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“No, sir. I have the location in my GPS. Is there someplace you want to stop first?” I asked, eyeing the flowers in the rearview mirror.
“No. I can’t wait to see her. I’ve been so anxious about this. Hell, my palms are even sweating,” he stated.
Damn. I’ve never had anyone miss me like that.
“It won’t be long before the two of you are together.” I pressed the button and rolled up the privacy window. Not because he needed it, but I really didn’t want to make small talk or listen to him talk about the woman he was about to see.
I knew my way around Boston enough to make my way into Cambridge without getting stuck in traffic for very long. We pulled up to the house and I got out to go open his door. He didn’t wait - he was already exiting the limo with the bouquet in his hand.
“Thank you so much for the ride,” he said.
“It’s my pleasure.”
A woman with long dark hair came out of the house, and she looked as though she could barely contain her emotions.
“Mr. Marzoni, I’ll return tomorrow night to pick you up. Enjoy your visit,” I said and made my way back around the limo.
As I got inside, I saw the two hugging each other as though holding on for life itself.
You’re one lucky lady.
I started the limo and pulled out of her driveway. My cell phone chimed as I joined the flow of traffic. I couldn’t answer it now, but it was probably one of my friends yelling at me for blowing them off at the beach this morning. It was still early. I had time to go home, change into my swimsuit and head down to Newport, Rhode Island. But I’ll have missed the peak sun of the day. At this point, I might as well go home, put on some comfy pajamas and read the book that I’ve been wanting to.
When I got home and curled up on the sofa with my book, I found myself fixated on the cover model. He was bare-chested, with muscles rippling over his abs. He wore a cowboy hat that covered his face, but my imagination filled in the blank. It was Mr. Marzoni, and tonight, he was all mine.
I reached over, took a sip of my Moscato and opened the book to page one. Was it wrong to use Mr. Marzoni to fill in the hero of the story, just because he was married? It’s not like he’d ever know.Or even care.
Just as I was about to turn the first page, my cell phone rang.
“Hello, Dad. What’s up?”
“Annabella, it seems you didn’t follow procedure and check the limo prior to driving away,” he said.
“How do you know?” I asked.Were there flower petals on the seat?
“Because he called the office and left a message. His bags are still in the limo.”
Shit.He was right. I didn’t see him take them out. Just the flowers. I had been in such a rush to get out of there that I totally forgot about them. Apparently so did he.
“Sorry, Dad. I’ll grab it now and bring it to him,” I said.
“Don’t bother. I had to stop by the garage to fuel up again. I’ve got them with me, and will drop them off on my way. It just surprised me, that’s all. You’ve never made such an error before. I guess you really needed this time off,” he said.
That I do.“I promise, it won’t happen again. Thanks for delivering them for me,” I said.
“Get some rest.”
“I will, Dad.” When I ended the call, I closed the book and tossed it on the coffee table. Reading it now was only going to remind me of the mistake I made with his luggage. I might not want to inherit the limo service, but I didn’t want to screw anything up and hurt my dad’s business either.
Tomorrow, I’ll apologize to Mr. Marzoni. Today, I’ll try not to think of him anymore.
