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“Yes, Lorenzo is my best friend’s cousin. I was surprised to see him here.” That’s the truth, and her smile makes it seem like a pleasant surprise at least.
“Hmm.” Meredith doesn’t give anything away, and neither does her Botoxed face. “Well, let’s get everything set. Miss Johnson will be here shortly, and we won’t have you standing around when she approaches.”
I dip my chin in agreement, but my eyes wander to Abigail as I step into the kitchen. I can’t help it, nor do I stop the smile I give her, hoping it’s enough to get her through the afternoon’s festivities.“So, she loved them? I knew she would,” I murmur into the darkness of our bedroom hours later.
We survived the luncheon, even the chef table visits where they didn’t ask about ingredients or anything food-related. No, the bridal party might’ve oohed and ahhed about their dishes, but what they really wanted to know was all about me.
How tall are you?
Can I see your muscles?
Say something in Italian.
Are you single?
Can you sing?
I’d done my best to play the flirtatious asshole, walking the line of pissing them off and making them want more.
But now, lying under the blankets with Abigail, the day disappears into a bubble outside a world of the two of us. Without a word about it, we’re facing each other to talk through the darkness. We are both on our ‘sides’ of the bed, but very close to the middle, making me yearn to reach out and caress Abigail.
“She did. Claire said they were amazing and asked if she could take the main arrangement back to her suite because she liked it so much,” Abigail whispers back, and I can hear the unfiltered delight. “What about you? Did they love the food?”
I balk in faux offense, even though she can’t see me. “Of course they did. Though I mostly felt fortunate to leave the luncheon with my clothing on. That bridal party was hungry, and I think they thought my chef’s jacket was simply a charade for a stripper.”
“No way,” Abigail says slowly, and I’m sure she’s going to say more, but then I just hear the poof of her breath releasing as she begins to fall asleep.
There’s more to say, but for now, I’ll let her rest. Tomorrow’s another day in paradise.Chapter 11Abi“Rise and shine, mia rosa,” Lorenzo’s voice sings. He’s way too alert, and when I crack open one eye, he’s also way too dressed in a pair of gray athletic shorts and a white loose-fit tank top.
Fitness Lorenzo looks good.
Pleasantly surprised by how well-rested I feel, I stretch out my arms and legs with a happy moan. “What are you doing?”
“Wrong question. You should be asking what are we doing?” he corrects.
I sit upright, giving him a look of suspicion. “Okay, what are we doing, then?”
He sits down on the edge of the bed and holds out a steaming cup of coffee as a peace token for the wake-up call. I take it from him and note that it’s the perfect shade of creamy tan. One sip and I sigh in bliss. It’s got the exact amount of cream and sugar I like. It’s a small thing but ridiculously sweet that he’s noticed my habit of way-too-much cream.
Hearing my own ‘that’s what she said’ in my head, I cover the smile with another sip. Over the rim of the mug, I lift my brows to ask if he’s going to answer me.
He leans in close to tease me. “It’s a surprise. Get dressed. Workout wear, if you have any, or any shorts will do.”
Workout clothes? What in the world does he have up the nonexistent sleeves of his tank top?
A hike, maybe? Or a walk on the beach?
Hopefully not a jog because I will legit die. Running is not my favorite by a long shot. Basically, if you ever see me running, it’s because there’s a knife-wielding zombie chasing me.
But the suspense and surprise of it are thrilling. So is the gleam of ‘gotcha’ in Lorenzo’s dark eyes. Whatever he has planned, he’s excited too.
A tiny warning bell goes off in my head reminding me to be careful because his attention, his romantic ways, and his hot body are all my kryptonite. But Violet’s advice turns the alarm off.
Just chill. I can do that. I am so chill, like the frozen sangrias they serve on the resort beach.
I hop out of bed with energy to match Lorenzo’s now, all sleep burned away with eagerness. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
Smack!
Before I make it one step past him, Lorenzo swats my ass hard, and I yelp in surprise as a jolt shoots to my core.
“Ten. We can’t be late.”
Oh, shit. I don’t know what we’re doing, but I’d be ready in five if that’s what he wanted.
I yank on pale lavender yoga shorts that hug my ass and have a handy-dandy pocket for my phone on the hip and a matching sports bra with a strappy back. I hold up my tennis shoes and my flip flops, unsure which to choose.
