Chapter 19
Lennon
Sunday afternoon I’m getting out of the shower when my phone dings with a text. I barely slept—thoughts of Sandro like a violent hurricane in my mind. It’s all back. All the memories.
Chicken fights in the pool, clinging to his tanned, warm back on ocean jet-ski adventures, balmy nights stolen on the beach, exploring each other's bodies.
Two trusting, starry-eyed kids spilling our hopes and dreams, our fears and needs.
I feel… entangled again. The memories wrapping around my soul like strings of invisible filament binding us together.
The ache, the yearning is painful. I need a distraction.
I dry off and then check my phone.
Sloane: Lunch at Spagos? Brick’s in town.
Perfect. Brick is one of our friends who moved away to New York three years ago to open a restaurant. It’ll be good to see him and give me something to do to get my mind off one infuriatingly hot mobster. I glance over at Pepper who’s watching me from the bed. Guilt for leaving him tugs at me.
Me: Sure but let's do Dry Dock. Bringing the pup
***
Sloane and Brick are already seated out on the patio beside the sparkling water. The sun is brutal, shining on the surface of the Bay like scattered diamonds.
I’m glad I pulled my hair up into a messy bun, because I already feel beads of sweat gathering around my hairline.
“There she is.” Brick’s polished smile and spicy cologne greet me as he stands to wrap me in a hug.
His brown hair is longer, touching his shoulders, and he’s fabulously dressed, as always, but instead of Florida casual chic, he’s in a raw silk white button-down and black slacks. New York’s influence no doubt.
“Who do we have here? Hello, little guy.” He scratches Pepper under the chin with a long, manicured finger.
“A client’s dog.” I give Sloane a squeeze, and then we all sit down. Pepper curls up on my lap. I catch Sloane’s gaze. She’s staring at me like she’s watching me for a breakdown. I quirk an eyebrow at her, and she squirms in her chair.
“I’m fine,” I mouth. She’s probably worried about how I’m dealing with last night. She bites her lip and glances away. Okay, something’s up. I decide to leave it for now. “What brings you home?” I ask Brick.
He folds his elegant fingers together and leans his forearms on the table with a cocky smile. “I’m meeting with a pastry chef who just came over from France. Thinking of backing him for a little dessert bistro downtown.”
“Nice. Does that mean you’ll be coming home more than once a year?” I ask, as the waitress brings glasses of water and menus.
“It would be a good excuse.” He lifts the glass of water to his lips and then pauses. He’s eyeing Sloane, his brows pressed down in concern.
She’s staring at the water, her signature red lips pursed in deep thought.
“So, what have you ladies been up to?” His sunlit eyes narrow and move from Sloane to me.
“Oh, work mostly,” I say, because I don’t want to talk about my failed attempt at having a social life, or anything that has happened in the last few weeks, actually.
Sloane’s gaze meets mine and the concern is so bright, I slap the menu down. “Okay, spill. What’s going on?”
She flinches. Presses her lips together. Then sighs as her shoulders fall. “You haven’t seen the Tampa Times then?”
I blink and stroke Pepper for comfort. I can tell by the pity on her face that whatever is coming will hurt. “No, I haven’t,” I push out, bracing myself.
She nods, digs her phone from her straw bag and brings up the website for our local paper. She hands me her phone, and the photo hits me like a horse kick to the gut.
Sandro and Giada locked in a kiss.
After forcing air into my lungs, I clock all the details revealed in the article. It’s The Eclipse. Last night. After I left.
He rushed right into Giada’s arms?
My stomach drops like I just fell off a cliff. Did what happened between us last night mean nothing to him? God, I feel stupid. An arranged marriage my ass. He obviously has no objection to sleeping with her.
A flare of heat ignites my face.
The article is some fluff piece about their upcoming wedding. I don’t bother doing more than skimming it.
I hand the phone back to Sloane, feeling gutted, then clear my throat. “Well, they are engaged, so…” my words trail off. There’s nothing left to say. He belongs to her. But god, his mouth was still warm from mine.
Gross.
“What’s going on?” Brick grabs Sloane’s phone.
His brows press down in confusion as he stares at the photo.
“Alessandro LaRocca and Giada Zerilli…wait.” He pinches the screen and enlarges the text.
“LaRocca as in the New York mafia LaRocca family?” He glances up at us.
“What does this have to do with you, Lennon?”
“Just… everything,” I sigh.
Sloane reaches over and grasps my hand in hers. “Oh, babe. I’m sorry.”
“Okay, wow.” Brick signals to the waitress. “I can tell this conversation is going to require lunch mimosas.”
Two hours and two pitchers of mimosas later, I’ve spilled the whole story, up to and including what happened in Sandro’s office last night, and Brick is staring at me with a mixture of awe and sympathy.
The only thing I left out is how my mother died.
I’m not sure why I’m not ready to talk about that to anyone but my therapist.
Finally, he sits back, throws his napkin onto his empty lunch plate and snorts. “Who’d of thought, our sweet little Lennon, all this time had a secret, epic romance with one of the most dangerous men in New York.”
“Well, technically Florida,” I say. “I think he lives here now.” I place Pepper back on the ground beneath my feet in case he needs another drink from the water bowl the waitress brought him.
Brick leans back in his chair. “So, the mob has set up in Florida permanently? Interesting.”
“Missing the point, love,” Sloane says to Brick.
“No, I got it. We need to find Lennon someone who can help her move past Alessandro LaRocca. Herculean task as it is.”
“What about Doctor Becker?” Sloane asks. “He’s cute in a nerdy sort of way and seems really nice and drama-free. And really into you.”
“Eh.” I shrug. “We had a few coffee dates and then tried a dinner. There’s just no spark there.”
Sloane waves her hand, her gold bracelets catching the sunlight. “Maybe there would be eventually… you know, could be like a slow burn situation.”
I scrunch my nose up in distaste, but maybe she’s right. There’s nothing wrong with him. Maybe I should give him another chance. We definitely have more in common than Sandro and I.
Ugh, I need to stop comparing every man to Sandro.
Brick is tapping his lip, thinking, and then his eyes light up.
He snaps his fingers. “I’ve got it. There’s a singles charity auction next weekend for hurricane relief.
Both the ladies and gentlemen are going to be offering themselves up for a date to the highest bidder.
It’s perfect. All rich, beautiful people.
I can get you in. Surely you can find someone there to compete with your handsome, rich mobster. ”
I press the ice-cold water glass against my cheek. “I don’t have money to bid on a date, Brick.”
His eyes sparkle with sunlight and champagne. “I didn’t say you’d be the one bidding.”
Sloane throws her head back and laughs, drawing all eyes to our table.
“Oh my god, you want me to auction myself off?” I hiss and stare at him in horror. Images flood my brain of me standing there with just crickets in the room and no bids. It would be beyond humiliating. “No, Brick. Absolutely not. I’m not the kind of woman hot, rich guys pay for.”
He leans forward and smiles at me like a Cheshire cat. “No, you’re the girl next door. Exactly why you’ll be a fresh breath of air in their silicone boobs and Botox world.” He pulls something up on his phone. “No arguing. I’m signing you up. We need to fill out this information.”
Sloane is wiping her eyes with her napkin after her laughing fit. “It’s perfect, Lennon. Don’t worry, I’ll go with you for moral support.”
“Moral support. Right. Not the hot, rich single guys then?” She broke up with her boyfriend of two years a few months ago and has been enjoying dating around.
I think about that photo of Sandro kissing Giada again, and a flare of rage sparks in my mimosa-soaked brain. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
Because what could go wrong?