Page 5

As my bottom lip trembles, I stare at my phone.

Now what? That was my last option. It’s official. I’m stranded with a hurricane on the way. Another Roman is coming to destroy my life.

I groan and kick the nearest suitcase, wishing it were him. It bobbles back and forth, falls over, and rams into my shin. I grimace at the cutting pain and hop backward on one foot. When I bend down to look closer, a bruise is already forming.

“Darn it.” I rub the broken skin.

Because I’m halfway to the ground and three inches from rock bottom, I sit down. When that’s not enough, I lie on the concrete sidewalk, my back flat and arms and legs spread-eagle.

In this new position, I rub my palms over my face. A burn builds in the bridge of my nose. My throat thickens with an ache. My eyes water with hot unshed tears.

Do palm trees ever need to lie down and cry?

Wiping away fresh tears, I will myself to keep going. I’m the only one who can save me.

Trying to hang in there, I hold the phone above my face and call the taxi service again. At the same time, a car’s motor rumbles to a stop in the pick-up lane.

“I wouldn’t do that,” the annoying deep voice of my archnemesis calls.

I’d recognize Mr. Salami’s voice anywhere, because hearing it makes my bones rattle.

Why won’t this man leave me alone?!

I lift my head and confirm my suspicions. My cheek muscle ticks at the sight of him. I can’t help it. His smug expression pisses me off.

He sits behind the wheel of my Jeep with the top down like he enjoys this terrible weather. There’s something about his relaxed state, with one strong corded arm casually hooked over the steering wheel, that oozes danger. Beneath his cap, the inky tips of his hair blow in the wind. His grin is wickedly sharp yet somehow inviting, and I loathe him with my entire being.

“You wouldn’t call a taxi?” I snap at him, ready to spar.

I sit up and stare. Mentally, I’m throwing poisoned ninja stars at his head.

“I know Jaz’s aunty. Trust me, you’ll be more comfortable in my car.”

“You realize that sounds like a pickup line, right?”

“Not to worry, Sparkles, you’re not my type. You’re too . . .” He waves his hand in the air and squints as if he’s conjuring the correct word, finally deciding on, “Pink.”

“I’m too pink?” I look down at myself to discover I do match my luggage, which is in fact, pink, and scowl at his assessment. “There’s nothing wrong with pink. It’s the absolute best color. Ask anyone!”

“I’m not trying to start a fight. I’m just trying to save you from the worst mistake of your life,” he says.

I cackle then, a real, honest-to-God one that rumbles through my body. I slowly kneel on all fours and then wobble to stand. With my chin tipped skyward, I turn to crank out all the laughter, like I’m spiraling into utter madness. When I’m empty of my bitter mirth, I face him, my hands propped onto my hips.

“You’re way too late, Mr. Whatever-your-name-is.”

Where was my pain-in-the-butt hero a week ago? A year ago! To think, he could have saved me from Mr. McCheatFace Roman! Ha!

“Name’s Giovanni Salucci, but you can call me Gio.” He places sunglasses on his face and grins, even though he doesn’t need them with the thickening clouds.

He turns up the volume on his radio, blasting a song he has no business listening to. It’s my favorite piano-playing goddess with an angelic voice, singing a song that could beckon every cartoon bird to follow Gio around this paradise like Snow White. He belts out every poetic word.

Because it’s all I can do, I return my attention to my phone. If I ignore him, he’ll go away, right? Right?

This time, I decide to text Jaz’s aunty, but before I finish typing the message, a car horn honks in time to the music.

“You’ve got to be kidding me . . .”

I’m ready to fillet Gio, but this time it’s someone different. A pickup truck is now parked directly in front of the Jeep, black exhaust billowing from its tailpipe. An older woman with rich golden-tanned skin waves to me from the driver’s seat.