cover up, I lean through and try to get a glimpse of the action down below. It sounds like fun.
Another phone call pulls my focus from the parade, though I knew this one was coming.
I jump back into bed, letting the weight of the blankets and the softness of the pillows provide a cocoon of comfort as I answer, ready for my debrief with one of the department counselors.
It’s a confidential checkup, but it’s also a way to determine I’m of fit mind and ready for my next assignment.
I spend an hour and a half talking about feelings and emotions, working through a couple of exercises before the call is done. Instead of being exhausted, the whole thing leaves me wired.
Bounding out of bed, I lose some of the manic energy washing my hair, but I’ve still a lot of it cooped up inside.
I should stay locked in my room and only order room service, because sometimes that slight frenzy to my emotions leads to poor choices, but no one is here to boo-boo the idea.
Dressing in a short black dress, I take a couple of spins to make sure the skirt doesn’t flare up to flash my panties, because there’s sure to be lots of dancing tonight.
Stopping by reception, I let the staff offering face painting do their thing.
“Okay, you like?” I get a nervous question and a mirror from the lady who’s been painting my face.
I was thinking a big shamrock, considering the amount of green she was using.
But she must be a makeup artist in real life because it’s not comical in the least. The combination of deep green eyeshadow and glitter highlights makes my eyes somehow greener, and the shimmery green lipstick doesn’t come across as gaudy. “I look hot!”
She laughs before grabbing my hair. Her hands move quickly as she primps and tugs strands free before using clips to hold my hair up in a sexy-as-hell knot.
I don’t need to check in the mirror, honestly the way she looks at me is good enough.
“Thank you!”
“Of course. Have fun for me. Kiss an Irishman, I heard stories about them.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively before turning to the next person waiting in line.
The parade might be over, but the streets are lined with tourists and locals, all of them intent on celebrating.
There are small groups of people standing around tall tables adorned with green helium balloons running down the middle of a closed road, while the pavement has been sprayed green with little arrows pointing where to go.
Not that I need to follow them to the Irish Pub, since the spilling crowd and the noise of an Irish band in full regalia are pretty solid evidence I’ve arrived at the fun factory.
Outside the venue are food vans, along with more tables to sit at.
I get in line to eat first, and somehow manage to find a spot on the bench of one of the central tables.
Everyone chats, but most people eat, and as soon as I take a bite of the Irish stew, I get why it’s mostly quiet—it’s delicious.
I follow the people around me, dunking the thick slice of soda bread into it until both are gone.
Leaving the others to finish their food, I grab a green beer and stand near the open doors to watch the musicians do a compilation of modern Irish music, covers of all the classics—U2, The Cranberries, The Corrs, The Script.
I end up having a few more beers while watching them because everyone is swaying and singing along, and I could stay exactly where I am if I didn’t have to pee.
By the time I make it to the bathroom—through the grabby hands and dancing—on the other side of the crowd, I’m thankful to find a free stall. After I’ve done my business, I barely get a foot out the door before a man appears in front of me.
“Sweet girl,” he says. No, croons is really the only way to describe how this Alpha addresses me. His words are as impossible to ignore as he is.
I go to take a step out of his hold, and he throws his hands up, dropping a devilish pout my way in surrender and tease.
He’s tall, and clearly, he’s not from around here, given how deep his tan is and the blond tips in his already light-colored hair.
His linen shirt is so out of place in the sea of green, as are his light beige suit pants.
I stare at him, not moving away.
“Thank you, sweet girl. I need a favor.” He talks quickly, and I catch the tail end of an accent, but it’s neither European nor from the States.
Quirking my eyebrows as encouragement, he jumps.
“I need you to save my friend. He’s a nasty drunk, and right now, we may have had one too many.”
“And why does he need my help? Surely, you’re more than capable,” I challenge him.
He laughs, his breath blowing across my face, confirming his story that they've been drinking a while, but it also proves my earlier assumption that he’s an Alpha. His scent isn’t a match, but at the same time, it’s not off-putting in the least.
“Ah, I could, but this is infinitely more fun. It would top off a wonderful day.”
I stare at him, and his smile grows bigger, his eyes glittering with trouble.
“I hate shooing women away—it’s wrong—but this one has that look in her eyes.”
“That look, huh?”
He nods, his eyes comically wide. “Yes. She wants to get her talons into him, please come save him.”
“And how, exactly, will I do that when I am a woman too?”
“Pfft, not just a woman, la belleza.” His accent is getting heavier, his obvious enjoyment at the situation his friend is in feeding the situation.
“Where are you from?” I ask. It’s the way my mind works, needing to know the details.
“I am sorry, bonita, I should have introduced myself. I am Santiago.”
As his introductions are done, his Spanish accent becomes impossible to ignore, but he’s not finished speaking.
“After a quick visit to a friend of ours in Italy, tomorrow, I fly home to South America.”
“Ahhh.”
“So, you’ll help?”
I shrug before waving my hand, a sign for him to lead the way. He jumps in for a hug, squeezing me hard and fast.
“I lie, there are two Alphas, both on their way to being dangerously drunk. Or maybe it’s dangerous and drunk. I’m not sure anymore, but please come save them. I promised to keep them out of trouble.”
He grabs my hand and races back through the doors, but instead of taking us back into the main area, he ducks into another room that’s clearly a VIP room, darting around people.
“Lads, I found your wife!” he shouts triumphantly, giving me a little shove into the middle of the drama.