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I can’t help but connect the dots I might be just imagining.
Not everyone has the freedom to do things like normal people. Things are rarely what they look like.
Should those two statements stem from the false harassment accusations, it would explain a lot about his behavior. It wouldn’t excuse it, but I can’t help the wave of compassion I feel.
I can’t imagine anyone misinterpreting his behavior as anything but crass. But after having a few glimpses of the caring, interesting beekeeper, I’m starting to believe this is a mask.
Intensified by his severely impaired—or completely lacking—communication skills, but still a protective mask.
It must be so lonely to know that any relationship, professional or personal, might not be motivated by who you truly are, but by what you represent. How much people benefit from knowing you. Just like those socialites. People like Audrey.
“We have four hours before the event. We can work from the hotel’s business center or our rooms. I’m sure an early check-in can be arranged.” Gio closes the pouch of his tablet.
“I think we should go for a stroll on Stearns Wharf.” How much more normal can a visit to Santa Barbara get? We’re not tourists, but still.
He couldn’t look more shocked if I had puked on him. “Come again?”
Oxygen barely reaches my lungs as my heart hammers against my ribcage, but I can’t back up now. “We’ve been working nonstop since Sunday, I think we need to clear our heads, so we can continue functioning at top level.”
His eyes tighten at the corners, and I expect him to fire me or to leave me there. Call me on my bullshit. He drags his tongue over his top teeth, and I suck in my breath. Not that again.
“Okay.”
Jesus. Wait. What? “Okay?”
“That’s what I said,” he enunciates, annoyance lacing his voice.
“That’s what you said.”
“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” He crosses his arms over his chest.
“No, I’m going to get the driver to take our things to the hotel and call us an Uber.” I grab my phone before he can change his mind.
* * *
“Seriously? In years?” I dig into my triple scoop chocolate mint ice cream. “How is that even possible?”
He shrugs. “It’s not like I didn’t have any ice cream. There is always a sorbet served at functions.” He scoops up a tiny amount of his mango ice cream and leans forward slightly before he puts it into his mouth.
I haven’t stopped grinning since we arrived at the shore. Gio has been teetering between being perplexed and enjoying himself. This not yet relaxed, but definitely less guarded side of him is appealing.
We have strolled up and down the wharf and we’re heading toward the park now. I’m balancing my shoes and the ice cream in one hand, regretting that I went for a cup instead of the cone. The feel of sand under my feet compensates for that well.
Gio walks beside me on the boardwalk, having categorically refused to take his shoes off.
I lift my face to the sky, feeling the gentle waves of heat on my cheeks. Stifling a contented sigh every time my soles dig into the soft sand, I inhale the ocean air. The breeze ruffles my hair, carrying with it the scent of palm trees and salt water. And a bit of traffic, but still so much better than the current frigid conditions of New York.
“Why do you call me a princess sometimes?” Shit. Why did I go there? Now, when I know about the lawsuits, I feel like any conversation is a potential minefield.
He chuckles. “When I saw you the first time at Massi’s restaurant during the shit event nobody showed up for, I was impressed by the poise and peace you carried yourself with, despite the crisis. You paced making calls, but you smiled at the staff, talked Massi down at one point, breezed through it all. You carried yourself like a queen.”
A queen is the leader, but she knows her role without interfering.His words when I was at his house flicker through my mind. I can’t believe he remembers that much about the first time we met.
I certainly didn’t feel composed. Two weeks of prep for nothing, let alone the drama between Gina and Massi. I remember the stress. And my less than favorable impression of Gio with a long-legged blonde and his phone stealing all his attention. I guess I was wrong.
“Then later I heard you blabbering and giggling at some other time,” he continues, smirking, “and I—”
“Not quite a queen.” I shake my head and grin, I don’t even know why. He shrugs, with a silent apology on his face, and I decide I like being a princess. To him at least.
