I watch him sleep, admiring his chiseled features and calming aura, when out of nowhere waves of humiliation wash over me. In the span of less than twenty-four hours, I showed this complete stranger every last one of my true colors, and I’m quite certain that any minute now, he’s going to wake up and bask in the very same awkwardness that’s consuming me in this moment.
Reaching toward the nightstand, I grip the alarm clock and turn it to face me. It’s a quarter after seven. There’s a rental car company down the street that opens at seven-thirty. Gently pulling the covers off my legs, I slide out of the bed, one foot at a time, and tiptoe to the bathroom to wash up, stopping to grab some clothes from my suitcase on the way.
I take my phone with me so I can call the company the second they open. With all these stranded travelers, I can imagine business is booming, and I don’t want to be stuck without a way home.
Staring at my reflection, I chuckle to myself when I see how swollen my lips are. My jaw hurts too. Cristiano kissed me so good and so hard last night. There were times my self-control wavered, and my mind teetered while I was on the verge of ripping off my clothes, climbing on top of him, and commanding him to do with me what he pleased because any man who can kiss like that is probably amazing at all those other things too.
But I had the good sense to stop myself because there’s a difference between priceless and reckless.
I never went there.
And he never tried.
Cristiano was the perfect gentleman, and oddly enough, it wound up being the perfect way to ring in the new year, all things considered.
Slipping into a pair of worn-in jeans and a vintage Dior t-shirt I bought from a Paris flea market a couple years ago, I give myself a once-over in the mirror and finger comb my hair into a messy top knot.
The second the clock hits seven-thirty, I’m making my phone call, packing my bags, and setting my sights on the eastern horizon. It’s going to be me and several thousand miles of open road, and I’m kind of excited.
I take a seat on the edge of the bathtub, phone in hand, and dial the rental company a few minutes later.
The line is busy.
Hanging up, I immediately try again.
And again.
And yet again.
For fifteen minutes straight, I try them, and for fifteen minutes straight, the line is busy.
A sick swirl in the depths of my belly threatens to give me a minor panic attack. I can’t stay here another day. I can’t hang out and do nothing. All I want is to leave this hotel, avoid any awkward exchanges with Cristiano, and forge ahead on my journey.
Pulling in a deep breath, I try again.
This time it rings.
With my heart beating in my ears and my grip tight around my phone case, I hold my breath until someone answers.
“Goodman Rental Services. This is Tanya. How may I help you?” the voice of an angel asks.
“Yes,” I say, releasing the breath I’d held far too long. “I’d like to rent a car as soon as possible.”
She’s quiet, but I’m hopeful. The clicking of keyboard keys in the background and the endless seconds that tick by threaten to steal my optimism.
“Okay,” she says, her voice void of any chipper qualities. “We have two cars left.”
“Oh, thank god.”
“A fifteen passenger van,” she says. “And an economy car.”
“I’ll take the economy car. Do you deliver?”
“We do.”
“How soon could you have it here? I’m at the Blue Star Hotel on Sierra Vista Parkway.”
Her end of the phone is muffled briefly, like she’s talking to someone else, and when she returns, she says, “Our morning is full. We could have it to you by one p.m. if that would work?”
“You’re right up the road from my hotel, right?” I ask. “I could just walk there.”
“No, sweetheart,” she says, “this is the Chase Boulevard location. The Sierra Vista location closed last year. We’re about ten miles from you.”
My heart sinks, but my determination is unbreakable. “Is there any way to get it sooner?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I’ll pay extra.”
“It doesn’t work that way. I’m so sorry.”
“My sister is about to have a baby,” I say, injecting some genuine desperation into my tone, “and I’m trying to get home. Every hour counts.”
Part of me thinks I should hang up with Tanya, call another rental agency, and try to secure a different car, but if Goodman only had two cars left in their fleet and there are hundreds if not thousands of stranded travelers in Seaview, I might be shooting myself in the foot by letting this one go.
Tanya sighs, her end of the line keeping silent for far too long.
“I have a soft spot for babies,” she says, her voice muted and muffled like she’s talking from the corner of her mouth. “Just had a baby girl eight weeks ago.”
“Congratulations,” I say.
“It’s your sister, you say?”
“Yes. My twin sister.”
Tanya clicks her keyboard in the background. “All right. I moved some things around. Your car should be arriving by eight fifteen. It’s a navy blue Toyota.”
“Thank you!” It’s all I can do to keep from squealing, and if I could reach through the phone and hug her, I would.
“All right, now I just need your credit card,” she says.
I rattle off the numbers and Tanya responds shortly after with a confirmation number. I’ll be paying a premium for this rental since it’s a one-way trip and I won’t be returning it to this agency, but I can deal with that. By the time I hang up, it’s almost eight, and my car will be delivered in fifteen minutes.
Creeping out of the bathroom, I try to re-pack my bag as quietly as possible. Cristiano’s buried under a mountain of covers now, breathing hard and rolling from his left side to his right.
From the corner of my eye, I spot him reach his hand toward the empty side of the bed, and I watch as his brows meet and his face winces.
Pulling the zipper slowly around my suitcase, I hoist it off the luggage rack and onto the carpet just as he sits up.
“Daphne?” He reaches for the lamp above the nightstand and clicks it on. “Where are you going?”
His hair is sticking up on the side, but it’s equal parts sexy and adorable. My gaze lingers on his lips a second too long, and in that second, I can almost remember what it felt like to kiss him. It’s like he’s kissing me all over again, and it’s just as delicious as it was the night before. There’s a swirling, tickling sensation in the center of my belly, but I force it away. It has no business being there.
“My car is being delivered. I have to head downstairs. Just check out by eleven, okay?” I force a smile and grip the handle of my luggage.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He flings the covers off and rises, hands resting on his hips and lips pursed. “You’re serious about this road trip thing?”
I nod. “Of course. I’m going home. I told you, I can’t sit around and wait all week for a flight. I’ll be home in three days.”
“No,” he says, stepping toward me. He’s standing in front of me now, shirtless and in a pair of pajama pants. He must have changed sometime after I fell asleep last night. “I can’t let you do this.”
Laughing at his audacity, I say, “Yeah, well, I can’t let you stop me.”
He reaches for me, his hand landing on my arm and his fist curling around my flesh. I don’t particularly enjoy the feeling of being anchored, so I jerk myself away.
“I know you want to get home,” he says, “but I’m telling you, this is not the solution.”
“And I’m telling you, I’m going to be home in three days.”
He shakes his head, his lips pressing flat. “You can’t drive thirteen, fourteen, fifteen hours a day for three straight days.”
“Says who? Says you?” I pull my bag toward the door and he follows, arms crossed.
Stopping, I turn to face him. “No, you’re not.”
“I am. I’m coming with you because you can’t do this alone. It’s not safe. You could fall asleep and cause an accident. You could get carjacked. You could break down on the side of the road on a deserted highway.”
My amusement fades as I watch him pulling clothes from his bag. A shirt falls out and he stuffs it back in.
He’s serious about this.
I check the time on my phone. “I’m doing this. And my car’s almost here, so . . .”
“Wait,” he says. “I’m almost done.”
Cristiano tucks a wad of clothes under his arm and heads back to the bathroom, only closing the door halfway. When he emerges a minute later, he’s dressed in pale jeans and a navy polo and his hair is wet and neatly combed. He shoves the rest of his things into his suitcase and makes his way toward the door.
“You’re insane,” I tell him. “You’re not even complex, you’re certifiably insane.”
He takes my bag and we head to the elevator.
I can’t believe this is happening. Surely he’ll change his mind once he wakes up a bit more and comes to his senses.
As soon as we’re deposited on the main floor, I pull him aside. Standing next to a potted palm, I look him square in the eyes and simply state, “You can’t come with me.”
Balking, he takes a step back. “Why not?”
“I don’t want you to.”
His brows meet, forming a line between them. “I don’t care what you want. You’re clearly not thinking straight. It’s a matter of safety.”
I shake my head, placing my hand on his chest. “I really don’t want you to come. This isn’t a joke. Or a game. I’m not kidding. I don’t want you to come with me.”
“I can’t let you drive damn near three thousand miles in three days. Do you realize how completely crazy that is?” He seems genuinely concerned for me. “I can’t let you get in that car by yourself. You need a driving partner. We could drive three thousand miles together. But you sure as hell can’t do it by yourself.”
His staunch declaration serves as a challenge, making me want to prove him wrong, but I know in the end, proving him wrong is pointless because I’m never going to see him again. I also know that he has a point. An image of myself stranded in the desert, my engine steaming and some kind of predatory bird circling overhead comes to mind. Plus, I can’t deny the fact that it’d be nice to have someone to share the driving with.
“Fine.” I place a hand on my hip after giving it some careful consideration, but I may as well be waving a white flag. “You can come with me. But I have some rules.”
“Okay.” He lifts a brow.
“I’m the pilot. You’re the co-pilot. I call the shots. I make the final decisions. You’re not allowed to backseat drive, and the driver controls the radio.”
“Fine.”
Heading to the desk, I check out of the Diamond Suite and turn to see a shiny, tiny Toyota parked in the drop-off lane.
“That’s us.” I exhale as he grabs our bags and wheels them past the sliding doors.
An attendant from Goodman rental agency stands beside the trunk, greeting me with a pen and a stack of paperwork. When I’m through signing my life away, he climbs into another car with a similarly-dressed man, and they speed away.
Glancing at Cristiano, I find a puzzled look on his face. His forehead is wrinkled and his hands rest on his narrow hips.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“It’s a small car.” He states the obvious. And then I glance at his long legs. Forty-plus hours in that chicken-nugget-on-wheels with his long gams isn’t going to be fun, but I refuse to pity him because this is exactly what he wanted. What he all but begged for.
“It’s all they had left. You coming or what?” I wave to get his attention.
Pressing the trunk release button, I stand back as he hoists our bags in. They fit side by side, leaving little room for anything else. Climbing in the passenger seat a moment later, he scoots it all the way back. Still, his seat fully configured, his knees are a couple of short inches from the dash.
I take the driver’s seat and stick the key in the ignition and turn to accessory mode. The dash lights up and the air begins to blow, pointed at our faces. With my foot on the brake, I start the engine, buckle my belt, and turn to him.
“You said you have a wedding in Jersey, right?” I ask.
He nods.
“I’m going to New York,” I say. “Upstate.”
“If you can get me as far as Scranton, I can get a ride from there.”
Nodding, I pull up the GPS on my phone and plug in Scranton, Pennsylvania as our destination. The automated voice tells me to drive fifty feet to Sierra Vista and turn right. The interstate is ahead on the left, and I can spot the shiny sign from here.
“I need to call my sister first.” Swiping my phone out of a cup holder, I pull up Delilah’s number and press the green button.
“What’s up?” she answers on the second ring.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, pulling out of the parking lot.
“About ripe for the picking. Where are you?”
“I’m on the road . . . heading east . . .”
“I can’t believe you’re really going through with this. I thought you were joking yesterday. You’re clinically insane,” she says. “And I diagnose people for a living, so I’m certified to make that judgment call.”
Rolling my eyes, I flick my blinker on and merge onto the eastbound interstate. Traffic is light this morning, then again it’s a Wednesday. And a holiday. The rest of the world is hung over, sleeping in, or lounging in pajamas in the comfort of their home.
“If all goes as planned, I’ll be home by Friday night,” I say.
“Don’t you think that’s pushing it a little? Maybe shoot for Saturday? I don’t want you doing all that driving in such a short amount of time,” she says, sounding once again like our mother.
“It’s fine,” I say. “I found myself a co-pilot.”
She’s quiet, just like I knew she’d be when I dropped this bombshell in her lap. I can only pray this doesn’t make her go into labor. It’d completely defeat the purpose of this entire endeavor.
“Daphne,” she says, voice low. “Is someone in the car with you right now?”
“Mm hm,” I say, lips pressed into a closed smile.
“Daph-ne,” she says, her voice staccato.
“De-li-lah.”
From the corner of my eyes, I notice Cristiano’s watching, his lips painted in a smirk like he knows where this conversation is headed.
“What’s his name?” my sister asks.
“Cristiano,” I say, meeting his gaze.
“I want to talk to him. Put me on speaker,” she says.
I press the phone against my chest first and turn to him. “She wants to talk to you.”
I put her on speaker and hand him my phone.
“Hi, Delilah,” he says. “I’m Cristiano, and I’ll be escorting your sister across the country.”
“Hi, Cristiano,” she says. “I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a few questions.”
“Not at all.”
“What’s your last name?” she asks.
“Amato.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Any brothers or sisters?” she asks.
“Four brothers.”
“Names?”
“Alessio, Matteo, Dante, and Fabrizio,” he says.
“And where do you fall in that line up? Oldest, youngest? Middle?” she asks.
Oh, god. She’s psychoanalyzing him. I should’ve known this is exactly what my sister would do.
“Second to the youngest,” he says. “I’m number four.”
“Would you say you’re inclined to have middle-child tendencies?” she asks. “Would your family say you’re the ‘peacemaker’ of the bunch?”
&n
bsp; He laughs, and I kind of love that he’s humoring her. “Yeah, sure. I just like to have a good time. I don’t get caught up in drama. I don’t take sides. I’m pretty peaceful.”
“Would you say you have realistic expectations in life?” she asks. “Would you say you’re used to sharing the spotlight? And you handle disappointment well?”
“Yes.” His tone is serious, but he flashes an amused smirk my way. “Yes to all of that.”
“Good, good,” she says, her voice growing distant. I can imagine her sitting there, a pen and notebook in her lap as she takes notes. “Would you say you had a fairly typical childhood?”
“Not at all,” he says.
Delilah’s end is silent. I know my sister, and I know she wants to dig deeper. If there’s anything to be uncovered about anyone, Delilah can’t help herself. Like our father always said, it’s just how she was built. She practically came off the assembly line curious about anyone and everyone and what made them tick.
She clears her throat. “Where did you attend college, Cristiano? And what did you study?”
“I attended a private college in Massachusetts,” he says, “on a full scholarship. Pre-law. Actually finished law school last year, but I never sat for the bar exam.”
“And why was that?”
“I wanted to explore the world instead. I didn’t want to feel stuck in one place, working long hours with no life outside the office,” he answers. I’m sure my sister is eating this up right now, the wheels in her head spinning faster than her questions can keep up with.
“Delilah, enough,” I say. “I said you could talk to him. I didn’t say you could do a full psychological evaluation.”
“I just have a few more questions and then I’m done,” she says, speaking more like a professional than a sister.
“No,” I say.
“Yes,” she says, harder.
“De-li-lah.” I reach for the phone and Cristiano hands it over. “I love you, and I’ll call you tonight when we find a hotel. Bye.”
Hanging up, I stick my phone in a cup holder and grip the steering wheel, eyes on the road.
“I’m not going to apologize for her,” I say. “You signed up for this when you hopped in my car. She has every right to worry about me traveling across the country with a complete stranger.”
Priceless (An Amato Brothers/Rixton Falls crossover) Page 6
