Would she laugh at him if he brought up the topic now? What would be his excuse, that every time he saw her, asking for her number was the last thing on his mind? Well, he would get it on their next date, whenever it would be.
That night on the yacht was heavenly, even though all they had done was sleep in each other’s arms. He felt like writing a poem, or painting a portrait...which was not right, considering he was supposed to be working. Every time he received a notification from the receptionist about an appointment, he considered canceling it in lieu of pursuing his research regarding Paula.
“Dr. Sanchez,” Michelle opened the door, not waiting for a response after knocking.
“Yes, Mr. Sam was due at two o’clock, wasn’t he?” Jose replied professionally, recalling the next person coming for his appointment. A polite smile decorated his receptionist’s face. “Yes, I see you’re already aware. Just came to give a heads up.”
“I appreciate your work, Michelle,” Jose smiled, being honest. “I’ll get this cleared up,” he gestured towards his desk, “Which is what you really came to check, didn’t you?”
“Guilty as charged, now hurry.” Michelle Simons crossed her arms, giving a stern glare. Jose chuckled at her attempt to provide him with a mom-look but did as told, noticing the humorous twinkle in her brown eyes.
By the time Mr. Sam walked in, Doctor Sanchez was waiting in front of his tidied desk, ready to greet him and help him in any way possible.
• • •
Paula realized as she took out her phone that she did not have Doctor Sanchez’s personal number. Somehow, they had never managed to text or call, despite having gone on multiple dates. She wasn’t sure if she could email him from the address at his site, using an official address for something personal.
Well, she thought to herself, exiting through the automatic doors of Lindsay Corps skyscraper, trying not to bounce on her toes, I can visit him at his office, catch him there.
The idea of a surprise visit made her slightly giddy, and she let the lilt in her walk happen, even high-fiving the valet who brought her car to the front of the building. Playing an audiobook on her stereo in the car, her attention was less towards the narrator and more towards the man she was going to meet. She would be going soon, but for now, she lived in the present, pulling up to the Millwork building.
She caught Jose just as he was exiting his office, his suit jacket in hand with the sleeves of his purple and white pinstriped shirt rolled up to his elbows.
“Oh, Ms. Lindsay,” he said, eyes widening before his lips did the same. “What brings you here?” Inside, he prepared himself to get her number at last.
“I was hoping you had some time for dinner?” Paula began, twisting the sleeve of her coat. “I’m sorry if it’s too sudden. I would have texted you, but I didn’t have your personal number.”
Ah, leave it to this beautiful woman to solve his problem for him. Jose chuckled, sliding out his own phone and handing it to her. “Just dial your digits through this.” It was a smooth maneuver, at least for him. Paula sent a quick message to her own number before returning his phone. “Done. So, what do you want tonight?”
“You.” The single word instantly made Paula’s heartbeat increase in speed. “And some Pizza. I know a good place.” Jose followed up, as if oblivious to his words.
“Then I’ll drive us this time.” Paula matched his step. “Unless you want us to drive both our cars individually.” She dangled her black key fob, shaped like a miniature tesla.
“That would be wasteful indeed. So, you’re going to drop me off at my place as well?” Jose made sure to sound casual. It was an excellent idea to let her drive him, leaving to her discretion whether she would want to spend the night at his place at the end of their date or not.
“Sounds like a plan,” Paula agreed, internally wondering how she would break the news of leaving the country, just a few weeks after they had begun dating.
Following Jose’s instructions, they arrived at SottoCasa Pizzeria. The fact that they were entering a distinctly Italian place was not lost on Paula, as they stepped into the warmly lit, air-conditioned restaurant and took their seats at a wooden table.
The place had a lively ambiance, filled with families and couples alike, yet a waitress walked up to them with nary any time to wait, proving the service to be fast. They ordered one of their Pizze Bianche, the “Aglio, Olio” with mozzarella, ricotta, garlic, hot chili flakes, and basil. Instead of sampling any of the beautiful Italian wines the eatery had, Paula ordered water.
She didn’t want a repeat of her drunkenness in front of Jose again.
“I’ll have water too,” he told the waitress as Paula raised an eyebrow at him. “Wouldn’t do to enjoy myself while the lady has a plain beverage,” he said as the waitress left, oblivious of the look she shot him, eyes affixed on Paula.
“I have to drive. You could have gotten a beer or something.” It would have helped him the bomb she was about to drop tonight. “So, how have you been?”
“Honestly? Bored.” Jose steepled his fingers, placing his elbows on the table. “No other case is as fascinating as yours, and nor is anyone else’s company so enchanting. I like helping everyone who comes to me, but some people are just different, wouldn’t you say?”
“I would say that you really know how to flatter a woman,” Paula felt the butterflies in her stomach at his smooth tone and maintained eye contact.
“Which brings us to the good old question of, is it really flattery if it is true?” Jose retorted, and they devolved into light banter until their 11-inch pizza was served, already quartered.
Paula liked the way Jose commented on everything, showcasing his knowledge from his long list of travels, picking up the taste of organically grown Italian tomatoes from the sauce, the texture of the dough belying a wooden oven, the type of wood used to construct the floorboard instead of lacquer.
As the evening neared its end, the two walked outside, their hands connected, and feet stalling.
“I have something to tell you,” Paula nearly whispered, but her heart was steady.
“What is it?” Jose asked, looking in her eyes, giving a small smile. He had an idea of what type of thing Paula wanted to say, if not exactly what she was going to say.
“I’m going to Italy,” Paula said, her tone laced with confidence. She did not ask his permission; did not ask for his advice. She was simply telling him.
“Oh,” Jose said, observing. It was easy to read the atmosphere, from the tone of her voice to the language of her body using years of practice as a psychologist. She intended to do this alone, whatever she was going to. Jose cocked a small smile. “When will you be back?”
Paula stared. “That’s it? Don’t you have any questions?” She would have expected any other man to protest, to try and stop her, or accompany her if he could, all of the things she knew Jose was capable of.
But Jose didn’t, because he was just not some other man. He simply pulled her closer, lips near her ears. “I believe in you. You will be back, no?”
She nodded, still surprised by the turn of events, before giving a little surprise of her own, turning her face to lightly press her lips against his. “I will. I promise.
2.
Old Waters
The millionaire had booked red-eye for Megan and herself in business class, taking off from JFK airport to Ciampino on a Thursday, set to arrive on Friday morning. Usually, she would schedule her vacations well in advance to book an early ticket, saving even more on her travel expenses. While a fan of getting as much bang for her buck as she could, time was the most significant currency she had.
Saving a few weeks to travel on business class was worth its weight in gold to her due to her burning curiosity.
The Boeing departed at 1:20AM for their eight-hour flight to Rome. While the mafia was associated with Sicily, Paula was in s
earch of the man called Bianchi, her grandfather, if he was still alive. Lazio was the region where her father hailed from, and the capital city of Rome was where Megan and Andrew had spent their childhood days, before being brought to the States.
On their flight, Megan told her about the game she and Anthony played, how they had never actually attended an Italian school but were tutored by an instructor her father used to hire.
“I have not asked you yet, are you still fluent in Italian?” Paula questioned, reclining in the extendable chair of their Etihad Business cabin, covered under a white and blue striped blanket with a matching pillow.
The whole cabin was lit in soft, yellow tones to help other passengers sleep, but out of excitement, the aunt and her niece were awake, whispering quietly to not disturb anyone else. Outside the window, wisps of clouds extended outwards like a carpet, with stars shining blue, gold and white in the cosmos above.
“I don’t think so,” Megan admitted, slightly blushing. “Growing up in America didn’t require me to keep my Italian game up. I’ll be able to get by, what about you?”
Paula was a polyglot, with her father hiring language teachers for her when she was still young with a tactile mind and developing memory. Looking back, she now found it strange that while she could communicate in French, Spanish, and even Chinese, the subject of learning Italian as a language was never brought up.
They had never even gone to Italy on vacations when her family was still alive; but Paula had not been inclined to do so either, more fascinated by places like Disneyland, Hollywood, and Paris and the like. Italy to her had just been another country she could have visited anytime she wanted, a piece of cake when her father would still be alive to handle the affairs of the corporation.
“I think we’ll have enough time to pick up some Italian anyways,” Paula proposed, “I already picked up some basics from YouTube, the rest I’ll learn in Rome.”
An accelerated way to learn anything was to get a handle on the basics and then just jump right into its application, much superior to flashcards of language learning apps that just gave you some words at a time to memorize. From her experiences, Paula knew that talking to people of another language made them excited to teach you, no matter how bad your own skills were, and the memories formed during that time were stored more readily than any instance of learning from a book.
“W-well, I suppose we can visit the streets,” Megan tried not to let her paranoia show on her face. Paula made a noise of agreement before turning to her side.
One of the most critical skills Paula had learned during her university years at Harvard Business School was sleeping on command. It came in handy whenever she required a quick respite, allowing her to set the alarm and then drifting off to Lalaland for some quick Zs, making her fresh for exams and presentations. It also helped her to rest when she couldn’t sleep due to her nightmares, forcing her to grab an iota of sleep needed to function like a normal human being.
Controlling her breathing, Paula pulled her sleeping mask over her eyes, inhaling for seven seconds, holding her breath for five, and then exhaling slowly for another eight seconds. It was an exercise to reduce one’s heart rate and even helped with nervousness and anxiety. With each cycle, she grew sleepier, emptying her mind of all random thoughts as she meditated herself to sleep.
Megan watched as Paula’s breathing evened out. Unlike her niece, she did not have the discipline to put herself to sleep just like that. Hell, had her aunt any firm control of herself wouldn’t have turned to drugs in the first place. Sighing, she reached out with her frail hand, lightly stroking Paula’s hair. “It will be alright, darling,” she whispered, praying that she would see no nightmares. “It will be just fine.”
Meanwhile, Paula had drifted into the same dream again, at peace with Jose on an airplane, riding first class. She felt lucid, exerting her power over the dream realm, and trying to move. The cabin always went up in flames at the end of her particular dream, with Paula being unable to alter its course. Was this a future bound to be unchanged even if she conquered her demons? Looking at Jose’s handsome face, smiling as he gazed at her with adoration, Paula wondered if they could live without ever going on a flight together.
No, Paula decided, determination rising within her. That was a coward way of life. That was settling, and Paula Lindsay never settled for anything less than she imagined she could have.
“I will keep this dream, and I will change the ending,” she said to herself. Her own self was in black and white compared to everything around her. Willing herself, she activated her Osprey Vision, looking around the cabin. The explosion that occurred at the end of this dream would be coming from the entrance of the cabin, and then lead out towards the interior of the airplane.
As floating along the narrow strip between the seats, she noticed her own body, this time in color, seated next to Jose. Paula had never seen her own self in a dream before.
Was this a prophecy of her own death? She wondered, heart, hammering in her throat. “Focus, I need to focus,” she snapped at herself.
Everyone was absorbed in their own tasks, as expected. Paula tried harder, trying to go from one passenger suite to the next, trying to find anything out of the ordinary on the flight. She could have written off the fire as a malfunction, but the voice she had heard last time made her think that was not the case. Was there someone who was tasked with bringing down the plane on a suicide mission, explicitly targeting her?
As Paula considered this, she felt a flash of black and white against the royal red colors of the cabin in the corner of her Osprey Vision. Trying to turn around to focus on it, she found that she was unable. This frustrated her; it was her dream realm; she should be able to manipulate it as she wished...maybe that was precisely the problem! Everything not belonging in the events of her dream lacked color, such as Jose when he guided her during their sessions, as such as this entity, which made her unable to control her reality.
“You might be wondering why you can’t move,” a smooth tenor interrupted Paula’s thoughts, jarring her. “After all, this is your universe, the creation of your puny mind, your dream.” The voice was dripping with sarcasm, mocking her.
“Who are you?!” Paula demanded, “And what do you want from me?”
“What I want?” The voice sounded thoughtful before returning to its sarcastic tone. “Paula Lindsay...or should I say, Paula Bianchi.”
She froze, her blood turning to ice inside her veins at the mention of that name. “How do you know that name? Answer me!” She began to develop a migraine, a pain like a knife sliding into her skull, searing through her mind. Even then, Paula kept trying to take hold of her dream realm to catch a glimpse of this intruder who knew about her father’s past.
“And just why should I tell you that, princess?” he continued his mockery. “Then how will you get your satisfaction of unraveling this mystery? You want to have your cake and eat it too? Too bad.” His volume dropped several notches towards the end until his voice became a hissing whisper, “You’re not the only one who is special in this world.”
Whoever this person was, he was already on her shit-list. Now more than ever, Paula wished she knew just how her power worked. “I will find you, I swear, whoever you are.”
The air around her rippled, and Paula suddenly found her Osprey Vision working again. Quickly, she moved to see where the intruder had been standing, only to find nothing there except an empty seat. There was no sign of the speaker of that dark, sardonic voice.
“Damn it!” she vented, feeling scared and frustrated, her least favorite combination. Within moments, there was a familiar sound, and Paula gritted her teeth, knowing what was coming next. Flames, followed by total darkness.
Her eyes fluttered under her blackout sleeping mask, and her hands curled into fists. And like that, Paula Lindsay awoke from another failed dream, unable to change its course. The feeling of her
aunt’s hand touching her forearm gave her a little comfort, but the young woman still felt a little fear, adrenaline fading from her system.
Rather than regretting something she couldn’t control at this point in time, Paula simply closed her eyes and meditated for the remainder of her flight.
• • •
Their flight landed at Aeroporto Leonardo da Vinci around at 9:35AM. Paula shook off jetlag quickly, being a more frequent flier than her aunt. Megan, on the other hand, woke up groggy and peculiarly drained.
“Ughh, how much longer until we can get to the hotel?”
“Not much aunty, just hang in there.”
“Why do I feel so tired even though I slept on the plane?” Megan complained, and Paula could only shake her head. “It’s just the way it works Aunt Meg.”
After acquiring their luggage, the pair made a beeline for their pre-arranged taxi, which took them straight to Hotel Artemide. It was a four-story hotel, located at a walking distance from Roma Temimi station, and ranked at four stars. Paula’s reason for booking the deluxe rooms at this particular hotel was simple; she was one of its shareholders. Despite not visiting Italy, Andrew Lindsay had his fingers in many pies of the country, owning shares in Hotel Dioclezanio as well, which were inherited by Paula.
Upon noticing who she was as they checked in at the hotel entrance, the staff became even more attentive to ‘Ms. Lindsay’. Others might have found the behavior superficial, but Paula knew that these people were just trying to do their jobs even more efficiently. Having witnessed some legendary tempers and snootiness of the high-strung rich back in New York, she couldn’t blame them.
The Family Secret Page 12
