Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
winnie
After Ty disappears with another girl on a ride, Victoria accidentally squirts a bottle of ketchup all over Winnie’s shirt.
The next day at the puzzle ceremony, someone steps on the back of her gown so hard it rips, though she doesn’t see who.
Then the next morning, a hidden foot sends her sprawling across sixteenth-century tiles.
There are whispers, looks. Two more notes end up taped to her hotel room door.
One gets slipped into her suitcase. Her favorite shirt and some of her makeup go missing.
None of it matters.
Not when she finds herself stepping out of a production van to the sight of Tyler at the end of a wooden dock, linen shirt unbuttoned and a wide grin on his lips while a small boat bobs in the azure water to his left.
She knows he spends most of his time gliding over ice beneath a thick layer of padding, but it’s a shame, really.
His body was made for the heat. Sculpted abs.
Sun-kissed skin. Wild blond hair. Brilliant eyes more saturated than the Mediterranean Sea behind him.
Winnie runs down the rickety planks and practically throws herself into his arms.
She has no idea how long they stand there making out.
Time has a way of fading whenever his hands are on her.
But she does know it takes some seriously loud, pointed coughs from production to break them apart.
They keep their foreheads touching, unable to pull fully away.
Waves gently lap against wood, mixing with their panting, as they fight to catch their breath.
“Hey,” she finally says before pulling her bottom lip between her teeth to fight the embarrassingly wide grin threatening to break free.
Tyler closes his eyes with a soft groan and buries his face against her neck. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Me?” She laughs outright. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
She pulls back, brows arching. “The burning hot sun. The boat. The bikini.” She waves an arm down her side, indicating the pink swimsuit hiding underneath her crochet dress. “Who did you have to kill for this date?”
A wicked grin brings a dimple to his cheek. Her heart pinches. He’s just so freaking sexy, especially with that triumphant look in his eyes. He digs his fingers into her hips, his bare skin scorching through the openings of her cover-up. “Nice, isn’t it?”
“I’m serious.” She slaps him playfully. “Did it involve a blood sacrifice?”
“Nope.”
“Selling off our firstborn son?”
“Never.”
“Then what? Because I know Nina, and she would not do this willingly.”
He winces, eyes pinching as he wrinkles his nose.
Shit.
She was only joking until right this second, seeing the guilt crawl slowly across his features. “Tyler.”
“It was nothing.”
“What?”
“Fine, fine.” He slides his hands down her hips and back up before settling them on the small of her waist as he swallows.
“I agreed to keep Victoria until the finale. I know you guys don’t get along, but come on—” He looks around, at the sparkling water, the umbrella-lined beach, and the colorful buildings of Positano stacked up the hills behind them. “It was worth it. Right?”
Her stomach flips.
Not getting along is an understatement. But she doesn’t want him to know that.
Because she knows him. He’ll jump in to save her.
And she doesn’t want to give it that sort of power.
She doesn’t want to give Victoria or Nina the satisfaction of knowing they’re getting to her.
She just wants to be here, with Tyler, fully in the moment, where nothing bad can touch her.
So she runs her hands up his chest, mesmerized by the way his muscles flex with her touch. “Definitely worth it.”
The nerves in his gaze vanish.
Tyler takes her by the hand and leads her onto the boat. For the next fourteen hours, they prove the statement true.
It is worth it.
Honestly, if the devil came swooping in, she might even be open to selling her soul for the chance to live the day all over again—that’s how perfect it is.
They spend the first few hours floating down the Amalfi Coast, talking, kissing, basking in the sunlight and swimming in the chilly sea.
The captain weaves through famous rock formations and shows them various caves to explore.
They manage to escape the cameras in a few hidden alcoves, bobbing in the waves, limbs and lips locked, smiling as the water laps up against them, laughter echoing off the rocks.
Lunch is at a local restaurant nestled into the cliffside.
They gorge themselves on caprese salads, fresh seafood, and the most delicious pasta she’s ever had in her life—a local recipe featuring zucchini, butter, and a perfectly heaping amount of Parmesan.
Then Tyler leads her to a vespa tied up outside.
She squeals, clutching at him for dear life as they whip around the winding seaside roads.
When the sun begins to dip, they’re ordered back to the hotel to change.
An hour later, she meets Tyler in the lobby, practically salivating at the sight of him in a tailored charcoal suit.
He seems to feel the same if the heat in his eyes is anything to go by as he takes in the fitted, off-the-shoulder dress she bought specifically because the eggplant color really makes the green in her eyes pop.
They’re led out to a private veranda with sweeping views of the water.
Far in the distance, stars already start to twinkle.
In the background, romantic Italian music mixes with the breeze.
The food is delicious, the conversation even more so.
There isn’t a break, not even a pause. They flow so naturally, as if they were made for each other.
And even when it becomes clear the night is supposed to end, they aren’t prepared to let it go.
So Tyler grabs her hand and they make a mad dash through the gardens, a camera crew hot on their heels as they cut through a side entrance and spill onto a dimly lit cobblestone street.
Winnie holds a hand over her mouth to keep her giggles from giving the game away as Tyler darts from one side street to another, pulling her behind him, taking every opportunity possible to press her up against a dark wall and devour her.
When they run right into a bustling piazza, she can’t contain it anymore, and immediately bursts into a fit of laughter at the sight of her red lipstick smeared all over his face.
“You’re one to talk,” he says, indicating her hair.
She glances into a shop window to find an absolute bee’s nest atop her head.
Some locals offer up a few catcalls and she buries her face in his chest—not from embarrassment, just overwhelmed by this happiness bubbling inside her, so potent and so powerful she doesn’t understand how she hasn’t exploded from the sheer amount of feeling whirling around inside her.
The crew isn’t far behind, so she and Tyler finally give up the chase, opting for some gelato instead.
They sit on the church steps, huddled close.
A band starts playing. Couples find their way to the makeshift dance floor, swaying beneath golden streetlamps, some old, some young, some foreign, some local, all emanating joy.
An older Italian man comes over and sweet-talks Winnie into a dance.
She’s pretty sure Tyler thinks it’s entertaining at first, until a little line forms of more older gentlemen willing to test their luck with the kind American girl who couldn’t find it in her heart to tell their friend no.
Tyler’s under no such qualms as he storms across the piazza, practically growling them off.
They elbow each other and laugh, a knowing look in their eyes as shouts of il toro suddenly fill the air.
“Christ,” Tyler mutters as he shakes his head. “What am I going to do with you?”
“I don’t know,” she muses with a teasing tug on his tie, bringing his eyes back to her. “But I can’t wait to find out.”
His blue eyes blaze like the center of a flame. They stay there, twirling in each other’s arms, for as long as production lets them. On the way back to the hotel, Tyler slips his jacket over her shoulders.
She spends the next two days without him wrapped in that warm wool, letting the scent of him soothe her soul, trying not to think about the other women and the other dates.
She knows they’re nothing more than a contractual obligation to Tyler, but it’s still not easy being trapped in a hotel room, all the while knowing he’s out there being spoon-fed romance at every single turn.
She loses count of how many times she furls and unfurls the little scrap of paper Tyler handed her, letting his carefully crafted transcription and the eternal words of William Shakespeare wash over her.
Never doubt I love.
She doesn’t.
Doubting him has never been the problem.
The minute she steps into the ballroom for the next puzzle ceremony, Victoria just so happens to trip and spill an entire tray of champagne down her dress before Tyler arrives.
Either Victoria’s the clumsiest person in the world, or it’s deliberate.
Still, Winnie bites her tongue, not wanting to give the producers exactly what they want—a scene.
Instead, she pretends to believe the profuse, over-the-top apologies and retreats up to her hotel room for a new outfit.
I’m strong, she thinks.
He’s worth it.
I won’t let them break me.