Chapter 17
CASH
I’d been pacing in the international arrivals terminal for thirty minutes when I saw her. Maybe I sensed her first. Either way, my eyes were immediately drawn to her.
She came through the doors with a single carry-on over one shoulder.
I smirked at the sight of her hoodie. It was covered with sequined cherries.
She had on black leggings and combat boots.
Her dark hair with the purple streak was in a wild mass on top of her head.
She had on dark sunglasses like she was a celebrity.
And that red lipstick I was so used to seeing on her.
Long dangly earrings flashed in the light.
When she saw me, she smiled and waved her hand that was sporting the usual eclectic rings with bracelets stacked on her wrist. She’d packed for a transatlantic flight in under an hour and still found time to put on all her jewelry.
I didn’t know why I found that so charming. I just did.
I walked to greet her. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Bag?”
“I just checked one. Didn’t have time for another and I had no idea how much I should bring.”
“How was the flight?” I asked as we made our way toward baggage claim.
“Surprisingly good. First class is a gamechanger. I slept most of the way, which is a miracle because I’m usually terrible at sleeping on planes.” She adjusted the strap of her bag. “Also, they kept bringing me food. Like, every hour. I’d barely finish one thing and they’d appear with another.”
“That’s the point.”
“I know, but it felt excessive. I’m pretty sure I ate my weight in cheese.”
I smiled despite myself. “You didn’t like the cheese?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it.” She glanced up at me, those dark eyes invisible behind her sunglasses. “So are you going to tell me what’s going on? Why the urgent middle-of-the-night phone call?”
“We’ll talk in the car.”
She stopped walking. I took two more steps before I realized she wasn’t beside me anymore. I turned back.
She had her arms crossed, one hip cocked in a way that meant she wasn’t moving until she got what she wanted. “Cash.”
“Cleo.”
“You flew me to Rome on five minutes’ notice. The least you can do is give me a hint about what I’m walking into.”
She had a point. A very valid point. But I also needed time to explain this properly, and baggage claim in a busy airport wasn’t the place for it.
“I promise I’ll tell you everything in the car,” I said. “It’s complicated and I’d rather not have this conversation in public.”
I couldn’t see her eyes behind the sunglasses, but I could tell she was trying to decide if she was going to let it go.
“Fine,” she said finally. “But it better be good.”
We continued walking. Her suitcase came around the carousel quickly, bright purple with stickers covering every available surface. Of course it was. I grabbed it before she could reach for it.
“I can carry my own bag,” she said.
“I know you can.”
“So why are you carrying it?”
“Because I want to.”
She made a sound that might have been amusement or exasperation. Probably both.
The driver was waiting outside. I was grateful for the efficiency of it all. He took the bag and loaded it into the trunk while Cleo and I slid into the back seat.
The partition was up. We had privacy. She turned to face me, pulling off her sunglasses and revealing she hadn’t put on makeup. I really loved the natural look on her. She was beautiful. “Okay. We’re in the car. Start talking.”
The car pulled into Roman traffic, which operated on a system of logic I would never understand, which was why I chose to trust the driver to navigate.
“I want to apologize for the manner in which I got you here,” I said. “A phone call at three in the morning is bold.”
“More like completely unhinged.”
“Slightly informal.”
“Mm.” She was already looking out the window, taking in the city while also trying to interrogate me. “Why am I here, Cash?”
“Something came up in my meeting with the client yesterday,” I said. “There’s a charity fundraiser gala—tomorrow night—and my presence has been requested in a specific capacity. I needed someone I could trust on short notice, and you were the person I thought of.”
She turned to look at me. “What is the specific capacity? That sounds sketchy as hell.”
“I’ll explain everything when we get to the hotel. It’s easier to walk through the full picture there. Basically, I need to impress a client. And with you by my side, I think I can do that.”
“You’re not settling my nerves,” she said. “But I’m going to let you keep your little secret for now because this place is amazing.” She was looking out the window. “Are they looking to rebrand? The client?”
“Possibly. I’m still assessing the situation.”
“You’re not going to give me a hint.”
“At the hotel.” I watched her take in the city. I loved that I was able to give her this experience. I wanted her to enjoy it now before I told her my plan.
“It’s different than I expected,” she said, mostly to herself.
“Good different or bad different?”
“Just different.” She leaned slightly toward the glass. “It’s older. Like, obviously I knew it was old. But it feels old. Like the buildings are watching you.”
I shrugged. “Maybe they are. How was dress shopping?”
“Good. Found her a dress. It will be ready two weeks before the wedding, which is nothing short of a miracle.”
“Good. I’m sure that’s a relief.”
“Huge. That was the biggest challenge. She looked beautiful in it. Austin is going to lose his mind when he sees her.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“I told her I was thinking about shifting gears, like with my career.”
That was a surprise. “Yeah? And how’d she take it?”
“She was surprised. Maybe a little hurt. I promised her I wasn’t going anywhere until after the wedding. I told her I was coming here.”
“And what did she have to say about that?”
“Have fun.”
I smiled. “Good.”
The driver pulled under the portico of the hotel.
It was tucked into a quiet corner of the city’s most expensive district, behind a wall of old stone and an iron gate that opened onto a courtyard.
The place was luxury on steroids. Exclusive.
Only the wealthiest and most famous stayed there. I appreciated the privacy.
The grounds were more like a park than a typical hotel. Ponds with lily pads. Benches under cypress trees. A bar set up under shaded canopies strung with lights. Standing tables where two guests were having an afternoon drink.
A doorman opened the back door. I slid out and extended my hand to her. A porter quickly got her bag and followed us inside.
She was trying not to react. I could see the effort of it. She was playing it cool like she regularly stayed in luxury hotels. Her eyes were scanning the area, taking it all in. The lobby opened into the back of the property that was absolutely stunning.
Quiet sitting areas were situated around ponds, and lush foliage gave the place a tropical feel. Another stone fountain stood in the center of it all. Climbing roses on a trellis that led to another outdoor dining area.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“Acceptable,” she said in the tone of someone who found it considerably more than acceptable.
“I thought you’d manage.” I led her to the elevators. The porter hung back, trying to be invisible. I noticed him studying the many stickers on her suitcase. It was a lot. Wait until he saw her in full Cyclone Cleo mode.
The suite occupied the top floor. Three bedrooms, two living rooms, four bathrooms, a balcony that wrapped the entire eastern face of the building. We had our own private infinity pool that looked out over the city.
The porter left her bags and quickly departed. Cleo stood in the center of the main living room and did a slow turn.
“How many people are staying here?” she asked.
“Just us.”
“Right.” She walked to the balcony doors and looked out. The pool caught the afternoon light. “Just us. We’re sharing a hotel room.”
“It’s a suite, basically a house. We shared a house in the Hamptons. There are three bedrooms. Four bathrooms. Trust me, you’ll have plenty of privacy.”
She turned around and stared at me like I had lost my mind. “Four bathrooms. For two people.”
“Yes.”
“Do I have my own room?”
“Down the hall. The one on the left.”
“Good,” she said simply. “So, what is my specific capacity? Why am I here?”
I was not ready to drop that bombshell quite yet. “Before that, come with me. I have a surprise for you.”
“You’re full of surprises.”
I moved toward the closed door of the second bedroom. “There are some people I need you to meet.”
“What people?”
I opened the door. The wardrobe team had been setting up for the last two hours.
The room was filled with racks of clothing and cases of accessories.
It also had a full-length vanity mirror.
The bed had been pushed against the wall to make room.
A makeup chair was positioned in front of another mirror. They looked up when the door opened.
Cleo looked at the racks. At the team. At the racks again.
“Wardrobe people,” she said flatly.
“Yes.”
“You said everything would be here,” she murmured.
“Yes.”
She slowly nodded and looked around. “So, wardrobe. I see dresses. Designer dresses.”
“I wanted you to have a large selection to choose from. For the event.”
“Which is?”
“A black-tie charity fundraiser. Conservative. Old European money. Very formal.”
She turned to face me. I recognized the expression and realized I was treading on dangerous ground. She was quickly putting together the pieces. She knew there was a large part of the story I had yet to tell her.
“And who exactly am I supposed to be at this event? Your PR rep?”
I stood up straight, bracing for impact.
There was no version of this that was going to land well in the first ten seconds.
I’d accepted that in the car on the way to the airport.
But my goal was not a good first reaction.
The goal was getting her somewhere I could contain the response.
If she could see the dresses, understand it could be a fun adventure and not a crazy scheme.
“My fiancée,” I said.
The wardrobe team suddenly found fascinating things to look at that weren’t us. They slowly moved away from us, quietly talking amongst themselves. Cleo stared at me.
The silence had a specific texture to it. It wasn’t the silence of someone with nothing to say. It was the silence of someone with far too much to say and they were trying to figure out how to put those words in order.
I waited. I’d learned, over the course of a fairly short acquaintance, that interrupting Cleo Quinn mid process was counterproductive.
“Your fiancée,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
“You flew me to Rome to be your fiancée.”
We were in the eye of the storm. She was about to unleash her fury. I felt like I should hold on to something that was bolted to the floor.
“Yes, Cleo. I would like you to pretend to be my fiancée to help me save this deal.”