I grab the room’s phone, ignoring her glare that practically drills into the side of my head. “This’ll take only a few minutes,” I say, already dialing. “Stay put.”
Her laugh is humorless. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere. I’m half-naked, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Oh, I’ve noticed, sweetheart.
I glance at her and smirk, letting the corner of my mouth quirk up. “I got a good look at those perky tits. That’s half the problem.”
Her gasp is audible, her mouth falling open, her eyes blazing. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Thanks,” I say, turning back to the phone. “I try.”
ChapterThree
Galeana
This is definitely notthe way I expected to start my non-honeymoon.
I yank a sundress from my suitcase and throw it over my head, fumbling with the straps as I try to dress quickly. Anything to stop hot abs from staring at me like I’m a dessert he’s about to lick clean after devouring every last bite. The worst part? I wouldn’t even mind.
Because holy hell, he’s illegally hot. The kind of hot that should come with a warning label.Caution: Prolonged exposure may result in spontaneous combustion, inappropriate thoughts, or accidental drooling. Or maybe just a fire extinguisher.
Broad shoulders, muscles rippling with every slight movement, abs you could probably use as a washboard. If circumstances were different—if I wasn’t a jilted bride with zero patience and an ego the size of a crushed peanut—I’d be tempted to let him bite. Maybe even beg him to.
No. Stop. Focus, brain.
Once I’m dressed and somewhat composed, I glance at him. He’s on the phone, pacing near the window, speaking rapid-fire Italian with the kind of confidence that suggests he actually knows what he’s saying. Great. So he’s not just hot—he’s fluent.
Another point for him.
Meanwhile, I spent way too much money on LearnLingo, and the only phrases I know are where is the restroom? and can I have more? Oh, and gracias . . . or is it grazie? Damn it. I should’ve picked one language and stuck to it instead of trying to learn both Spanish and Italian just because they’re similar. Multitasking didn’t come in handy this time.
I grab my phone, determined to do something productive while he sorts out this mess. Dialing Aiden feels automatic, like muscle memory, and her voice crackling through the speaker immediately steadies me.
“Hey, sunshine. How’s Italy? Sunny and delicious?” Aiden chirps, her voice annoyingly chipper.
“Everything was okay until my luck fucked it all up,” I growl, pacing the length of the suite. “You wouldn’t believe how bad it is.”
“Try me.”
I give her a rundown in clipped sentences: first class from Denver to Italy was fine; the trip to the hotel, crappy-ish; arriving at the suite, ridiculous. I tell her about the rose petals, hot abs barging in like he owns the place, and now, we’re stuck in some idiotic standoff about who gets to keep the room. By the time I’m done, I’m practically vibrating with frustration, glaring at him as he gestures animatedly at nothing in particular.
There’s a beat of silence before Aiden bursts out laughing. “So let me get this straight: you’re stuck in paradise with a guy so hot he could melt glaciers, and you’re calling me instead of figuring out how to make this a rebound-honeymoon moment?”
“That’s not what I said and this is not helpful,” I hiss.
“Neither is pretending you don’t want to climb him like a jungle gym,” she quips.
“I never said that,” I argue, but my voice comes out very screechy.
“Uh-huh,” she says unconvinced. “You don’t have to. I know you, remember? Best friend for, what, almost three decades?”
I groan, pressing the heel of my palm to my forehead. “Twenty-five years isn’t three decades, Aiden.”
“Fine, fine. But seriously, this screams one bed, slow-burn tension. Use it wisely.”
“Stop reading romance books and streaming romantic movies,” I mutter, pacing toward the window.
“I will when I find my own happily ever after—and he’s hot as fuck, treats me like a queen, and fucks me like a dirty slut,” she shoots back, unapologetic. “Maybe hot abs can be that guy for you.”
