Amalfi Coast (That Wedding Girl Book 2)

by Way, Maggie

  It’s me, eternalised in charcoal and colour. The sketch from last night. The tone of the painting is muted, the style reminiscent of a cross between Van Gogh and Rembrandt. Each stroke has a smudging quality that rendered the image watery, like a reflection in a rippled puddle. My lips painted in cherry red, my hair jet black. I run a finger along the edges, feeling the thick paper, speechless at what I am looking at. I’ve never seen myself in this way, so full of life and vibrant.

  A grin is plastered to my face, as I look inside the envelope to look at the other contents. I gasp as I pull out the yellow scarf, clutching it between my fingertips. No, he couldn’t have. Then I pull out a small folded note. Pushing the scarf and portrait away, I unfold and start reading it, wishing I could thank him for all of this.

  Dolce Lacey,

  I had to leave, back to Roma. You must understand why I left and not say goodbye.

  Last night was really amazing. I wanted to say grazie for everything. For sitting for me that day, for sitting with me last night.

  You will always be that woman from Australia I painted.

  Thank you for all your encouragement. I will keep drawing until the day I die.

  Matteo

  All I can do is smile after reading the letter, and I don’t think the smile will disappear for a while.

  I can’t think of a better way to close this chapter, the perfect send off to take me back home.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I watch my brown flats take steps across the glossy white tiles, pulling my weekend bag behind me as I check my phone for the fourth time. Thank god I’m back on flat land; sitting for thirteen hours, at thirty thousand feet above the ground, is long enough. If only Gabe was here because I'm stuck with a five-hour transit at Terminal 3, Singapore Changi Airport while I wait to go sky high again.

  What the heck am I going to do with myself for five hours at the airport? I don’t particularly like duty free shopping, and I can only enjoy surfing on the internet for so long. Oh, what the heck. I walk a bit faster, eager to check out the shops. Let’s see what the airport has.

  Fifty-five minutes pass and I would be happy to never look at souvenirs, key chains, and calendars again. I bought a pack of hand creams for mum, a polo shirt for dad, and a silk shirt and belt for Hansley. Tristan’s gift is already with me. I wasn’t planning on getting him something, but as soon as I saw it, I knew it was perfect – a medium sized charcoal print of a canal. I figure his new place looked a bit bare, and could use the decoration.

  And of course, I buy chocolates! Belgian chocolate, Swiss, ganache; anything and everything that catches my eye. I plan on making gift bags for the family and Gabe when I get back.

  I got something for myself as well. As soon as I saw it I knew I had to buy it: an emerald green strappy dress that sits just below the knee. It is perfect and hugs my body in all the right places and gives me that extra oomph that my other clothes don't. It feels so amazing and comfortable. In fact, I liked it so much that I asked the girl to cut the tag off at the counter to wear it out of the shop.

  My shopping crusade finished, I still have another four hours to go, and I make my way to the food court, walking slowly while hordes of stressed travellers dart around to get to their gates.

  After purchasing a large coffee and freshly toasted banana bread, I grab an empty table in the middle of the food court and sit down on the thin wooden chair. I open up my weekender bag and take out my laptop, eager to get the WiFi connected.

  Normally I can’t help myself, and I find myself checking my emails obsessively whenever I have my laptop open. But I did that before I left, so I’m going to give myself a break and do some online jigsaw puzzles. Scrolling through the homepage, I look at least fifty puzzles trying to find the perfect one. Finally, I decide on a 500 piece, a Monet style painting of the Eiffel Tower. Wouldn’t it be nice to go to Paris one day?

  After twenty minutes of playing, I’ve completed two puzzles and I decide to take a break and get a good look at the painting of me again. Zipping it out of my bag, I take it carefully out of the envelope to gaze upon it again. I could look at it all day, it is so pretty. What type of frame should I buy for it? Where should I put it?

  I used to make these decisions with Adam, but now I’ll be making them on my own, because I will be going home to an empty apartment. I’ll be living on my own for the first time in six years, the idea scares me. But at least I can make the place as fashionable as possible, so I can live in style; even if it’s alone.

  As I start touching the edges of the cherry red lips on the thick paper, I can hear someone walking behind me.

  “Pretty girl,” the man speaks, he has a smoky voice. It sounds awfully familiar. “Do you know her?”

  “I am her,” I mutter.

  The man sniggers. “Yeah right, you don’t look like that.”

  What a rude prick. I keep my back to him, keen to ignore him in the hopes he will go away.

  “Can I get through?” he asks gruffly.

  Putting the painting down on the table, I pull my chair inwards, keeping my eyes peeled to the table. He is starting to get on my nerves, but I’m choosing to ignore him.

  “I was talking to you, Miss Straight-laced,” he says, even more huskily.

  I look up from the table, frozen at the sound of it. There’s only one person in the world who calls me that. It can’t be, it can’t be. Before I get a chance to put two and two together he walks a few steps to stand in front of me, and my heart ceases to function.

  It’s Tristan. My heart is beating like a jackhammer at the sight of him in that flannel shirt and jeans.

  “That painting doesn’t look like you.” He smirks at me.

  “I know, you made that clear—”

  “You look much better in real life.”

  I blush.

  “I’m glad I bumped into you,” he says, never failing to keep his eyes off me.

  “Is that right?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “I was going to let you know when I would arrive—”

  “No, I’m glad I bumped into you now. Because I can tell you all about the next wedding you’re planning. And this time, I’m coming with you. Our first assignment together.” Oh dear. Tristan and I going to another country and working together? What could possibly go wrong?

  “I’m going to enjoy working with you Lacey, in a professional capacity of course.” His eyes scan my face and hair, and then it lingers just a little longer on my décolletage and his jaw clenches tightly. “Even if it’s going to be the death of me.”

  He’s looking at me, the same way he did that day.

  Right before he kissed me.

  End of Part Two

  THE FIRST CHAPTER FROM BOOK THREE – BANGKOK!

  Tristan. Is. Standing. In. Front. Of. Me.

  My brother’s best friend, my soon to be new boss, the guy who I shared that ridiculously hot kiss with is standing in front of me. The guy I hadn’t seen for years prior to that kiss. The guy who then decided afterwards that the kiss was a mistake and that it can never happen again. The guy who I, despite my best judgments, can’t stop thinking about. How can one person be all these different things at once?

  I have to cast that aside.

  Nothing can ever happen between us.

  He’s right, nothing can happen between us. Or nothing will, not that there’s a difference. It’s too complicated. All that history and now: this new association we have formed. So I’m going to take him out of the potential boyfriend box and back into the old one I shelved him in – guys I would never ‘go for’. I’m just going to ignore all the thoughts I had about him.

  I’m going to have to ignore the fact that my heart is fluttering like a hummingbird at the sight of him this very second. If there is anyone who can pull off an open green flannel shirt and baggy jeans, it’s him. He's always dressed like this, so why am I suddenly finding it the most attractive thing? Then there’s that face. Along with that oh-so-secret-and-sexy smirk, his head is cocked to
the side as he fixes his gaze on me. Dammit, why does he have to be so attractive? It’s really not helping. Distraction level: 1000%.

  Just act cool. I’m going to pretend I’m totally fine to see him, and act like everything’s normal, the way we were before that kiss happened.

  I avert my gaze to the laptop and open up my run sheets, quickly trying to get into professional mode, trying to quickly prepare for this impromptu dinner/business meeting. He drops his duffle bag on the floor.

  “So how was Amalfi Coast?”

  “Good! Everything went brilliantly. My client and dear friend got the day she deserved,” I nod eagerly.

  “I saw the photos, you did a great job,” he says, looking at me appraisingly. “You’re rather photogenic as well.”

  I blush. I was only in one photo with Amelia and it wasn’t a particularly good angle of me.

  “Of course I did a good job, I wouldn’t expect any less of myself,” I say, diverting his compliment.

  “You don’t have to prove yourself to me. I know you’re great at what you do.” He pauses for a moment, and I can feel his eyes on me. “Are you just going in and out?" "Excuse me?"

  “Transit right? Where are you going?"

  Oh. I must have a dirtier mind than I thought.

  “Yeah, waiting to go home. Where are you off to? I thought I was going to come see you back in Sydney.”

  “I’m going back to New York. I have just over,” he checks his chunky metal watch, “three hours to kill. You?”

  I've got four. Interesting…

  “My flight's at 9.45.”

  I look up to see the tiniest resemblance of a smile emerge on his full lips. Lips that kissed me so damn well.

  Without invitation, Tristan pulls the wooden chair and sits opposite me. My face warms at this close proximity, and I keep my eyes on the laptop.

  “You know, you really shouldn’t watch porn in public,” he snorts, commenting the fact that my face is now the colour of beetroot. It’s because of you!

  I look up at him and close the laptop.

  “The trip away agrees with you. You look good with a bit of a tan.”

  “Thanks—”

  “Straight-Laced.”

  I smirk. “Well your look is interchangeable with a farmer's. In fact I'm going to call you Farmer from now on.”

  “You can call me whatever you want,” he blazes at me with those eyes.

  I stare at him in disbelief. How can he go from making me hate him one second, and love to hate him the next?

  “So…what are you going to be doing to kill time?” he looks eagerly at me for a response.

  I shrug casually. “Have a quick dinner, take a nap on those couches. Do you want some banana bread?”

  He shakes his head. “I was on my way to the lounge, join me. Great food, a lot quieter and the chairs are a lot more comfortable.”

  Three hours alone with Tristan? I wasn’t prepared for this. Not in the slightest.

  “I can’t, I flew economy. They won't let me in.”

  “Don't worry, I will get you in,” he smiles at me and stands up. “Let's go.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  I stare at him with an irritable look.

  “What if I like where I am?”

  “You will like the lounge better, trust me on this.”

  He’s unfazed by his high-handedness and stands there, urging me to pack my things. Well I can’t really refuse my new boss can I, even if I’m tempted to talk back at him? Grabbing my laptop, I crouch down and quickly pack it away. Before I get a chance to grab the bag, Tristan swoops in and takes it.

  “Are you trying to be a gentleman?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I can carry my bags.”

  “I could carry you if I wanted.”

  I blush.

  “But I’m not going to, and you’re not going to carry your bags. So come on, let’s go,” he says gently but firmly and starts walking ahead.

  Letting out a quiet breath I take my handbag and quickly dash out of the food court to catch up with him.

  ♦

  “If you say this is all paid for, then I will have another iced tea thanks. And another bowl of trail mix!”

  Tristan smiles. “Sure, whatever you want.”

  He ushers the bartender to make another drink, and orders a scotch, neat, for himself. We are sitting at the bar, our knees just inches from touching. Just the two of us, no one to disturb us for miles. After a bit of initial awkwardness and keeping the focus of the conversation on the business, we’re bantering like we always did. Just like that day, before all that mess happened. He’s back to his usual tongue-in-cheek bastardy self and I am using any semblance of my wits to retort back to his jibes. It’s so easy again, just being with him.

  He’s right. We can be totally professional about this. The job Tristan has lined up for me is still being discussed, and he will give me all the relevant information in a few days. I offered to contact the client but he insisted on negotiating himself.

  Tristan really is a shrewd businessman but his fees, in my opinion, exorbitant. I would have never dreamed of charging that much myself. However, given the list of clients he has on roster and the reputation he has built for himself he can afford to charge that much - Fortune 500 Corporations, Non-Profit Organisations, Wealthy Individuals and Families to name a few. He is really determined to create and oversee a team that will become Keys Destination Events. Tristan may be an event planning extraordinaire, but I can tell he is really in his element being his own boss.

  I’ll gladly be his friend and now co-worker if that means I can go to lounges more often. I’m impressed - this place is awesome! From the lush leather couches, to the soothing jazz music and utter privacy, this is the best way to wait for a flight. Even the salted peanuts taste amazing, and I'm already scoffing down my third bowl. The bar is a thing of beauty itself, from the black marble table to the rainbow coloured wall of bottles behind the bartender.

  “You didn't have to pay for me to come in. But that dinner was freaking delicious.” I link my thumb and index finger to make an approving circle gesture. “Mmm!”

  After the barely edible food I had on the plane, this was a monumental upgrade. At Tristan’s insistence I ordered the pork belly and crackling, cauliflower, dates and charred cos lettuce. He ordered his usual meal of choice: a Reuben sandwich. And then of course, I had to have some dessert and they did not disappoint - hazelnut and chocolate meringue, sandwiched with a dark chocolate ganache, served with cocoa-lemon sorbet.

  “I told you it’s better here than at the food court didn’t I?” He finishes the last of his sandwich.

  “And they can store your bags away for you here too, amazing!”

  I love that I don’t have to cart around my bag, and I’m only carrying my wallet and phone.

  He nods as he leans his elbow on the table. “Funny that. Money buys better service.”

  “Should I have another chocolate mousse?”

  “You love your chocolate don’t you?”

  “It’s a bad habit isn’t it? I mean I exercise but I really should cut down—”

  “Why? You’re perfectly slim.”

  My face warms suddenly. He clears his throat, sensing the way it came out. “So how did you find the flight? Did you have any trouble?”

  He looks concerned, and I appreciate that he cares.

  I nod, giving him a faint smile. “I was pretty good actually. But that’s what Xanax and in-flight games are good for.”

  Tristan furrows his brows, unhappy with my response. “Do you really have to take it? Drugs?”

  “It helps.”

  “I don’t think it’s such a good idea if you are going to be flying frequently.”

  I purse my lips. He’s got a point, but what can I do? It helps calm me down, and for a long flight like this it was definitely necessary.

  “What do you suggest?�
�

  “I can try gentle or forceful persuasion, what would you prefer?”

  “Neither, so pick one.”

  He smirks. “In that case, as your new boss I order you not to take Xanax from now on. I can’t risk my staff being under the influence of drugs while they are serving clients.”

  “I knew you were going to use that card sooner or later.” I glare at him playfully. “…Alright, I’ll try but I can’t make any promises. Maybe I should become best friends with merlot and pinot noir.”

  “Just try, alright? That’s all I ask of you.”

  How can somebody be so bossy and persuasive all at once?

  “So you must be used to flying then?” I ask, keen to change the topic.

  “I am.”

  “Don’t you get sick of it? Don’t you ever get worried about…you know having an accident up there?”

  He chuckles, shrugging his shoulders “Why should I worry about something I can’t control?”

  “I guess...”

  “And no, I don’t get sick of flying. Getting good food cooked for you beats having to do it yourself all the time. I get to watch lots of movies, what’s not to like?” “But don’t you want to just enjoy being in the one place for a time, instead of packing and unpacking? I found it annoying enough packing for this trip.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “I thought you were the organised one?”

  “I am! I’ll get used to it, I promise,” I say confidently, remembering to treat him as my manager first and foremost.

  “I’m just teasing. It took me a while to get into a routine, I’m sure you will transition very well.”

  "Well just so you know, I have started making some mock up changes to my website, to say I'm not taking any assignments currently."

  I can always change it should things not work out, but I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  "Enjoy the break before the enquiries come in. And they will flood in. But that's the beauty of destination event planning. You can do the planning anywhere. As long as you have a laptop, access to a fax machine and a phone you’re set. Then you get to hop on a plane to oversee the wedding, and bam! You get a holiday out of it. What’s not to love?”