I moved off him, clearing my throat, along with my embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
He pushed to his feet and shifted the material of his pants. He rubbed the nape of his neck and said, “It’s okay, Maggie.” He looked away from me and out to the sea. “The timing of this . . . it’s not good.”
“Oh,” was all I could say. I hadn’t expected rejection from him, although certainly, I had given him a good taste of it, with my head pulling me one way and my body pulling me another.
“Maybe you should sleep in the guest room.” He moved off the balcony and into the house without another word.
Nine
I leaned back in the lounge chair and tapped my pen against my leg, my mind drifting as I focused on the crystal clear pool in front of me.
After I’d woken up at Marco’s, we had a quick and rather awkward breakfast at his home. Then we drove back to the city shortly after. We hadn’t exchanged too many words. He shared bits of history about the sights along the way, but we were both skirting the obvious topic.
“I can’t believe you broke, like, all of your rules for him.” Will leaned back in the lounge chair next to me and shook his head. “Bad girl.”
“I did not break my rules.” I frowned.
“Even I came back to the hotel last night. You, on the other hand, were shacking up with your very own international football superstar.”
I blew out a breath. “It’s not like that. It was completely platonic. We had dinner. I interviewed him.” Well, sort of. “And it was a long drive, so I slept over there. But we did not have sex.” Came brutally close, though.
Will reached over and slapped my leg. “Sure.”
“Grr . . .”
“Relax, sweet thing. You needed to get laid. It has been, what, since Paul?”
Did he really need to remind me of Paul? Paul had been a clingy nightmare. “I hardly think sex with Paul should even count.”
“True.” He chuckled. “I think you get your V-card back if you’ve been out of commission for that long.”
I sat up and poked Will in the ribs. “I’m smaller than you, but I will knock you out. I swear.” I showed him my fist while laughing. “How’re things with you and the Italian woman?” I asked after settling back in my seat.
“Italians are hot as hell in bed.” He brought his fingers together and shook his hand in typical Italian fashion.
I could only imagine how gifted Marco would be in bed. How would I ever be able to interview him again after he had his hands on me? Then again, my mind had been a swirling hot mess since day one in Rome, why would now be any different? “When are you seeing her again?” I had to force the words out because I couldn’t think about last night any longer.
“I don’t know. We still on for dinner with your aunt and uncle tonight?”
“Yeah. Their train leaves Naples around six. My uncle said he wants to take us to some snazzy restaurant in the city.”
“And this uncle is your mom’s or dad’s?”
“Dad’s.”
He nodded. “Thanks for including me.”
“We haven’t even spent much time together. You’re always off with Miss Thing, and I’m working . . .”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. You call hanging out on the beach with Marco Valenti work?” He sat up in his seat. “Sure, baby girl.”
I jumped to my feet and reached for Will’s arm. “That’s it,” I said, trying to fight back my laughter, “I’m pushing you in.”
Will held up his hands. “Oh, no! Not the pool.”
I let him go and shook my head. “Maybe I will have a one-night stand while I’m here, but it won’t be with Valenti. I won’t break my rules.” Well, not again . . .
“Uh huh. Yeah. Keep tellin’ yourself that,” he said, his thick Jamaican accent echoing in my ears.
***
“Oh, you look so beautiful.” It was the fifth time my Aunt Gianna had told me that since we’d met at the train station.
We entered the restaurant my uncle had declared “a must” for any traveler in Rome. The restaurant was frequented by celebrities and held many autographed images on the wall.
I bumped into my uncle when my eyes landed on a framed photo of Marco. Of course there’d be a picture of him. There was no escaping the man. It was bad enough I couldn’t shake thoughts of his body beneath mine, or his mouth on my lips.
“Oh, that is who you’re writing the story on, right?” my aunt asked after she followed my gaze. “He is good looking. Smart. Funny. Famous. Great, great body.”
She had no idea just how great his body really was. “Aunt Gianna . . .” I blushed and gently nudged her in the side.
Gianna was a petite fireball of a woman, with beautiful black hair, tanned skin, and soft green eyes. My uncle was much taller and lean, with dark, silver-peppered hair.
“She has a crush on him,” Will interjected.
I spun to face him, gritting my teeth. “I do not.”
“Don’t listen to this one. She’s hot for the man,” Will continued as we sat at a table that was not so far from Marco’s photo.
“He is single now,” my aunt said. A bright smile lit her face.
“I’m not looking to date anyone, especially an athlete.” Of course, my hormones had other ideas.
“She has rules.” Will rolled his eyes and waved his hands in the air.
“Oh boy,” Gianna said, blowing out a breath. “Why not have a little fun while in Italy? It will you do you some good.” She held her hands out in front of her, palms up. “Sì?”
“Dear, do not encourage her. She has a career to focus on. She doesn’t need some man interfering with her job.” That was my military uncle, offering the voice of reason. “Besides, these men have a reputation.” He grumbled and opened his linen napkin, placing it on his lap.
“Can we please change the subject?” I took a quick sip of the water that had been set down when we were seated. “Hey, Will met someone!”
My aunt shifted her attention to my friend. Thank God.
Before we could discuss Will’s new friend further, the waiter came over and took our orders. Shortly after that, a man walked up to our table, singing. He had an accordion in hand, and he began belting out lyrics in Italian.
I smiled as he finished, and my uncle tipped him. We spent another twenty or so minutes catching up, and Will entertained my relatives with some of his skydiving stories—I hated hearing them. Then our food arrived.
“Eeks. What is this?” I stared down at a plate of small fish that all still had their heads. I was never one to eat anything that looked like it might start kicking. Or swimming.
“Oh, try it. It is very tender. You do it like this.” My uncle tore back the flesh with his fork and pushed his fingers into the white meat.
As much as I wanted to protest, I was also hungry. I gave it a try.
“Mm. This is actually good.”
“See, when you give things a chance, you’ll be surprised.”
Nice try, Will. “Mm. Hm.” I finished the fish and had some delicious wedding ball soup, followed by a salad. My aunt had said we should eat the salad last, as it helped cleanse the palate.
“This was great. I am so glad we were able to get together. Will you be at the family reunion next summer?”
My uncle looked up from his plate and nodded. “Of course. We never miss one.”
Now that my uncle was retired from the military, he and my aunt spent a lot of their time traveling. I hoped my retirement would be like that someday—well, if I could get over my fear of flying.
“Let me run to the bathroom before we leave.” I tossed my napkin on my plate and looked around for the ladies’ room. As I weaved in and out of the crowded restaurant and toward the back, my heels skidded to a stop as my eyes fell upon a booth wedged in the back corner of the restaurant.
Marco was sitting next to a woman. And not any woman—a stunning, dark-haired beauty.
What were the chances?
&nbs
p; I thought about what to do. If I kept walking to the bathroom, Marco might spot me, and I didn’t know what I’d say or do. It would be much better if he didn’t notice me.
I started to turn, but I could feel his eyes. There was no mistaking that feeling. It was a slow bluster of heat traveling through the air and dancing across my skin, making the hairs stand up.
I didn’t confirm if I was right—I rushed back to my table. “Come on, let’s go. There was a line in the bathroom, so we can just leave,” I insisted.
“Okay.” My aunt looked at me, closing one eye a little, studying me. Then her mouth opened wide, and she was staring at something—oh God, or someone—behind me.
Before I could even turn around, my aunt was standing and speaking in Italian, and my uncle was also on his feet.
There was a vice grip on my heart, squeezing just enough to give me palpitations. “This is my Aunt Gianna and my Uncle Rob.” I had shifted to face him, hoping we could make the introductions quick.
Marco shook their hands, and my aunt was gushing. I didn’t blame her.
I caught sight of a smirk on Will’s face out of the corner of my eye. We were going to draw major attention in the restaurant, which wasn’t what Marco needed. “We should get going,” I interrupted the Italian that overflowed between my relatives and Marco.
Marco’s eyes were on me, but I was looking over his shoulder. The woman was coming up behind him, stunning in tight red pants and a long-sleeved, black blouse. Her honey-brown hair mingled with a hint of blonde, framed her high cheekbones, dark eyes and brows, and crazy full lips.
“Marco,” she purred as her red nails flashed against his dark blazer.
Marco was wearing a crisp, white, button-down dress shirt beneath a three-piece, fitted, charcoal-gray suit. The man looked like he’d stepped off a runaway. Both of them did, in fact.
My nails bit into my palms, and I swallowed.
“Sophia Rossi,” my aunt whispered the name.
Rossi? It sounded so familiar. I tried to refrain from slapping a hand over my mouth when I remembered that hers was the name the reporter had said at the press conference. Marco’s ex-fiancée.
Were they back together? Had they been together this whole time?
Oh God.
My stomach lurched, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her blood red nails.
“This is Maggie Lane. She’s writing a story on me for a magazine,” Marco told Sophia, and I liked that he chose to speak to her in English so that I could understand.
I could feel Marco’s eyes on me, but I still couldn’t drag my attention toward him. When Will stabbed me in my spine with his finger, I began to look around, brushing my hair over my shoulder and off my back. Finally, I locked eyes with Marco.
“You are actually being interviewed?” Sophia laughed. “After all these years. That is a first. Bravo, Maggie. You have done the unimaginable by getting this one to open up.” Sophia’s accent was much thicker than Marco’s.
Sure, he’d opened up all right. But, wait—had he really never been interviewed before? What did it mean that he’d decided to allow an interview by me?
My mind was spinning circles, but then my eyes focused narrowly on Sophia’s hand as she touched Marco’s hip. He moved a step away from her, and I wondered if they were still split up . . . or if Marco preferred not to display affection in public. But she reached back for him once again, claiming him as hers.
A slow boil of liquid green erupted in my core, and I hated myself at that moment for allowing jealousy to shade the color of my insides. Who was I to feel that way? If they were back together, that meant that last night I had been the other women. He had said the timing wasn’t right, and now I had to assume it was because of her.
Another flip in my stomach combined with a stab of anger had my hand pressing to my abdomen. “Are you a model?” I tried to place her in my mind.
My uncle guffawed. “One of the most famous models in Milano.”
“Oh,” was all I said. “We should go.” I directed my attention back to my aunt and uncle. “People are looking, and I’m sure they want to eat in peace.”
“Something has come up, and I won’t be available tomorrow or Monday,” Marco said when I turned to get my purse.
I noticed the people at the few tables around us staring. What a sight we must have made. “Oh. Okay. Tuesday night is Lori’s—”
“You’ll come, right?” Marco finished for me.
I nodded and forced a smile when I faced him. “Nice to meet you, Miss Rossi. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Maggie Lane,” Marco said in a rather husky voice, his eyes piercing me with heat. Why was he looking at me like that if he was at dinner with Sophia? Especially if she, as I suspected, had something to do with his sudden change of plans. They’d probably spend the next two days having the hottest make-up sex imaginable.
Frustration clawed at my insides as we exited the restaurant. I needed to knock the jealousy right out of my head.
“I can’t believe we got to meet Marco and Sophia. Do you think they are together again?” My aunt clapped her hands once we stood outside.
The fresh air was what I needed, and I took in a lungful of it.
“I don’t know,” I answered in a daze.
Will patted me on the back. “Does it bother you if they are?” he said low enough that my aunt and uncle wouldn’t hear.
“Of course not,” I responded, growling underneath my breath.
“He’s not into her,” Will said as his light eyes pinned mine.
I shook my head and blew a strand of hair out of my face.
“What?” I squinted at him, trying to act like his words didn’t matter.
His shoulders rounded as he stretched his arms out in front of him and laced his fingers together. “I’m a man. I know.”
Ten
On Monday morning, I was sitting in the lobby of the Men’s Health and Sports Magazine office in Rome. As I looked around, I flirted with the idea of snapping a few photos of the plush pink throw rugs, abstract wall paintings, and sleek, colorful couches and chairs that lined the room.
“This place is so much nicer than our office.” Will patted his thighs and moved his head to the electronic dance music that played in the waiting area by the secretary’s desk. What kind of office played loud dance music in its lobby?
A cool one, apparently.
“Yeah, I’m thinking we need to talk to Travis about upgrading our lounge.”
Will and I had spent Sunday being completely lazy, and it had been heaven. We went to one of Italy’s blue flag (eco-friendly, that is) beaches off the coast.
I had soaked up the rays and caught up on some American sports news on my iPad. It had been a perfect day without Marco—exactly what I needed to get my head back into the game. My mind was clear, and I was ready to focus on the story. My professional, anti-athlete dating shield was snug in place, as it should have been before.
The secretary, who looked like a model with her short pixie cut dyed blonde hair atop her towering, slender frame, came around from behind the stark white desk and approached Will and me on the neon orange sofa. “Francesca is ready for you both.”
We stood up and followed the woman through a maze of cubicles until she stopped outside a clear glass office. I would hate to work in an office where everyone could see what I was doing at all times. Of course, right now I had no office at my building in New York. A glass office with windows overlooking the city of Rome would be quite the step up.
As the door swung open, a woman came to her feet and walked toward us with her palms turned up in greeting. “Maggie. Will! So nice to meet you.” Her lips were smothered in purple lipstick, and I was willing to swear she’d recently had a botched lip injection. They looked inflamed at the edges and swollen.
She was tall, like her secretary, with a thick mane of long, jet black hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Her light blue eyes were set deeply in her face, but her tanned skin showed no signs
of sagging. More plastic surgery, perhaps. The woman had to be in her fifties, but she was doing her best to look much younger.
“Nice to meet you, too.” I shook her hand, and Will followed suit.
“Please. Please. Have a seat.”
Will and I sat in the white leather chairs opposite her desk, and I forced a smile to my face. I pressed my hands over my sleeveless yellow sundress, feeling outclassed.
“So, how are you enjoying Roma?” She sat behind her desk and clasped her hands together in front of her.
“It’s incredible,” Will answered.
“And Marco Valenti? Is he as every bit delectable as I remember?”
My stomach squeezed. “Oh? You’ve covered him before?” I thought Sophia said . . .
“No, of course not, but I have met his ex, Sophia Rossi. Sophia and Marco were always attached at the hip.” She waved her hand in the air and smiled. “It is such a shame about their break-up.” She tapped her long nails on the desk and focused on me. “I heard a whisper they have been seen together again. It will make for quite a story if true.”
Her words catapulted a wave of pain to my chest. My anti-Marco shield was a bit flimsy, so it seemed. “Marco would like to keep the story about his football career only. In fact, he doesn’t even want a story at all.”
“Not surprising. When Travis told me you were doing the story on Marco I almost did not believe my ears. The Marco Valenti being interviewed? It is amazing, and I am so looking forward to helping with the article.”
Shit. Well, she wouldn’t like what I was about to tell her. “Um. The only way we could convince him to do the article is if we keep it low key, with only Will and I tailing him.”
Francesca’s mouth went round as it opened. “No. This cannot be.” Her spine rolled, then she tapped at the numbers on her desk phone and jabbed the speakerphone button. “I absolutely insist that my team is involved in this story. How could you possibly cover Marco Valenti in Roma without our office?” Her eyes became thin slits. “We’ll see what Travis says.”
Just great. I’d managed to upset the editor-in-chief in Rome. Travis would have my throat.
Forever Rome (Forever #1) Page 9
