13. Sorbetto
SORBETTO
*soften with a splash of vodka and a pinch of salt.
A year ago, I’d barely traveled anywhere. Once to Italy for my brother’s wedding, a few times to Atlantic City. When I was ten, Nonna used every penny she had to take all of us to Washington, DC so we could spend Christmas with my brother while he was in officer training.
That was about it for the worldly travels of Marie Zola. All my siblings had been places and done things. I was the only one who had barely seen the world; even my time in Paris had mostly consisted of classrooms and markets.
That all changed once Lucas Lyons insisted I travel with him as his personal chef.
The scents of jungle, chocolate, and cigarette smoke blasted me in the face the moment I stepped off the jet in S?o Paulo. It didn’t matter that it was seven o’clock at night and the sun had already set. I knew immediately that I was in another country.
Lucas had practically sprinted off the plane into a car waiting to take him to a late dinner meeting. I hadn’t even gathered my things before he was gone.
The ten-hour flight had felt more like school detention than luxury transport.
Upon boarding at Teterboro, Lucas had all but ordered me to take the bedroom at the back of the plane (to help me adjust to the impending time change, he said) and then buried himself in work at the conference table near the front.
When I emerged to use the bathroom or grab water from the galley, he was either asleep in one of the leather recliners or bent over his laptop. I might as well have been invisible.
Well, that was just fine with me.
The fantasy I’d been nursing for a decade, that Daniel Lyons—or any Lyons brother, for that matter—might see me and accept me in their world, had no place at thirty thousand feet.
It was better this way. Safer. I could handle being invisible to Lucas Lyons. I’d had plenty of practice.
“Marie!”
I squinted at the short, dark-haired man in a creamy linen suit waving at me from the bottom of the boarding stairs. “You’re not Lynette.”
As a member of the household staff, I’d known Lynette Rogers, Lucas’s personal assistant, for years.
A surprisingly familiar face grinned. “Hey, Marie. Welcome to Brazil.”
I balked. “Robbie Esposito?”
Robbie Esposito had graduated from Belmont High two years before I had.
Back then, he was the scrawny kid who sat at my lunch table with the other “losers” and tried his best not to get bullied.
Now, he’d cleaned up, bulked up, and looked like he could take on any of those pursuers. On a catwalk, anyway.
I wasn’t the only one who had a makeover since high school.
“Marie Zola? Is that you?” He took my suitcase and escorted me to a car waiting a few feet away. “I knew the name but didn’t realize it was the same person.”
“Are you Lucas’s assistant now?”
Robbie nodded. “He poached me from the mayor’s office last year when Lynette retired. Sweet gig, huh? We get to travel and do what we want as long as he makes his appointments, always has cell service, and gets his haircuts on time.”
He opened the back door of the car for me to get in, then slid in beside me. In a matter of moments, we were on our way.
Fifteen minutes of conversation told me that Robbie Esposito had grown from that scrawny theater kid into the kind of person who could arrange a five-star dinner in the Amazon rainforest with two hours’ notice. He was also as nice as ever. By the time the city drew into view, we were fast friends.
“Dare I ask what Lucas is really like as a boss?” I teased.
Robbie brow lifted. “I’d think you would know more than me. I’ve only been working for him for six months, but you’ve been with the family for a million years, right?”
“How did you know that?”
“I’m his assistant, babe. Who do you think writes the checks he signs for you?”
That I was paid through electronic deposit apparently didn’t matter.
I looked out the window as the city raced into view. I was no stranger to big cities, but S?o Paulo sprawled in a way New York never really did. Its massive buildings soared from the boundaries of farmland and rainforest and into the sky, piercing the landscape with light and excitement.
Robbie continued to rattle on about his job, which for a trip like this meant arriving at each destination on this tour a day ahead of Lucas and me to ensure our accommodations, equipment, and schedules were set.
At home, he usually worked out of Lucas’s office and apartment near Wall Street, but I’d probably see him more often at the Lyonses’ house once we got back from London.
“Why is that?” I wondered.
Robbie shrugged. “Not sure. Last week he told me he wanted to stay in Westchester more often, so he had the housekeeper assign me one of the staff rooms for late nights.”
The rest of the drive was mostly palm trees and polished glass, chopped every so often by the appearance of poorer neighborhoods that consisted of housing and apartments scraped together with metal, concrete, and open wires that even in the night couldn’t mask.
“When you go out, check your map,” Robbie advised. “Or better yet, use Fabiano here.”
Up front, the driver waved.
“Won’t Lucas need him?”
Robbie shook his head. “No, he has his own driver, and I’ll typically be with Lucas during meetings.
You’ll have your own driver no matter where we go, so you can do the grocery shopping and whatever else you want to do.
Thursday will be a good day to visit the beach, if you’re into that, since Lucas will have lunch meetings.
It’s a solid two or more hours each way, so give yourself plenty of time. ”
I nodded, though the idea of venturing out in this strange city terrified me.
Even in Paris, it had taken me four solid months, when I’d met Louis, before I’d worked up the courage to venture beyond the Sixth Arrondissement.
I wished I were the type of person who could be dropped in a strange place and feel perfectly at ease, but I just wasn’t the type.
Paris was and probably would always be the biggest adventure I’d ever experience.
Even now, a continent away, I could feel my sisters’ disappointment.
So much for seizing the day.
“We’re staying in Itaim Bibi,” Robbie said as the car pulled up in front of a building that looked more like a museum than a residence. “Super central. Very posh. Come on, Fabiano will bring up your bags.”
I followed Robbie through a lobby made of glass and marble and into a private elevator at the back, where he pressed in a code that took us to the penthouse. Of course.
“Where…where are you and I staying?” I asked.
Again, Robbie gave me a strange look. “Didn’t Lucas tell you? I have a room downstairs, but…”
The doors opened into pure opulence.
“You’re staying with him.”
I whirled around. “What do you mean, I’m staying with him?”
Immediately, my mind ventured into all sorts of implausible scenarios that existed only in romance novels. Snowstorms, one bed, broken elevator—all forms of forced proximity that had zero reason to happen in a tropical environment with a man who had more money than God.
Robbie chuckled. “It’s all relative. This place has ten bedrooms. The primary is his, at that end.” He pointed across the house-sized living room toward a hallway that disappeared into darkness. “You’re in a suite on the other side. Come on, I’ll show you.”
The apartment—if you could give ten thousand square feet at the top of the world such a title—was the next thing to heaven. White marble floors. Glass walls. Panoramic city views so endless it seemed like all of S?o Paulo could fit inside with us.
“Living room, obviously,” Robbie said as he led me through the space. “Kitchen’s there. Fully stocked, pro-grade, top of the line. You’ll love it. Lucas’s office is behind that door. Don’t go poking.”
Noted.
“There’s a gym he uses with his trainer in the mornings, but otherwise, it’s yours. Infinity pool out there. And this,” he said, opening a door to the right, “is your suite.”
It was aggressively luxurious. Crisp white linens, subtle gold accents, everything calm and curated like a spa. My chef’s whites were already hanging in the closet.
I turned to Robbie. “Why am I here and not downstairs with you?”
Robbie gave me a sideways look. “I thought you requested it. Being that you’d need to be up hours before him and all.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t you too?”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Look, mami , if you want a change of accommodations, it’s fine by me. I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want my boss knowing about my midnight rendezvous either.”
“That’s not—” I started, but found it didn’t matter as Robbie gave me a knowing smile.
Clearly, not all of us from the losers’ table were still twenty-something virgins.
“It’s fine,” I corrected myself. “It does make sense, since this is where I’ll be working. I just don’t want to disturb Lucas.”
“Don’t worry about that. He’s up by five most days anyway. Which means you need to be up at four.”
“I wake up at four anyway.”
“Then you’ll have no problem.”
He led me back to the kitchen and tapped a digital panel on the fridge. A schedule lit up, containing color-coded blocks, each labeled down to the minute.
“Tonight, you don’t have anything—he’s at a reception right now that will probably last until dawn, though he’ll sneak out by midnight. Tomorrow, though, he’ll need coffee-to-go at five. He grabs it before his training session?—”
“Dry cappuccino,” I interrupted. “I know. I make it when he’s at Prideview.”
Robbie nodded. “Good, then I won’t have to remind you, even though I still will. That’s what he pays me for. Anyway, then he’s back at seven thirty for a full meal. He’ll be hungry, so don’t hold back, and he wants protein-heavy?—”
“Protein-heavy, on the go,” I completed. “Robbie, I’m not new at this. What’s the rest of the schedule?”