Here are the photos you asked for from my surveillance on Elena.
Attached I find a ton of photos showing Elena with that man from poetry night. I quickly flip past the photos of them at the museum and Sistine Chapel, looking too cozy for my liking. How can she be with this chump? What does he have to offer her? She’s worth so much more than this guy.
Has she kissed him yet? Fucked him? I’ll kill him if he’s touched my woman in that way.
I didn’t ask Mateo for these pictures to spy on her date—I’d rather not even see these because they piss me off. What I really want to find are the photos from the Spanish Steps. I flip through a few more pictures, and they immediately stand out. Elena looks terrified, her face drained of those usually rosy cheeks. That girl is always blushing. It pains me to see her like this.
Scanning through each and every picture, I find nothing. I look for any familiar faces or anything out of place. Nothing. I know Mateo did the same thing. He’s been watching her since she left the hospital and has had nothing to report.
I flip to a photo that makes me feel full of rage, like I could flip my fucking desk right now. He’s kissing her. And she’s letting him. Stronzo. I need to get her back so she can stop wasting her time and kisses with this asshole.
I’m jealous and at the same time I feel bad for spying on her and assigning a bodyguard without letting her know—but I have to keep her safe and I felt like she’d agree with me on this. Whoever shot my girl and took her memories away is going to pay. I will find them and I will kill them. No one hurts what’s mine.
Elena
Later that night I’m in the kitchen making a quick marinated chicken breast and vegetable salad when my phone beeps, indicating a text message.
“Mateo told me about the Spanish Steps. Are you okay, cara?”
My heart skips a beat to see his term of endearment in the text message.
“You mean the 24/7 stalker you set up without letting me know? lol Thank you for that. I am okay now, just got scared.”
“I don’t want you to ever feel scared. Call me next time something like this happens, please.”
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Are you kidding me? You saved my life. I will do anything to protect yours. I owe you the world.”
Wow. I stare at my phone, not knowing what to say next. I wish I could remember the woman who jumped in front of that bullet. And, even more, I wish I could remember the love that woman felt for the man she took the bullet for. Before I have a chance to collect my thoughts, another text message from him makes its way across my screen.
“Can I see you?”
“I have an early morning at the caffé & it’s getting late. I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Tomorrow then?”
Do I want to see him? I tried to push him out. Is there a way to collect new memories with him without worrying about the past ones I’m forgetting—good and bad? I guess I won’t know if I don’t try.
“Ok, tomorrow.”
“Grazie bella. I’ll pick you up for dinner at your apartment around 8pm.”
I finish my salad, plop down on the couch, and throw on some mindless reality show on Netflix. Now this I remember. And this is boring. No wonder I escaped.
“Oh my God, Marco. This Italian rum cake is absolutely amazing!”
“You actually came up with that recipe.”
“Say what? I did?!”
I stare at Marco in complete astonishment. We’re catching up on each other’s lives while drinking espressos and eating an early lunch before our busy rush starts.
“Si, we were experimenting one day and you came up with it. You started off a mess when it came to baking, but you got brave in the kitchen after a while.”
There’s that word again—brave. I’ve never been brave, unless it’s in a boardroom and I’m fighting for my company or clients. When I walk out those doors, that mask comes down.
“So tell me, who were those two American guys you were talking to at poetry night?” my nosy friend asks before taking a bite of his sandwich.
“The one is my new neighbor, Brian, and the other is his friend who was helping him to move in, Troy. They’re from Florida.”
“And ...?”
“And what?”
“And you seemed very friendly with them.”
“Is this an interrogation? You would have made a great cop Marco. You sure you don’t want to make a career change?”
His frowns and puts down his sandwich.
“If you’re going to try to change the subject, we are going to at least talk about that heated conversation between you and Leo I accidently walked into. I’m sorry about that the other night, but I needed your help.”
This guy definitely knows how to drill questions. Damn, he doesn’t miss a beat. I look away and then look back at Marco.
“Fine. Brian and I seemed very friendly because we are friends. And I was telling Leo that I couldn’t be with him anymore. I can’t take the stress of not having my memories and the only way I’m going to survive here in Italy is if I start fresh—from everything.”
“Oh Elena, I’m sorry that this whole crazy experience had to happen to you. You fought so hard for your relationship with Leo and for it to be taken away from you makes me sad.”
This sounds very similar to what Sophie has been saying to me about my relationship as well. Everyone seems to be pulling for us as a couple—is there something there I can’t see?
“But Marco, just from the way other people have been describing our relationship, it sounds like I was the only one fighting?”
He waits a minute before saying, “I can’t speak for Leo because I didn’t know him well before the shooting, but when he was out of your life you were very gloomy. We talked a lot about your relationship. When he was in it, you were ecstatic.”
Our conversation is cut short when the lunch hour strikes and customers start lining up out the door on their breaks from work. The rest of my shift is full of Americanos with extra shots of espresso, macchiatos with whipped cream, iced lattes, and cappuccinos with milk.
The doorbell rings as I’m curling my last piece of hair. I know I have naturally curly hair, but I decided to change it up tonight with long, loose curls. I bought a new dress from a local boutique I pass on my way home each day. The girl at the counter seemed to recognize me. Maybe I’ve been there before? I didn’t ask because I don’t care to know what else I’m missing.
The dress is super cute—black and white that stops mid-thigh, it’s fitted on top but flowing out towards the bottom. Paired with gorgeous purple open-toed pumps, I feel confident in my appearance, but nervous for everything else. Butterflies, definite butterflies.
You don’t feel butterflies when you’re with Brian. Inner thoughts—why do you sneak up on me when I don’t want you there?
I’ve decided to treat this like a first date, a blind date where the two people know absolutely nothing about each other. This man hasn’t cheated on me, I haven’t lost my mind over him because I’m confused or angry, and no one saved the other person’s life—no expectations whatsoever. I hope that’s okay with Leo. I’m just now realizing he only said ‘dinner’—nothing about making this a date. Am I turning this into something it’s not supposed to be? Oh well, I’m dressed up now; there’s no turning back.
I hear a knock, and opening the front door I see Leo standing in the hallway looking dashing. He’s wearing a three-piece black and grey suit and holding a bouquet of long-stemmed red roses—my favorite! Did he know that? Forget about that Elena, no questions about what he already knows.
“Elena, you look mesmerizing,” he says, handing me the roses.
I step inside to put them in a vase, and Leo doesn’t take his eyes off me the entire time. I grab my purple Louis Vuitton clutch and we head out the door and bump, yes literally bump, right into Brian!
Embarrassment shows on my red face as Brian stares between Leo and me. Leo must r
ecognize Brian from the caffé, and sensing a threat, he puts his hand to my lower back. A display of his property? Kind of arrogant and kind of hot at the same time.
“Elena, it’s nice to see you again. I tried to check on you this morning but you must have been at the caffé. Is everything okay? I didn’t feel comfortable leaving you with that older man the other day after our date. I should have stayed with you,” Brian says, standing taller and locking eyes with Leo. #Showdown
If one of them lifts his leg to pee on me, I will kill him.
“Yes, thank you so much Brian. Mateo is actually my bodyguard—you’ll probably see him around. Or maybe not? He’s like a ninja,” I say with a laugh, trying quickly to end this conversation. I move closer to the stairs, hoping Leo will follow, but just then Brian sticks out his hand and introduces himself to Leo.
The two men make brief introductions and then stare back at me. I must look like a deer in headlights just staring back. A lot of staring going on in this small hallway. Is it getting hot in here?
“We have reservations at 8:30—we really need to go,” Leo says, breaking the awkward silence.
“It was nice to see you again Brian,” I say before sprinting down the stairs with Leo close behind. That’s a coward move to leave Brian in the hallway; I need to clear the air between us when I get back by letting him know that I’m not interested in that way. It would be nice to be romantic with someone new, but I can’t force feelings that don’t exist.
As soon as I get inside the backseat of the town car next to Leo, he says, “He likes you.”
“He’s just my friend,” I quickly reply back, looking out the window as Mateo drives us away.
“Does he know that? And what were you two doing the other day?”
“Listen, I don’t need to defend myself to you. Remember the whole ‘starting fresh’ thing I’m trying to do,” I say, clearly realizing that being in this car right now makes me look like a liar on that front, but I still try to hold my ground.
“I’m sorry, bella. It’s very hard for me to see you with another man. What’s mine is mine.”
“And you don’t think it was easy for me to see you with another woman?”
“But you don’t even remember that!” he shouts and slams his fist into the car door. If steam could come out of someone’s ears, then Leo would be fuming right now. I instantly feel bad for saying what I did. I don’t remember and it’s not fair to keep bringing up the past, over and over again.
“Now I’m the one that’s sorry,” I say, putting my hand on his thigh to comfort him. “No, of course, I don’t remember. But me wanting to start fresh means I’m giving us a clean slate. It’s only fair. Can we pretend like this a blind date?” I say with a chuckle, hoping to break up some of the anger in the air between us.
“A blind date? I’ve never been on a blind date before.”
“I’d love to be your first,” I wink at him, a little more daring in my flirtations now.
“I’d love for you to be my first too. So how do we do this?” He puts his large warm hand on top of mine, which is still resting on his muscular thigh.
“Let’s pretend we haven’t meet before and take it from there. What would you say to me if you just met me?”
“I think I told you that I wanted to fuck you and find out if your cherry red lips taste as good as they look,” he says with a growl.
I squeeze my thighs together, feeling a pull between my legs.
“You said that to me?”
“Si, cara, I told you exactly what I wanted from the start and you shot your sassy comments back at everything I said. You were a tough challenge, but well worth it.”
Damn it memories, come back from outer space, will you!
“Did we … fuck?” I boldly ask. I don’t think I’ve ever said the word ‘fuck’ in this context in front of anyone before.
“Oh yes, we fucked.”
Okay now my panties are officially soaked and I think my breasts may be a little tender. My nipples are definitely hard beneath this dress just thinking about him fucking me. Good thing I’ve got a padded push-up bra on—he can’t see the reactions he’s getting out of me. I lean back in the seat, turning openly to Leonardo.
“You know what, talking about past fucking with a stranger is not appropriate,” I say, getting back into the blind date role. “So Mr. Forte, tell me what a day in your life is like?”
“Is this a date or an interview?” he says, throwing a shit-eating grin back at me.
“How do you know I’m not a journalist? We’ve just met and you haven’t asked me what I do for a living yet,” I say.
“Okay cara, I’ll play along with your game if it makes you smile like that,” he says. “A day in the life is different each and every day. But typically I wake up, drink an espresso like every other Italian man, eat the breakfast my chef Gemma made, I’ll hit the gym—I own two by the way—and then I’ll go into the office to break some balls.
“I like to stop in this little caffé that has a beautiful owner, it’s called Stella’s. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it? I used to date this woman, she is my everything, amore mia, but she’s sitting in this car right now pretending we don’t know each other.”
Before I can reply about how sweet that sounds, he continues.
“I’m okay with playing her games if it means I’m one step closer to getting between those silky thighs again, making her scream my name in pleasure while I’m eating her tight pussy. That’s where I, and only I, belong.”
“Leo,” I say breathlessly. I have no words. I’m actually speechless. #FirstTime
“I don’t think I told you my name, miss?” Okay, well two can play at this game.
“Don’t you want to know about my day?” I don’t even wait for him to reply before I launch into my answer, “A typical day in America for me would have been … starting my mornings with a protein shake and catching up on endless emails. Before I pull my hair out over something crazy happening in the office, I take out some frustration in the gym—I don’t own any if you were wondering.
“Then I’ll head into my office where my assistant, Anne, will give me a rundown of the day. Like yours, it’s always different. Interviewing with new clients, meetings with current clients, and constantly on the lookout for new opportunities. I eat lunch at my desk, never stopping to look up from the computer or smartphone. Then I head home for dinner—which is by myself or the last I can remember was with my boyfriend, Zack. I guess ex-boyfriend Zack is more like it.”
“You didn’t mention anything about ending your night fucking this Zack?”
I’m surprised by his question and the honesty behind it. But I guess Leo has been very straightforward with me—except for the whole pretending he didn’t kiss someone else thing—it shouldn’t catch me off guard.
“To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever ‘fucked’ someone. Definitely not Zack,” I say with a laugh. “Zack was the worst in bed! Actually all my ex-boyfriends were terrible, or at least they never made me feel sexy enough to let go and actually enjoy myself. I highly doubt any of them ever noticed I never had an orgasm.” #Faker
“You’ve had many orgasms with me, cara.”
“If I don’t remember them, then they don’t count,” I say, with my own smirk this time, trying to keep my cool after I just made myself look like an ass.
“Give me another chance to prove it to you and your body.”
Before I can take him up on his offer, Mateo rolls down the divider and lets us know we are at our destination.
Mateo steps out of the car and walks around to open the door for me, gently taking my hand and leading me to the sidewalk. Leo stands at my side in an instant. The two men exchange words about when to pick us up, and I’m led inside a spectacular underground restaurant that looks like an old wine cellar. Candles and twinkle lights illuminate the room, delicate beige cloths cover wooden tables, and a live band plays classic Italian love songs near the back.
We a
re escorted by a cute young brunette hostess to our table and given iPads as menus—how cool! Our waiter quickly strolls to our table and Leo orders two glasses of red wine and an appetizer of oysters for us to share.
“Oysters, huh? Isn’t that supposed to be some kind of kinky aphrodisiac?”
“You have a dirty mind, cara, but if you want them to lead to something kinky, I can make that happen,” he says.
“Not in a public restaurant. You’re supposed to be a gentleman.”
Leo laughs so hard that people at other tables look over at us.
“Did I say something funny?”
“Cara, you have no idea all the public places we’ve fooled around. I am no gentleman,” he says, calming down and regaining his stoic composure.
We’ve had sex in public? Am I insane? We are both public figures who can easily be watched—why would we risk something like that? Because it sounds sexy as sin!
“Tell me, where?”
“Are you sure you want to know? You said we weren’t going to talk about the past.”
“Tell me.”
I’m too intrigued by this wild woman I have become, and forgotten, since getting to Italy and meeting this charming man. I can’t picture myself doing anything like what he’s describing.
“In two night clubs … a swimming pool … boutique dressing room.” He stops to think if there’s more and I feel my face blush but my body tingle at the thought of sex with him.
“Okay that’s enough, you don’t have to tell me if there’s any more. I find this so hard to believe. I am not this girl. I feel like you knew someone else.” I meet his eyes semi-embarrassed of this confession.
“She’s in there, deep inside you, waiting to come out and play with me again,” he says slightly licking his lips.
“Here’s your wine,” our waiter says, showing up to bring a relief of much needed alcohol and oysters. He takes our dinner orders and then quickly escapes back to the kitchen.
I take a huge gulp of my wine. It’s dry, which I normally hate, but at this point I don’t give a shit—I want to drown in this glass. I’m angry that I don’t remember all this hot sex, and I’m now horny in hopes of having more. Having more? I want to have sex with him again? Fuck yes I do! But it’s your first date!
Fighting For Mr. Beautiful: Eternal City Love, Book 2 Page 6
