Chapter Two
Claire
Wind whipped strings of wet hair against my face as the salty sea air stung my eyes.
The sea raged with anger, as the beastly waves violently crashed into the black sand shore just mere feet from me.
Dark sky surrounded me above, as bright flashes of lightning peeked out through the dense clouds.
I was stuck in an alcove, surrounded by tall slate cliffs, blackened by the wet air.
Before me, a haze of fog filled every direction.
It was thick, like smoke, and quickly absorbed all the oxygen.
There was nowhere to go and no escape as the waves pushed closer toward me, pinning me back against the jagged cliff.
Each breath drew the water closer as I searched my surroundings for an escape.
My body, cold and stiff, thrashed against the slate with each wave.
I looked for any place to put my hands, hoping to pull myself up from the rising dark waters.
No matter how hard I tried to hoist myself up, my frozen hands slipped from the smooth surface, causing my body to crash back down into the water that nipped at my waist.
My bare feet struggled to find any kind of ledge to gain even an inch of elevation as I fought against the violent waves that crashed around me.
The more I fought, the more it fought back.
I wondered if the Grim Reaper was in the distance, holding his scythe and hiding among the fog, watching the waves do his bidding.
Another soul to collect.
I gasped, taking the dense air deep into my lungs until I choked, with delicate bubbles of air escaping into the black waters surrounding my face.
I jolted upright in bed, my chest heaving as the remnants of the nightmare clung to me.
The room filled with the harsh echoes of my rapid, shallow breath as the incessant beeping of my phone’s alarm drilled into my skull.
Darkness pressed in from all sides, broken only by a thin sliver of yellow light sneaking in from under the hotel room door.
My heart pounded in my ears as my eyes struggled to adjust, the room gradually taking shape around me.
Slowly, my vision sharpened, and I forced my breathing to steady.
My trembling hands fumbled through the tangled sheets, searching desperately until they found my phone.
The cold blue light of the screen sliced through the darkness and displayed 18:00—a stark, unforgiving reminder that I had less than fifty minutes to get out of this room and make it to dinner with Antonio.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and took two deep breaths as I braced my hands on the edge of the mattress under me.
What the hell did that dream mean? I can’t remember the last time I had a dream so vivid, so disorienting.
Sure, I’d had nightmares after Alex and I broke up last month, and I certainly had nightmares about my parents over the last few years, but nothing quite like this.
So ominous, like my mind was trying to give me pieces to a puzzle I didn’t know I was putting together.
I flicked on the bedside lamp, its dull glow casting long, eerie shadows across the room as I raced to the bathroom.
The mirror above the sink reflected a face I barely recognized: pale, with dark circles etched beneath my eyes and hair clinging damply to the back of my neck.
Sweat was beading along my hairline and trickling down my temples, a reminder of the nightmare that had shaken me.
The details were already slipping away, but the feeling remained as the heavy weight pressed down on me, and my chest tightened.
“You can do this,” I whispered to myself in the mirror, the words sounding hollow in the empty room. I squared my shoulders and took a deep, steady breath, determined to push through the fog.
I turned my attention to the task at hand, starting with the basics.
The ancient, yellowed blow dryer, anchored to the wall with a short, coiled cord, whirred to life in my hand.
Its weak, lukewarm air barely dried my hair, but it was all I had.
So, I worked methodically, section by section, until my hair was no longer plastered to my scalp.
“Shit,” I muttered. After nine hours of travel, I’d fallen asleep as soon as I had lain down in the bed, completely forgetting to call my mom. As I pressed her contact card on our text thread, I put my phone on speaker, resting it on the bathroom counter as I did my makeup.
My mom sang, “Hello!” Her voice greeted me like a warm hug.
I sang back with excitement, mustering every bit of energy I had left in my body. “I made it!”
“Thank God,” she said with an exhale. “I feel so much better now. How is it? Tell me everything!” she asked with enthusiasm, like a schoolgirl gossiping with her friends.
“It was a long travel day, and I only got to nap for about an hour…but it is gorgeous like nothing I have ever seen. Everything is so unique and ancient,” I gushed as my hands rifled through my makeup bag.
“You are so lucky,” she replied, with a smile in her voice. “I always wanted to go to Italy.”
The words hit me with a bolt of sadness that cut straight into my chest. I pressed my eyelids closed as I took a deep inhale to stop the tears from forming. I thought of my mother and how painful it must be to lie dying, thinking of all the things she wanted to do but never had the chance to.
I quickly changed the subject, my voice dropping as I rummaged through my makeup bag, this time looking for mascara. “How is Dad today?”
“He’s in therapy right now, but he’s doing better,” she replied, her tone shifting lower. “I told him about your trip. He was a bit out of it still but seemed to understand and gave me a big smile.”
I wiped my clammy hands against the thick cotton towels that sat folded on the edge of the sink, feeling the fuzzy loops against my fingertips as I tried to calm my nerves. “I hope he is feeling better by the time I get back. I really want to visit with him.”
“He has been getting a little better each day since you were here. Don’t worry,” my mother said, reassuring me and giving me a sense of peace that slowly pushed out the conflicting emotions. He sure wasn’t doing well a few days ago, which made getting on the plane last night that much harder.
My mother continued, her voice rushed as I heard voices in the background, “I have people coming in to check on me, though, so I’ve got to go. Can you call me before you go to bed?”
“Absolutely. I will give you a call then. I love you,” I said with a smile as I began throwing cosmetics back in the bag, trying my best to hurry.
“I love you, too. Bye-bye for now,” she said before the beep signaled our call had ended.
I should never have come here. What if something happens to them while I’m gone? I shouldn’t be this far from home. Not right now.
As I applied the last swipe of lip balm, I took a step back, examining my reflection.
I didn’t look perfect, not by a long shot, but I looked presentable.
I didn’t feel completely like myself, but I felt closer to the person I needed to be.
And for tonight, nothing else mattered except being a capable professional who was ready to win the business of this winery.
Not my parents’ illness. Not my fresh breakup with Alex.
And certainly not whatever that earlier dream was.
With one final, steadying breath, I turned away from the mirror and began rummaging through my suitcase. But then, a sharp realization cut through my focus.
“No!” I hissed under my breath, anger bubbling up as I stared at the tangled mess in my suitcase. I had forgotten to hang up my dress.
“Fuck!” My voice echoed through the room as my frustration boiled over.
I grabbed a shoe and hurled it toward the stone wall, but it did nothing to quell the rising panic in my chest. My heart pounded as I frantically searched for my phone, practically sprinting into the bathroom where I had left it.
18:30.
I forced myself to calm down and grabbed the iron from the closet, inspecting it closely.
It was different from the one I used back home, with subtle differences in design, a little older, a little more worn, but nothing I could not handle.
I carried the iron back to the bathroom, set it on the counter, and adjusted the temperature to low, carefully watching the dial.
My hands were still shaking slightly as I reached for the dress, pulling it out of the suitcase with care.
The fabric was wrinkled, but it was still as stunning as I remembered—a deep scarlet red with lace sleeves that cascaded down in elegant waves.
I hung it from the shower rod using one of the hotel’s wooden hangers, worn and chipped from who-knows-how-many years of use.
As I waited for the iron to heat up, I stood in the dim light of the bathroom, my mind racing.
The room filled with the faint hum of the iron, and I watched as a delicate stream of steam finally began to rise from the old metal.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and gently pressed the iron to the fabric, watching the wrinkles smooth under the heat.
Once finished, I quickly shed the robe from my body, letting it pool at my feet as I pulled the dress over my head. The fabric, warm from the steam and soft against my skin, wrapped around me like a glove.
I moved quickly, unplugging the ancient iron from the wall before I could forget. The last thing I needed was to jump up in the middle of dinner with Antonio and sprint through the hotel while people pointed at the “crazy American.”
Let’s not burn down the hotel, shall we, Claire?
I hurried to the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom, my bare feet padding softly across the cool floor.
The reflection staring back at me was one of mixed emotions, a blend of nerves, determination, and a hint of the woman I wanted to be.
I took in the sight of the dress, the way it clung to my curves and flared out slightly at the waist, the lace sleeves flaring at my palms.
“This is as good as it’s going to get,” I muttered, shrugging off any lingering doubts.
I quickly retrieved the black stilettos I had thrown across the room in my earlier fit of frustration.
They were scuffed and worn, vastly different from the glossy perfection they once had, but still the nicest pair of shoes I owned.
I had bought them on clearance at a department store during my days at NYU, back when I was filled with dreams of becoming a corporate boss babe.
I could still remember the thrill of slipping them on, imagining myself striding into boardrooms with my heels clicking authoritatively, commanding everyone’s attention.
They were a reminder of the woman I had once envisioned myself becoming: confident, powerful, and unstoppable.
As I moved around the room, I felt the gentle weight of my phone and room key in the hidden pocket of the dress.
I paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves.
This was it. I had done everything I could to prepare.
Now it was time to step out and face whatever awaited me beyond that door.
I reached for the door handle, feeling the cool metal beneath my fingers, and with another deep breath, I pulled it open and stepped out into the hall.
Emerging from my room, I made my way down the dim hallway.
Thin, potted cypress trees flanked large, golden-rimmed mirrors illuminated by ornate candle sconces on either side as I made my way into the grand lobby.
Since checking into Vigneto Riserva del Regale a few hours ago, the sun had started to go down and the lobby had transformed into a candle-lit dream.
The sound of flowing water drew my attention to the grand fountain, as beads of water cascaded heavily from each of the three stone levels and sprayed mist across the polished stone floor below.
The echo of splashing water and the click of my heels traversed the domed ceiling, where dark wooden beams spanned the room from side to side.
Ancient chandeliers, burning white candles with warm yellow flames, hung steadily from each beam.
I can’t believe I’m here.
My gaze was momentarily drawn to the large windows that lined the main lobby hall.
Through them, I could see patrons gathered at small bistro tables outside, bathed in the soft glow of sunset.
Some sipped on velvety red wine, their glasses catching the light and casting ruby reflections on the tablecloths; others lingered over tiny cups of espresso, savoring each sip as if they had all the time in the world.
Conversation drifted in through the open windows, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional clink of glasses.
The allure of this place was undeniable, with a seductive blend of history and romance that captivated my senses and made my heart beat a little faster.
Maybe if I close this deal, I can come here every so often to maintain the account?
As I approached the on-site restaurant, the rich aroma of Italian cuisine beckoned me closer, with the scent of garlic and fresh bread cutting through the air.
The restaurant itself was a vision of rustic elegance and intimacy—low ceilings, dark woods, and white linen-covered tables adorned with flickering candles in red crystal votives.
I paused for a moment at the entrance.
Deep breath.
Steady.
As I approached the host, I felt a quiet resolve settle over me. This was my moment, and I intended to make the most of it.
I won’t leave here without this deal.