Billionaire Triplets Matchmakers

by Mia Caldwell

  “Don’t worry mom,” Joan said. “I know a meeting I can go to soon. I’ll be fine. Thanks again, for everything.”

  Her mother left, and Joan hurried to get dressed. She’d go to the meeting, and then she’d go to Antonio’s hotel. She’d tell him that she couldn’t risk having a relationship now, and ask if he knew about the money. Maybe he didn’t have a clue and there was another reason he’d left in such a hurry. Either way, she’d keep a safe distance and not let him touch her. If she was lucky, he’d replace the money his friend stole immediately and agree to leave her alone, then when she saw Lissa the following morning at least she wouldn’t have to explain about missing money along with her reasons for screwing up her sobriety.

  Maybe, everything would work out after all.

  WHEN ANTONIO WENT TO the Torres house to explain himself to Joan he’d expected that she might be upset with him, and that it might take some doing to explain himself – what he hadn’t expected was having Joan’s older sister, Lissa, attack him after she opened the door.

  His first response, was to back away, hands in the air, in utter shock at her accusations and her physical attack.

  It wasn’t until after he’d taken off, bolted back down the street, rounded the corner and paused for breath that it occurred to him what that crazy woman had said.

  Joan had been arrested? And it was his fault because he’d gotten her drunk without knowing she was an alcoholic?

  But, he hadn’t gotten her drunk – he hadn’t let her near a drink. It didn’t make any sense.

  His cheeks flamed at the injustice of being falsely accused. He wanted to go back and set her straight, demand an immediate apology, but then it struck him so hard he had to grab onto a tree for support – he may not have offered her a drink, or had tried to get her drunk, but his actions may very well have driven her to the bottle.

  He should have insisted on making Vince wait and told Joan himself that he had to go. He’d been beyond horrible, expecting her to take his abandonment with a simple dictated note.

  Then another thought occurred to him, causing his temple to throb. What if the desk captain had never written the note? What if he’d never delivered it to Joan? What if she had waited in his hotel room, scared and worried with no way to call him and no way to know if he was all right? What if she’d come to the determination that he’d run out on her for no good reason, abandoning her again?

  “Damn it,” he shouted to the sky, punching his fist into his hand.

  Undecided on where to go, next, Antonio paced on the sidewalk as he berated himself in his native tongue. “You’re a cad,” he told himself, “You’re a moron, the dumbest of the dumb, the stupidest of the stupid idiots. How could you have been so thoughtless? So cruel and insensitive? Of all the inconsiderate choices to make you chose to abandon her, again.”

  Guilt punched him in the gut, sending him to the tree for support as he buckled over in shame.

  His throat closed, and he could no longer speak of his guilt, but that didn’t stop his mind from continuing the flagellation.

  She probably believed he’d done it on purpose – some cruel trick to get her into bed, then rub salt in her old wounds. Joan would hate him for the rest of her life. She’d never speak to him again.

  He staggered back to his car, weighted down by a dark blanket of guilt that made it hard to walk. He slumped into his driver’s seat and sat motionless, unable to turn the key, barely able to breathe as memories of the past flooded back.

  Chapter Ten

  ANTONIO FERRARO WAS only nineteen when he’d first met Joan Edwards.

  He was thrilled to have been sent by his team to do a magazine spread for Sports Illustrated Italia. He’d been recruited straight out of high school to play for the AC Milan, the youngest starter in history, and from his first game where he wowed the nation with a hat trick, he’d become an overnight sensation in the soccer world. And the new heart throb for Italy’s younger women.

  “Antonio come here, meet the models for your photo shoot,” said the creative director.

  The Sports Illustrated spread was ‘Youngest Super-Star Athletes meet Youngest Super-Star Models’. Antonio Ferraro had been chosen as the Soccer representative, both because he was one of the youngest soccer stars in Italy and because he was model handsome. There were other young men represented from various sports as well, including an Italian basketball star, a tennis star, a rugby star and even a well-renowned and youthful cricket player.

  The super models were all stunning, but from the moment he’d seen her it was Joan who captured his eye. She was the youngest of the up-and-coming supermodels, and to his mind the most breathtaking with honey brown skin, exotic features and penetrating golden black eyes.

  He stood with all the models on the edge of the set and watched as the first pairing took their places – the tennis star was matched with a red-headed super model. Antonio watched as she took of her robe, revealing her skinny, bikini-clad body and the wall-to-wall freckles on her cream-colored skin. The tennis star was a second-generation Tunisian immigrant and the contrast of their white and black skins stood out as the photographer positioned them for the first shots.

  Antonio moved sideways in the crowd of models until he was next to Joan. He leaned over, gave a sexy head shake to show off his fashionably long hair, smiled so his dimples showed and tried out his rusty English.

  “So, a-do you a-like-a the a-modeling?”

  “Uh—a—-do – a -—you like a soccer?” she said in a mocking tone.

  Antonio laughed, thrown off by the unexpected response. Normally, women fawned all over him, thrilled when he paid them any attentions. But, this young woman had dissed him, right out of the gate, and the look she gave him...

  She didn’t wait for his answer, turning her attention to the set. Antonio could see that her concentration was on the two models. He ignored the photo shoot, watching her instead out of the corner of his eye. She intrigued him.

  On the set, the tennis star and red haired model finished their session and the creative director came over to the group of models. “You, and you,” he said, pointing to Joan and to a different athlete. Antonio felt a wave of disappointment, he’d hoped that he would be paired with Joan. He wanted to put his shirtless body next to hers in a bikini.

  He knew better than to do anything dorky like announcing his interest in her by trying to change the creative director’s mind so, he played it cool, barely moving a muscle as Joan and the cricket star walked onto the set.

  The cricket star, that lucky bastard, almost tripped when Joan took her robe off and handed it to an assistant. Antonio’s heart pounded at the sight of her. What a body.

  The redhead who’d been up first looked like the other models in the room, tall and weedy, but, Joan wasn’t particularly tall or thin. The redheaded model was flat-chested and thin-hipped, but Joan had breasts and a booty. She filled out the skimpy bikini top quite nicely and she was the only model in the room, in Antonio’s opinion, that belonged in a Sports Illustrated fashion spread.

  While the crew changed up the set for Joan and the lucky cricket player, the photographer paired the remaining athletes and models.

  Antonio was told to stand next to a young British model, striking with white blonde hair. She seemed thrilled to be paired with Antonio and kept trying to talk to him as the photo shoot began, but Antonio did his best to discourage her. He wanted to watch Joan work.

  She stood in the middle of the set, looking bored and tired while the crew brought in new props and rearranged the lighting. The moment the photographer declared that he was content with the setup and he got behind his camera to start taking shots, Joan Edwards was on her game.

  She lit up the set like she was the sun.

  She was graceful like an athlete – posing and moving, twisting and bending, tilting her body into positions that didn’t seem possible for human beings, yet were provocative and interesting and stunning all at the same time. Every move she made, every ge
sture, every nuance, only accentuated her curvy but long, body and her exotic features. Her modeling was spectacular, and it came from deep within her.

  Unlike the first photo shoot, where the director had to tell the models where to be, the photographer barely said a word. He was too busy capturing art in motion.

  Joan’s photo shoot was a performance, each shot perfection. Antonio could feel the excitement in the room. Even the British model beside him watched with undisguised admiration.

  The cricket player, who’d told Antonio earlier that he was scared shitless to do his first modeling gig, seemed buoyed in her presence and played off her greatness by doing a decent job mimicking her fearlessness and intensity. Just being that close to her raised the cricket player’s game, and Antonio could see his confidence growing with each shot.

  When the shoot was over, everyone in the room burst into spontaneous applause Even the creative director and the photographer shouted, “Fantastico, Magnifico!” as they clapped the two models off the set.

  Antonio couldn’t agree more. In that ten-minute performance, he’d fallen in love.

  Joan put her robe back on as she came off the set.

  Antonio wanted to go over to her, to talk to her, but he and his model were called to the set.

  Her name was Rebecca, and she practically burst into song when he took off his robe.

  He was used to women gushing over him, and his pride swelled as he glanced at Joan to see if she’d noticed the attention the other model was giving him. She hadn’t.

  He knew that his body, compared to the other men in the room, was the best of the bunch. Antonio put aside his disappointment that Joan didn’t seem to notice him and focused instead on having a shoot with his model that garnered as much approval as Joan’s had.

  From the first few frames, it was evident that the photographer wasn’t pleased – not with his performance, but with Rebecca’s.

  “Can you stop drooling over Antonio and model?” the photographer asked after they’d completed half of the shoot.

  “But, it’s Antonio Ferraro,” she said, pouting. “I can’t help myself. He’s so fine.”

  Antonio smirked, pleased to see that Joan Edwards was finally paying attention, but then she rolled her eyes and shook her head, ignoring him once again.

  Rebecca didn’t seem to think she’d done anything wrong. After their shoot she went over to the monitors to get a look at her shots, but Antonio didn’t want to see the pictures.

  He walked over to where Joan was sitting and stood behind her, staring at her reflection in the mirror as he tried to get a grip on what she was thinking.

  She ignored him as she leaned forward, face close to the mirror, and delicately wiped away eye makeup with a cotton ball.

  He stepped closer, making sure she knew he was there. “Yes?” she finally said.

  “You a-going to be in Italy long?” he asked. It didn’t come out self-assured like he’d expected, his voice cracked and tremored. What the hell? He cleared his throat and took a step back as his face flushed with humiliation. He’d never had trouble talking to a woman before. What was wrong with him?

  Joan didn’t seem to notice or care about his crisis of confidence, nor did she bother to answer his question. She continued to remove her makeup.

  Angry voices erupted behind them, causing both of them to turn around.

  “I don’t care if it costs you money, these pictures are shit. You need to reshoot them.” An elegantly dressed black woman was standing behind the monitors, jabbing her fingers at them while shouting at both the photographer and the creative director.

  Antonio wondered if the woman was related to Joan, then immediately dismissed the idea. No one could think that the pictures Joan just shot could be anything but perfection. The woman continued her ranting, her voice rising now to a scream.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch the spectacle.

  The woman must not have gotten what she wanted, because she let out a yelp of frustration and stormed off, shoving a wardrobe assistant backward into one of the lights as she swept past him.

  The creative director made a flying leap and caught the light before it crashed to the ground.

  “Jesus!” cursed the photographer.

  “Holy shit,” Antonio said, unable to suppress a smile as the unexpected entertainment ended. There was a buzz of similar comments in the room as everyone spoke about what they’d just witnessed.

  “Who the hell was that nightmarish woman?” Antonio asked Joan, hoping she’d start talking to him now that there was something to talk about.

  “That nightmare woman is my mother,” she said dryly.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call her that.”

  “Don’t apologize for speaking the truth.”

  Antonio gave her a curious look. Were they finally connecting?

  “Yep, that’s my dear mama, all right. I swear, she pulls shit like this at every shoot. I’m royally sick of it.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Antonio said, not sure what else to say, but, Joan had gone back to ignoring him. She’d finished removing her eye makeup and now she was using two fingers to apply cold cream to her face. She worked the cleanser into her skin in small, practiced semi-circles. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she worked.

  She took tissues and wiped away the cream, one section of her face at a time, leaving flawless, clean honey brown skin. She glowed.

  He cleared his throat, but it was as if he wasn’t there. Antonio wasn’t used to being ignored and dismissed by a woman. He didn’t need this crap. Why should he chase after some stuck-up model when there were thousands of young women dreaming of a chance to be with him?

  But, for some reason, he couldn’t walk away from Joan Edwards.

  He persisted. “Are you going to answer my question, or not?”

  “What question?”

  His body stiffened. She was treating him like he didn’t matter, deliberately. He was about to walk away and forget about dealing with her when he noticed that she’d stopped working on her skin care and was looking at him.

  Her eyes were twinkling, and her lip twitched as if she was thinking of smiling at him. His posture relaxed and he felt his own mouth curl into a smirk. So, she was going to play that game? His confidence was back when he spoke. “I asked, when are you planning on leaving Milan?”

  “Oh, we’re supposed to leave first thing in the morning,” she said.

  “So you’ll be at the after party?”

  “Oh no, heaven forbid. She’d never let me go to one of those dreadful things.” Joan nodded in the direction of the green room, where her mother was slumped dejectedly in a chair.

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” Antonio said and meant it.

  “Not really, I don’t care about those stupid parties. I do care that she’s not letting me have a tour of the city.”

  “She’s not letting you see Milan?”

  “Nope.”

  She was pouting so prettily that Antonio wanted to kiss her, but he restrained himself. There was something fragile about her, he didn’t want to break her.

  “Oh, that’s too bad. If you have more time, perhaps this afternoon, I would love to show you around. Would you like that?”

  Joan focused her wide, almond shaped eyes on his, shrewd, and calculating. It made his skin tingle just knowing she was giving him her full attention. Then she smiled, and Antonio thought his heart would explode. Wow.

  “My mother wants to take me to some booooring fashion houses this afternoon, to meet with some designers,” she said. “but, I’d much rather do something else. So, yes. Let’s go.”

  Antonio was elated, but also a little surprised.

  “What, now? Don’t you want to ask her first?” Antonio asked, nervously indicating her mother who was on her phone now, raising her complaint to some higher authority.

  “Look, I’m going to ditch her and all these people and check out this town, whether you tag along or not. Your choi
ce.”

  Antonio ran a hand through his hair, unsure what to make of this woman. She was walking into a model room, removing her bikini top as she slipped through the half-open door.

  His jaw dropped open as she stopped and slipped off her bikini bottoms. He caught a glimpse of her perfect, naked ass before she disappeared behind a corner.

  He was breathing hard, practically gulping, when Rebecca came up to him.

  “Antonio, you going to the after party?” she asked hopefully.

  Rebecca had changed into her street clothes, but she hadn’t removed any of her makeup. Antonio smiled distractedly. He wasn’t sure. He’d intended to go to the after party – it would be something to tell the guys on his team – but he’d much rather spend time with Joan.

  He wasn’t sure that he should, he admitted to himself. She had to be too young for him, and that mother of hers was scary.

  “Well?” Rebecca pressed.

  He walked her over to a table where there were refreshments, hoping to distract her with a snack. She wasn’t interested, her eyes and body were focused on him. She was clearly over eighteen and had the hots for him, no doubt about that. Wouldn’t he be better off going to that party and then taking Rebecca back to her hotel room?

  “Yeah, sure,” Antonio said distractedly as he glanced back at the model room, hoping to see Joan come out.

  “That’s fabulous, we’re going to have soooo much fun,” she gushed as she hung on his arm and gave him her googly eyes again.

  Joan took that moment to come out of the room and Antonio’s heart skipped a beat. She looked like a high school kid in her torn jeans and leather jacket. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and she stopped and stared at him, smirking as Rebecca continued to hang on his arm.

  Rebecca saw who he was watching and her face grew tight, but Antonio didn’t care. He extracted her arm from his. “Listen, Rebecca. Something’s come up. See you around.”

  “You’re not going to the after party?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Antonio shouted over his shoulder. He didn’t want to ruin his chances with Rebecca, in case things with Joan didn’t pan out.