Antonio loads my suitcases into the backseat of his car as I grab a jacket and lock up the house.
And before I know it, he speeds off toward Los Angeles International Airport.
Milan…here we come.
Chapter 16
Daniella
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we’d like to welcome you on board Flight 2811 with service from Los Angeles to New York, then continuing on to Milan, Italy. We are currently third in line for takeoff and should be in the air in approximately eight minutes. At this time, we ask that you fasten your seat belt and secure all carry-on items underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead compartments. We also ask that your seat and tray table is in the upright position for take-off. Please turn off and stow all laptops and ensure cell phones and tablets are in airplane mode. As a reminder, smoking is prohibited during the entire flight. This includes the use of all vaping devices. Thank you for choosing Euro Transatlantic Air.” The flight attendant takes in a deep breath before placing the receiver back onto its hook.
With burgundy-lipstick-coated, pursed lips, she walks down the aisle, shifting her gaze from left to right, dutifully inspecting each passenger’s safety belt, ensuring they have all followed the instructions she blared over the PA.
First Class.
I’ve never been on board an airplane, experiencing the luxury of first class—although I have walked through first class. On my way to the far end of the plane, of course.
I feel swanky.
Celebrity-ish.
Wait. Is that even a word?
Who cares?
A petite flight attendant hands Antonio and me a plastic cup of orange juice each. “Benvenuti a bordo,” she says in a husky yet feminine tone.
I nod and Antonio smiles, offering a respectful, “Grazie.”
I elbow him gently on the side. “So…you speak Italian?” I sip my orange juice.
“Yep. Fluently. It helps, with me traveling so much to and from Milan.”
How sexy is that?
“Oooh, that’s intriguing,” I say, shielding my true level of excitement. “I’ve always wanted to learn.”
“Maybe I’ll teach you.”
Minutes later, the plane takes off. And soon after, we are served breakfast, that incidentally, the two of us are just too tired to eat. We end up falling asleep while watching the complimentary movie and seem to simultaneously wake up, once the plane lands in New York City.
Antonio looks at me through sleepy, albeit playful eyes. “Well, it looks as though we got sleeping together out of the way.”
I can’t help but laugh—thrown completely off by his unpredicted mirthfulness.
“I’m getting used to your shock-and-awe comments.”
He stretches and catches my glance with his own extremely speculative eyes. “Really, now? I suppose that’s good, but I’m still likely to throw you for a complete spin every now and then.”
As the plane taxis to its assigned gate, the husky-sounding flight attendant announces that passengers continuing on to Milan should remain on board while the plane undergoes the refuel process and JFK passengers board.
Antonio and I both use the restroom and freshen up before the passenger boarding process begins and then we busy ourselves answering text messages and emails. I send selfies of myself to Emma and Stacy who both, in return, send me replies of similar have a safe flight content.
Antonio places his cell phone on the seat-back table while he reviews our itinerary. His phone vibrates—displaying a call from Nonna.
Ugh. I don’t know why I cringe at her. I mean I don’t even know the woman. But I still suspect she’s a slinky model. Someone he’s involved with, for sure. Maybe I should Google her. I’m sure a model called Nonna is highly searchable—a famous one-namer like Madonna or Beyoncé or Miss Piggy.
He answers the call, leaning into the phone with his voice lowered. “Buongiorno, Nonna, sono sull’aereo.”
Fuck.
He’s speaking Italian, of course.
Which means she’s probably some Italian hottie he keeps around for his trips to and from Milan.
And there is no way I’ll be able to understand a word he’s saying to her.
Maybe if I listen close enough, I can make out at least one or two of the words. I mean how difficult can it be, right?
Placing my elbow onto the armrest that sits between his seat and mine, I lean my face against the palm of my hand, pretending to be resting when I’m really trying to eavesdrop.
“Sì, Nonna. Sono davvero contenta che domani ci vediamo,” he smiles and blows a kiss into the phone.“Ti adore,” he says before ending the call then placing the phone in the seat-back pocket.
Ti adore? Isn’t that like, I Adore You?
Gag me.
He looks at me, his expression quizzical. “What?”
“Was that your girlfriend?” I offer a magnified grin.
“Who, Nonna? Uh—” he breaks off at the sound of the phone’s echoing vibration. He removes it from the pocket, and with bunched eyebrows, looks at the screen. “It’s Liza. Hello?”
He nods a few times. “Uh-huh. Well, great. That’s all we need.” He turns his head to face me, his dark-blues casting a look of annoyance that’s invading his almost-too-perfect features. He continues his conversation. “Okay, send me a screenshot of the photo when it surfaces please. Thanks, Liza.”
He ends the call, this time shoving his phone in the seat pocket.
“Is everything alright?” I venture.
He shakes his head. “Apparently TMZ was doing what it does best—lurking at the airport. Liza says they claim to have captured a photo of me and a beautiful woman together, as we got onto the escalator toward the security checkpoint.”
My eyes widen.
“Yep. I’m not sure what the photo looks like, but they love to spin stuff for publicity. I’m so sorry. I hope the fact that you had sunglasses on helped shield your identity. I would hate to have you all over the media again. But odds are, since they’ve probably gathered I’m on my way to Italy, there’ll be more at the airport in Milan…waiting to snap more photos.”
I place my hand on his forearm. “It’s alright. Whatever they’ve got or will get will blow over soon enough.”
He rubs his chin. “Right. The price of being a little popular, I guess. Still, I’d kill for a much more private life. I honestly don’t know how the other designers manage to avoid paparazzi and inflated news stories.”
“Maybe they don’t have your looks and charm.”
“Nor do they have the beautiful woman by their side?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I shift my gaze from his sultry eyes to the window, reminding myself he’s not flirting.
He’s got Nonna.
A barrage of New York passengers board and, soon afterward, the plane pushes back and begins to taxi toward the runway. A different voice—this time a male with a brute Italian accent—takes on the pre-flight announcements and, before I know it, we are up in the air again.
Once the pilot ascends the plane to the desired altitude, flight attendants begin to scurry about, preparing for beverage service. A slender flight attendant with mink-brown hair and a heavily made-up face approaches our seats. The cling-clang sound of her dangle bracelets sever the quietness in first class. She smiles at Antonio, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Antonio…it’s always a pleasure to see you on board one of my flights.”
Through gritted teeth Antonio replies, “Hello, Heather.” He peels her hand off his shoulder. “’You’re working first class today?”
Heather shifts to face us both, plastering an eager smile across her face. “Oh, no. They have me in coach but I couldn’t miss the chance to say hello.” She gives me a purposeful once-over. “You’re not sitting alone today?”
He replies curtly, “Nope. This is Daniella.”
I extend my hand to shake hers and she proceeds to shove her hands in her pockets.
Witch.
She
tosses back her hair, saying, “Hmm. Well, enjoy the flight.” She hikes back toward coach, leaving a trail of cheap perfume in the atmosphere.
Antonio leans into me, our shoulders pressing. “Sorry about that. That woman gives me the creeps. I guess she likes me or something.”
“You think?” I say and we both laugh.
“And I usually sit alone during flights to Milan. I purchase both seats to save me the headache of some oddball sitting next to me.”
“Are there many oddballs in first class?”
He tilts his head. “You’d be surprised.”
Hours have passed by much quicker than I expected for an eight-hour flight. Antonio and I have spent time eating, reviewing lingerie catalogs of competitors, discussing details of the ball—all of which sound amazing.
He leans back in his seat, placing his folded hands in his lap. “Enough work stuff. Let’s move on to more personal things.”
I too lean back, turning my head to face him. “Personal?”
Offering a side grin, he looks at me with intent. “Yes. I think we should take time to learn more about each other, given we will be spending nearly two weeks together.”
“Okay. And how do we accomplish that? Play twenty questions or something?”
He chuckles. “How about just three. Tell me three things no one knows about you.”
I could go all out and tell him at least one thing no one knows: I think I may have a crush on my new boss—despite the fact that I’ve sworn off men and there is the Nonna factor.
But I think it’s best to keep this one all to myself.
Chapter 17
Antonio
Daniella Belle drives me crazy. That is, in a feel-good, I-want-you-so-bad-it-drives-me-crazy kind of a way. Yet I think I’m doing an academy-award-winning act of portraying this cool business-focused guy, who is not at all interested.
Although I have mentally punched myself a few times when I caught myself flirting.
And staring.
The woman is, after all, absolutely mesmerizing—getting to me like no other.
Perhaps it’s due to the simple fact I can’t have her.
Yep. That’s gotta to be it.
How the hell am I to survive ten days in Milan with this woman?
Avoid any time alone with her—at all costs.
We’re almost there, maybe just a couple of hours to spare. I’ve had an ingenious idea of how to get to know her a little better—asking her to tell me three things about herself that no one else knows.
Her green eyes glisten as she thinks of what to share. “Okay. I’m ready.” She lets out a soft giggle. “One: Taylor Swift is the only celebrity that I would have a full-on fangirl moment over, if I met her. Two: thunder and lightning frighten the hell out of me. And…” She hesitates for only a moment, then takes a deep breath. “Three: I sleep completely nude.”
Wait. What? Did she just say nude?
As in…
Bare. Hot. Nakedness.
Someone just kill me.
The mere thought of Daniella naked makes me all—
“Nude?” I swallow the sizable lump in my throat.
“I know. TMI, right? But you did ask for three things and—”
“Wait. Why nude?” I interrupt.
“It’s quite simple, actually. I can’t stand the way clothes get all tangled up in the covers. So sleeping nude eliminates that problem. You should try it.”
Next to you? I shake the illicit thought from my head.
“And what about you?”
“No. I don’t sleep nude. Yet.” A chuckle escapes me.
A wry smile surfaces. “I meant, what are your three things? That no one knows about you? Her long eyelashes fan her gorgeous face as she sits, face on palm, eager to hear my reply.
Right. This is supposed to be dual participation. Think, Antonio.
“Okay, Miss Belle. Three things. One: I’ve never seen one Godfather movie. Two: the color yellow makes be wanna barf. And three: I would give anything to live a normal guy’s life.”
Daniella looks at me, wonder shooting through her eyes to mine. “A normal guy’s life?”
I lower my gaze from her penetrating one. “Yep. You know, no paparazzi, no semi-fame. Just a regular guy living life with no spectators.”
“I see. Then you should plan your escape.”
I look up now, intrigued by her suggestion. “Plan my escape?” I laugh lightly.
“Yeah. For instance, if you could go anywhere in the world, away from it all, where would you go?”
A deserted island with you. Duh. “I never actually gave much thought to that. Maybe I’d escape to a little town in Italy. Live in a modest-sized home.”
“Now that you’ve got it all planned out, you should make it happen. Even if it’s only for a week or two. Unwind. No phone. No internet. No work. Nothing but solitary freedom.”
“Are you wearing your confident panties again? You’re good at making convincing suggestions.” I wink and her face beams.
“I never leave home without them.” She winks back, being just as coy.
She’s pretty keen and I admit, this suggested plan sounds quite enticing. I could stand to get away from it all for a few days. Or for a year. Or forever—operating CraveMe remotely. Only, part of me is too chicken to take such a leap.
Alone, anyway.
“Why are you afraid of thunder and lightning?” I say, covertly taking our conversation back to her.
She wilts into the seat, quickly turning away, now looking out the window. “I grew up in Texas where rainstorms are pretty intense, hurricane-like, in fact.”
“Okay…there’s more, right?”
She shifts in her seat, now facing me again, a dull grimace emerging. “Right. Well I didn’t have the luxury of curling up in Mommy and Daddy’s bed during my first storm, all safe and protected. My foster mom wasn’t that generous. Sure, my two foster sisters, her own daughters, got that. But not me. I was told there was no room for all of us and I was sent back to my room. Alone. The growling and rumbling sounds of the thunder—violently shaking my windows, echoing throughout my entire room—it was all too frightening for me, then only five years old, so I ended up sleeping in the closet. And…I’ve been frightened ever since.”
My mouth drops open, and if I’ve ever had a sorry I probed moment, this would definitely top all others.
I imagine a young and frightened Daniella. Shame on her foster mom for being so…uncaring.
“Daniella, I totally shouldn’t have intruded.” I place my hand on her arm, hoping it comforts her in some way. God knows I want to hold her.
But I can’t cross that line.
“It’s okay. I just don’t tell too many people. It’s kind of embarrassing. Me all grown up now and still afraid of thunderstorms.” She scoffs under her breath. “Luckily there aren’t too many in Los Angeles.” She smiles, a signal her slightly somber mood has eased into a more jovial one.
I’ll never bring it up again. Nor will I probe into why she had a foster mom. Even though I am hungry to know what happened to her own parents.
“So back to you, now.” She wriggles her way into a more comfortable position, now sitting cross-legged. “We’ve totally gotta get you to watch The Godfather. I mean it’s the ultimate guy flick.”
I stifle a laugh. “Is there no end to your suggestions?” Not only is this woman so incredibly foxy, she’s also quite adorable.
She purposely flutters her long butterfly-like lashes. “I am the queen of suggestions.”
“Ciao, Ladies and Gentlemen; as we start our descent, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. Grazie.”
The flight attendant’s announcement seems to startle both Daniella and me, abruptly ending our conversation.
It’s been a long flight indeed, but an enjoyable one
at that, with her by my side.
And now Milan. With Daniella. God help me.
Milan, Italy
“Elegance Is The Balance Between Proportion, Emotion, & Surprise.” - Valentino Garvani
Chapter 18
Daniella
“I think I died and just woke up in heaven, you guys! Look at this room!” I flip the camera on my phone from front to back, to allow Emma and Stacy to get a grand view of my fabulous hotel room.
I promised them a FaceTime call as soon as I got to Milan and my timing seems perfect for them both. Stacy is working from home today, exhausted from her week-long trip to New York and Emma is off for a school holiday. It’s a little after 9 a.m. in Los Angeles, while it’s just after 6 p.m. here, in gorgeous Milan. It seems like it took ages for Antonio and me to exit the plane, gather our luggage, and get through customs. A driver was waiting to whisk us away via a fancy black limousine to luxurious Bulgari Hotel Milano. A.K.A. Heaven.
“Holy shit. It looks so damn legit!” Emma squeals.
Stacy and I both scold her about her language.
“It is quite amazing, hun,” exclaims Stacy. “I bet it costs a fortune to stay there.”
I flip the camera view back to my face. “I’ve never stayed in a place like this. I feel like a princess.”
Emma giggles. “And Antonio Michaels is your prince.”
“Shut up, Emma. I’ve sworn off men. And besides that, I believe he’s got some Italian model hottie here. I overheard some of their phone conversation and he said Ti Adore, which I’m sure means I adore you.”
Both Stacy and Emma’s faces seem to turn to stone, frozen with a look of shock-filled disappointment.
“Oh well. Italian hottie or not, he looked like he was pretty into you at the airport,” Stacy says through a stifled yawn.
“Wait. What?” I say, plunging onto the fluffy four-poster bed.
“Oh, you haven’t seen what TMZ captured?” Emma says, disappearing from view.
Cinderella-ish (Razzle My Dazzle Book 1) Page 8
