by Dylan Allen
Who wouldn’t be happy to be here?
You. That’s who. I remind myself.
“Oh, come on, TB, it feels so good out here,” the enthusiastic voice calls out to her.
“No, you guys have fun. I’m just tired after that trip,” she says, her words muffled by a very fake yawn.
A chorus of pleasant goodbyes rings out behind her, and the door closes with a sharp rattle of wood and glass.
Then the claws come out.
“God, Cass. Why did you bring her?” one voice drones as if she’s in pain.
“Actually, I brought you. She’s my plus one. And she’s having a hard time, so you guys better not be dicks,” Cass responds.
“Well, from what I heard, it’s her own fault,” another voice chimes in.
“And why is she dressed like that? I mean, if I had thighs like that, I’d never wear shorts.”
“I think her thighs look great,” Cass says defensively.
“I mean, she’s pretty, but … like … how can she even afford this trip? This room? I heard no one will hire her,” a chorus girl says.
“That’s none of your business, you guys.” Cass’s voice is rising in anger.
“Well, if her gold-digging ways are going to reflect on us—”
“You’re only here because Liv was nice enough to let you use her room block despite the fact that you’re not wedding guests. And if this is how you feel about her, then just keep your distance this weekend.”
I like this Cass. There’s a beat of silence before one of the voices responds in a whiny bray.
“She’s the one who—”
“I’m baaaack!” The door flies open as the voice belonging to “TB” rejoins the group. Their conversation comes to a complete and utter stop.
“Oh, hey. Couldn’t sleep?” Cass says in a much thinner, more hesitant voice than the one she’s been using since they came outside.
“No. I was just so excited thinking about all the rich guys who’ll be here this weekend,” she says in a sing-song voice.
I freeze. Suddenly, I wish I’d gone inside. This is the very last thing I need or want to hear.
“I mean, it’s an Italian villa. It’s bound to be crawling with them,” Cass says and her discomfort is loud and clear even from where I’m sitting.
“Exactly, ladies,” TB crows. “If you want me to teach you, all you have to do is ask. It’s not that hard. Men with money are the best boyfriends. They’re usually so busy making it they don’t have time for you. You might only have to fuck him once a month,” she says. A chorus of uncomfortable giggles ripples through the crackling air around me.
I know firsthand about women like her.
I’ve just finished freeing myself from the clutches of one.
My amusement, interest, and good mood fizzle all at once. I start to head back inside. At least I’ll know who to avoid tonight.
I’m almost to my door when my phone starts to ring.
The loud trill fills the air like a siren, and the conversation from the next balcony comes to an abrupt stop.
“Oh my God, is someone there?” I hear one of the chorus girls say right as I shut the door behind me and answer the phone.
DOLCE VITA
CONFIDENCE
“Who is that?” I lean over to Cass and whisper without taking my eyes off the tall, well-built, beautiful man who just strode into the tent like he’s about to tell us all he’s our new ruler and ask us to pledge our loyalty or die. He’s even more beautiful in that suit than he was in that hallway this afternoon. I can still feel the soft brush of his fingers on my neck. The way my breath caught in my throat when he’d dragged the pendant up my chest until it nestled into the small hollow at the base of my throat.
His dark, wavy hair is just long enough to curl right at the edge of his crisp white tuxedo shirt. It’s unruly and perfectly artless in a way that no human hand, and no amount of pomade, could create. Those silky dark-chocolate waves are the work of God himself. His profile is strong and bold; his nose prominent and straight. His lips are set in a straight line but I can see their fullness even in his profile. And God, his jaw. It’s chiseled and wide and covered in a beard low enough to be a five o’clock shadow, meticulously groomed so you can tell it’s not. His broad, tall frame is poured into a black tuxedo that fits him perfectly. He looks like he’s the sovereign of something—a country, a business, a thousand women in a harem somewhere …
Heads turn as he crosses the room. And I can’t blame them—not even a little bit. He oozes sex and power. His long strides eat up the floor, and he reaches the lone empty table at the back of the tent quickly. When he’s adorned the chair with his glorious body, he turns to face the front of the room where the bridal party is sitting and giving their speeches.
“Who’s who?” she asks and pokes her head around the room. I tug her arm and nod at him.
“Him. Also known as the man of all of my dirty dreams,” I purr excitedly, my eyes trained on the finest specimen of man I’ve ever seen this close up.
“Ohhh,” she drawls, eyes widening with interest and props her chin on her hand and ogles him.
“That’s Hayes Rivers,” the woman on my right says. Cass and I both turn to face her, surpassed by her interjection.
“Heir to Kingdom,” she says when neither of us respond.
“I knew it. He looks like a king. Which kingdom?” I ask. I’m already imagining myself in a ball gown, crown on my head walking down some long, red-carpeted aisle where he’s waiting at the end.
“No, not a kingdom.” And just like that, she kills my dream. “Kingdom is the name of his family’s business. He inherited all the money when he turned twenty-five. And now he’s the new Rivers king,” she says.
“How old is he now?” I ask, my curiosity overtaking my normal abhorrence for gossip.
“He must be thirty … he’s one of the richest men in the freaking world,” she exclaims.
“Really? Why’s he here?”
“His grandmother is friends with the groom,” our little canary says.
“I can’t believe you’ve never heard of him. His return to Houston is all anyone’s talking about,” she says and looks at both of us like we’re crazy.
“I don’t live in Houston,” I say.
“Well, I heard …” Her eyes dart around as if checking for spies and then she leans into us. “Apparently, he had a fight with his ex. And it got physical,” she grimaces. But her eyes are twinkling. “I’m not one to gossip …” she says and Cass and I exchange a yeah, right look.
“But, she was all over the place wearing sunglasses. No one saw her, mind you, and she never said, but it was obvious he roughed her up,” she says.
My lawyer hat comes on and my eyes slide away from the delicious man to her. I make sure there’s no warmth in them and her silly, careless smile falters.
“That’s actually the exact opposite of obvious,” I say dismissively.
“Only if you’re blind. I mean, yeah, he’s nice to look at, but he looks so angry, don’t you think?”
I glance at him, and just then, like he knows what she said, his jaw clenches.
“Well, if people were talking about me like this, I might be angry, too,” I say and Cass pinches me.
“Well, if you think you know better, you can ignore me. But don’t say you weren’t warned,” she says and turns back to the victim on her other side.
As if I need any warning. I can smell a violent man the minute he enters the room. I grew up with them under the same roof. I watched them do more damage than any of the natural disasters that were a way of life for us in the Mississippi Delta.
I lean toward Cass.
“He’s staying on our floor,” I whisper. I can’t take my eyes off him. My whole body is tingling just from looking at him.
“Thank you, God,” I say, pressing my hands together in gratitude.
Cass laughs. “I mean, he does clean up nicely, but he looks like he’d be more comfortable in a boxing ring than
on a dance floor,” she says.
“Yes, exactly,” I practically purr before I take another sip of my gin and tonic. My thighs clench when I think about how rough things could get.
“His nose doesn’t look like it’s been broken, though,” she muses.
“No one’s perfect,” I joke and take a final swig of my drink.
“Enjoy. My fantasy Italian fling is more in the style of Jude Law in the Talented Mr. Ripley. He looks like he could eat Jude Law in a single bite.”
“Or me,” I drawl with a wink and stand up. I run my hands down my dress.
Cass grabs my arm and yanks me back down in my seat. “Where in the world are you going? You are not going to approach him,” she says as if scandalized.
I glance over at her and grin, because I am so going to approach him.
“You never approach anyone. You’re still getting over Nigel. Who are you?” she asks, green eyes wide with surprise.
“I’m Confidence Ryan, and I’m about to go climb my very own Mt. Olympus,” I say with a suggestive waggle of my eyebrows.
“Are you drunk?” she asks when I start to stand up again.
“Yes, but so what?” I say.
“You’ll regret it in the morning,” she frets.
“Maybe …” I shrug.
“This isn’t you.” She peers up at me.
“Again, so what?” I shrug off her questions. “I’m in Italy. I’m single. And I think that if I’m ready to walk over and put my ass on a table for another man to make a meal of me, then I might be over Nigel,” I say.
“True facts,” she says with an enthusiastic nod.
“And if I have regrets … then, at least it will be for something worth regretting. I want to know what that kind of regret feels like,” I say in a moment of rare vulnerability.
“Okay,” she says, relenting in her attempts to stop me. Even if she doesn’t quite sound convinced.
“Just be safe. Get your own drinks and drop your glass so it shatters if you need a rescue,” she says and takes a sip of her drink.
“I won’t be breaking any glasses. If I need a rescue, I’ll do it myself.” A sudden bolt of doubt flashes through my mind.
This is very unlike me.
I self-consciously glance down at myself.
“Do I look okay?” I cast a sheepish glance at Cass. My bravado has failed me now that I’m about to walk the walk.
“You look better than okay. You look wonderful,” she says with all of the sincerity of a dutiful and loving friend who would never say anything other than how wonderful I look.
I lose my nerve and lower myself back into my seat. I grab my wine and take a moody, resentful sip.
Cass puts her drink down and grabs my forearm.
“What happened?” Her dark brows are furrowed in concern. “I thought you were off to get laid.”
I sink down in my seat and pout.
“Why in the world would he be interested in me? She said he’s filthy rich or something. He’s young and hot, too. Do you know how rare that is? I bet he’s engaged to marry one of those princesses—Eugenie or whatever.” I fling my hand in his direction, but my eyes are fixed on the drink I’m lifting back to my lips.
“If he is, then I feel sorry for her because he’s going to be leaving here with the hottest woman in the room,” she says with a little too much enthusiasm. And I roll my eyes.
“Confidence, you’re a catch,” she exclaims.
I give her a disbelieving look. “Oh yeah, I know thousands of eligible, sexy men who are beating a path to be with a broke, failed lawyer with a poster family of dysfunction,” I say grumpily.
“That’s not all you are,” she whispers fiercely, squeezing my arm. I chuckle—it’s humorless, short and dry.
“Well, I’m glad you agree that it’s some of what I am,” I quip and take another swig of my wine.
“For God’s sake, one lost job doesn’t mean you failed,” she cajoles.
I throw her a glance. “I was almost disbarred.”
“That was all that fucking Nigel’s fault,” she reminds me.
“True. But it’s certainly not his fault that I’ve spent sixty percent of my life savings in the last three months. A good chunk of it on this last minute, incredibly glamorous vacation. Who doesn’t find a financially irresponsible spendthrift irresistible?”
“You think anyone worthy of you will care about any of that?” Cass asks me softly.
“One of us will have to care. Even a lifetime of sex with that beautiful man won’t make up for my flagrant disregard for budgets.”
She chuckles. “Now you’re just being dramatic. At least you have your life savings. If I lost my job, I would have to move back home with my parents after one month,” she says and nudges me with her shoulder.
I sigh and look back at my man … God, I’m ridiculous. He’s not my anything.
“I’ve never broken a rule my whole life, Cass,” I say to her. “I didn’t even shave above the knee until I was twenty-one. I did whatever I thought I had to, to get out of Arkansas. I had a good run, and in one fell swoop, I’ve managed to ruin my life.” I drain my glass and drop it on the table. “So, If I’m hanging out in rock bottom city, then I’m at least doing it in style.” I wave an arm around the opulently decorated room to make my point.
“Well, you can thank Jules for being smart enough to land an Italian count with enough money to pull off a party like this.”
“To Jules,” I say.
“To Jules,” she repeats as we clink our empty glasses.
“You know what?” I ask and stare at the bubbles clinging to the lip of my glass. They remind me of myself. I’m holding on. Long after life should have swallowed me whole.
“What?” Cass asks when I don’t continue.
“I’ve found that rock bottom might be the best thing to ever happen to me. I’ve spent the last three months shopping, traveling, eating, and sleeping to my heart’s content. Sure, after this, I have to move home. But, have you seen how round my ass has gotten?” I lift and point to my silver sequined covered backside and wink. “It’s amazing, right?” I grin at her.
“It’s got that Beyoncé circa 2014 magic,” she says with authority and we clink our glasses together.
“And you have not hit rock bottom, TB,” she says reproachfully.
“No, I have. Really,” I assure her with a falsely proud smile. “But, I have a plan. And being back home will light a fire under me. Not to mention taking this trip has brought me perilously close to poverty. It’s time to give up my apartment, go home, and regroup.”
She pats my arm consolingly. “Well, if all of that fails, you could turn your new hobby into a business,” she says.
“Yes!” I clap my hands and hoot with laugher. “Like I could be some sort of plus one for hire.”
“You’ve had enough practice in the last few months,” she ribs me.
“I know,” I crow with delight. “Weddings are such a score. I mean, I have classy-as-fuck friends, so the venues are always marvelous, and I get it at the block rate.” I laugh out loud and stop when I see Cass isn’t laughing with me.
“What?” I ask and blush.
“I’m glad you’re letting that crazy dark hair go. Your hair is the prettiest natural blonde I’ve ever seen. I’ve missed the fits of jealousy I used to have every time you wore it down.”
“I do look good, don’t I? A life of leisure is apparently the real fountain of youth.” I wink. “But tell me why you’re looking at me like my mom did the first time I managed to bait a hook myself,” I tease, but I’m blushing at the unfiltered pride in her eyes.
“It’s just that I’m glad that you’re doing what makes you happy. It is slightly reckless to blow through your savings this way. But, I also know that you’re a brilliant, passionate attorney, and the minute you’re ready, you’ll have a score of job offers. I’m thrilled you’re being a sexy, lazy, beach bum for once in your life. You’ve earned it, ” Cass says with the
most sincerely delighted smile on her face. I smile back at her with equal delight.
This is why she’s my best friend. She loves me as much as I love her. And when I’m happy, she is too. My heart swells with gratitude that I have her in my life.
I look back at my dream man. He’s sitting with his arms crossed watching the dancing people like he’d rather be anywhere else. His heavy, square chin has a cleft.
I want to stick my tongue in it. I regain my resolve.
“I’m about to add slutty to that sexy and lazy,” I say and give her a bawdy wink. Then, I stand up again before I lose my nerve. I’m about to turn and walk his way when I remember something and lean down to talk to Cass.
“The guy behind the bar—his name tag said Luca—he’s a dead ringer for Jude Law, and I saw him checking out your ass when we walked through earlier,” I say.
She leaps out of her seat. “I can’t believe you saw him and didn’t tell me.” She scowls and starts to gather her phone and the lipstick and gum that spilled out of her tiny gold clutch.
“How was I to know what you were in the mood for? And if I told you every time a guy checked you out, we’d be here all night.”
“You sweet talker.” She swats my arm and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. “Be safe, have fun. And remind me to stick an extra-long pin in my Nigel voodoo doll when we get home.”
“I love you,” I say through a giggle.
She really has a Nigel voodoo doll at home. It’s a pathetic little stick figure made of popsicle sticks. All of its limbs are broken.
“How could you not?” She wiggles her fingers goodbye and disappears into the crowd. I run my fingers through my heavy hair. Thank you for low humidity and great hair products. There’s not a hint of frizz in sight, and there hasn’t been since I got here. I take all of this as an omen. Beautiful setting, great company, best hair day of my life—the stars have aligned. Of course, the man of my sexual dreams would be here, too.
With that thought, I take a deep breath and turn to face my future conquest.
I hope that tonight, though, I’ll be the one who’s conquered. I’m five foot three. Tall, well-built men are my weakness.
The strapping, dark-haired, Duke of Midnight across the room looks like he might be up for the job. I say a quick prayer that I didn’t misread things in the elevator this morning and that I’m not about to make a fool of myself and start toward him. As I weave my way across the moderately populated dance floor, I lose sight of him once or twice. But when I step off the other side off the dance floor, my view of him is completely unobstructed. When his eyes swing in my direction, they land on me right away. His eyes sweep up my body, his head’s angle marking their current position. My feet, my legs, my hips, stomach, my breasts, and on my face.
