Chapter 5 Megan #2
“Look at me, Meggie.” He holds my gaze until I comply. “Tell me about your cakes again, but this time, convince me that I will fall in love with them.”
I take a deep breath and swallow another mouthful of coffee. “Okay. I can make you a cake that reminds you of Sicily. When you bite into it, you’ll taste the lemons growing on the trees. You’ll think of warm, sunny days, laughter and sun lotion and the foamy sea.”
He nods. “If I supply the ingredients, will you make me this cake?”
“Y-you want me to make you a cake?”
“No, I want you to make that cake, the one that will remind me of Sicily.” There is no hint of amusement in his tone; he’s deadly serious about this.
“But…”
Where do I begin?
I’m not staying. This was a one-off, a date that led to far more than I bargained for, but I’m under no illusion that it will ever be anything more.
When we get back to LA, we’ll go our separate ways, and when our vacation is over, I’ll fly back to the UK with a fading memory of Giovanni Sabatelli to see me through the drab British winters.
“We should get going.” I’ve barely touched my breakfast, but I finish my coffee.
“Why?” He watches me coolly.
“Because you promised that you would take us straight back to LA.”
“I also promised to take Amber to Central Park Zoo.” He winks at her conspiratorially, and she drops a blueberry which rolls across the decking towards his foot.
“Can we go to the zoo today, Meggie?” Her body quivers with excitement.
“What about Auntie Nikki?”
“Text her. She won’t mind.” Amber shrugs, and her strawberry blonde curls bounce around her face.
“Gio has to work too.” It’s a feeble excuse.
If he didn’t want us to stay, we’d probably already be back on his private jet, waiting to get cleared for take-off. This was his suggestion, I remind myself.
“Ever heard of delegation?” He smiles. “It’s the reason why I employ people.”
“What about the movie?”
“It will still get made.”
“And this hotel?” I peer down at the floor; it’s still incredible to me that we’re sitting on the roof of a tower block in Manhattan. How does anyone ever take this for granted?
“Will continue to make me money.”
Amber follows the conversation and licks her empty plate clean. “Can we go now?” She jumps down off the couch and waits for Gio to stand up.
“Let’s go. Your sister has a cake to bake when we get back.”
Amber was right: Nikki didn’t mind.
Her response to my text message went something like this: If you come back to LA without making Gio’s cake, I will personally drag you back to the airport and put you on a plane to New York myself.
Amber has never been to a zoo before and she is mesmerized by all the animals living in the middle of a busy city, although she gets sad that they’re stuck inside small enclosures.
As always, I find myself peering over my shoulder and flinching every time I spot a man who even vaguely resembles Amber’s father. We’re watching Amber talking to a mini-Nubian goat through the enclosure fencing, when Gio whispers in my ear, “You’re safe with me. I protect what’s mine, Meggie.”
It’s hard to let go of my fear. Back in London, I’m responsible for my little sister.
We don’t have a team of bodyguards trailing us at a discreet distance, alert to anything out of the ordinary.
I have to amuse Amber and keep her safe without letting her know that I’m constantly in fight-or-flight mode.
I realize now just how exhausting it is.But as we spend more time in Gio’s company, I find myself relaxing.
It’s like relinquishing control to him, while we’re here—and I know I’ll have to pick up the reins again when we leave New York—but for now, I allow myself to enjoy a blissful, stress-free day.
Gio’s arm brushes mine as we walk. He points out things that he thinks I’ll find interesting, the carousel, the John Lennon Memorial, the Alice in Wonderland Statue.
We take a horse and carriage ride through the park, the heat of his thigh pressed up against mine making me tingle all over.
He takes us to Maman, a quirky café in Soho, the outside of which is draped with flowers, and his hand is always on my elbow guiding me alongside him, keeping me close.
I’m so aware of his presence, that I don’t notice the middle-aged guy sporting a backpack and a cap worn back to front, until he elbows me in the chest as we pass him by.
I automatically apologize for not watching where I was going.
But Gio grabs the man’s arm, swings him around, and pushes him up against the wall of an old building with a hostel sign swinging outside.
“Apologize to the lady,” he growls.
Ric immediately appears from nowhere, and I pull Amber behind me, shielding her with my body.
Frown lines appear across the man’s forehead, but he doesn’t retaliate. “Sorry,” he grumbles before straightening his T-shirt, gripping the straps of his bag, and scurrying across the road.
My heart is thudding when Gio places his hand on the small of my back and steers me and Amber towards his waiting car. His lips form a narrow stern line. When I quiz him about his reaction, he simply says, “He touched you. He needed to apologize.”
When we get back to the penthouse apartment, I find that Gio, true to his word, has had his kitchen filled with enough baking supplies to fill the entire bakery where I work.
“We’ll leave you to it.” He smiles, holds Amber’s hand, and she walks off with him as if she has known him her entire life.
“Wait. Where are you going?”
I feel self-conscious standing in the middle of his pristine kitchen. He has no idea that by the time I’m finished, every available surface will be covered with a fine film of flour and frosting, and his dishwasher will groan under the weight of dishes and utensils to be cleaned.
Not to mention the very real fear gurgling inside my chest that he won’t like my cakes. What if he discovers that I’m a fake? A wannabe cake maker with no real talent and an unrealistic dream.
“We’re going swimming.”
He peers down at Amber when she tugs on his hand. She stands on her tiptoes, and he leans down so that she can whisper in his ear. He straightens himself to his full height, grinning widely, and I try to control my heart’s giddy skipping.
“I had some bathing suits and inflatables delivered for her. She can swim, right?”
“Um.” I grimace. “I never got around to teaching her.”
“Well, this will be her first lesson. We’ll build up an appetite for that fantastic cake you’re about to create.”
He salutes me over his shoulder as he and my sister head upstairs to the rooftop pool.
Amber has always been shy around men, probably because aside from schoolteachers, she has very little interaction with anyone other than my dad.
But Gio has already earned her trust, and I don’t know how I feel about it.
I’m glad of course. If he made her feel uneasy, I’d have insisted that he take us back to LA last night. But I don’t want her to get too attached. I don’t want her to be upset when it’s time for us to leave. Because this isn’t our home, and the time we’ve spent with Gio isn’t like real life.
“Deep breath, get baking, Meggie,” I mutter to myself.
I switch on the swanky coffee machine, make coffee, and start mixing ingredients. Within minutes, I’m elbow-deep in flour and singing along to a Rihanna tune blaring through the hidden speakers.
I never thought I’d ever step foot inside a penthouse.
The entire situation is so bizarre, so fantastic that I keep stopping to peer out of the window at the towering city and remind myself that I’m not dreaming.
My sister is having swimming lessons in a rooftop pool and I’m baking a cake for the hottest man alive.
What did I do to deserve this?
I can’t watch when he cuts a slice of cake and swallows the first mouthful.
I added my own twist to traditional limoncello cake with mint and honey and topped it with homemade curd, convinced that it would be the best cake I’ve ever made.
But now that it’s time for the taste-test, I’m panicking that Gio is a sucker for tradition and that he’ll be disappointed.
Several agonizingly long beats pass before he turns to me and smiles. “Meggie, this is amazing.”
“Really?” I blurt out. “You’re not just saying that because you don’t want to upset me?”
“I’m not just saying it.” He shakes his head. “You should have more belief in yourself. There are plenty of successful bakers out there who are probably far less talented than you, but you know what sets them apart from other people?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “They believe in themselves.”
Amber’s hair is stringy wet, and her cheeks are flushed, but she is still buzzing with excitement after the busy day we’ve had.
Gio hasn’t mentioned going back to LA since this morning, and part of me hopes that it’s too late to fly now. Twenty-four hours, and I can’t imagine walking out of this apartment and never coming back. I can’t imagine kissing Gio goodbye, knowing that I’ll never see him again.
He refuses to let me clean the kitchen. Instead, we go to Fifth Avenue to buy clothes because our luggage is in a motel room in Los Angeles.
That evening, we eat Mexican food in a small cozy restaurant owned by one of Gio’s business associates and are serenaded by a man in a sombrero playing multiple musical instruments on a loop.
Amber falls asleep in the car on the way back to Gio’s apartment, and he carries her into the guest room, where she curls up like a baby hedgehog, with her thumb in her mouth.
Gio waits for me in the living room with a bottle of champagne, and we have sex on the soft-pile rug next to the cylindrical aquarium.
Then we fuck on the couch.
And in his bedroom, which is all classically elegant navy-blue lines and gold accessories.
And in the rainfall shower which is the size of a small private beach.
He doesn’t mention Los Angeles the following day either.
We’ve settled into a routine of exploring the city during the day and tearing each other’s clothes off at night when Amber is asleep.
I don’t share the bed in the guest room with her.
Gio doesn’t seem to crave or need sleep, so we nap between fucking on the couch or in his bed or on blankets piled up on the floor in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline.
I’m conscious of the countdown to our return flight to the UK, but I pretend that the flights were booked for someone else. A woman I used to know back home in East London. A woman who no longer exists since she met Giovanni Sabatelli.
I know that life must return to normal, for Amber’s sake. We’ll go home to our tiny apartment that backs onto the railway line, Amber will go to school, and I’ll go to work, and we’ll talk fondly about our time here once we’ve adapted to reality again. But my heart aches when I think about it.
So, instead, I try to squeeze the most out of every moment, like getting juice from an orange.
I follow Gio around with my eyes when he’s swimming with Amber or making coffee or opening a bottle of wine.
And, when he’s close, I make sure that we’re touching, imprinting the feel of him into my memory.
Because I can’t bear the thought that one day, in years to come, I’ll try to recall this special moment in time, and he will no longer be there.
Then, on the third day, I receive a text from Nikki.
Meg, someone has been looking for you here in LA. A man. I didn’t see them, but from the description the security guy gave me, I’m worried that it might be Amber’s father.