by Sofia Tate
I can see her swallow in her throat. “It’s no big deal, Davison. Apparently, Matteo works as her assistant for the summer.”
“And you don’t think it’s a coincidence that he just happened to be there?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Allegra! Don’t be so fucking naïve! She probably told her sister about you coming there, and she just happens to be his mother, and she passed that news on to him. And now I have to worry about him trying to get into your pants! Do you have any idea how much I’d rather it was me there with you than him? This is just great.”
I watch as she throws on the sweatshirt, the mood now completely lost. “Christ, Davison! What do you take me for? Of course I have an idea about that, because I have the exact same one! I love you! And he’s afraid of commitment. Remember I told you that?”
“Yeah, I remember, but it’s been what? Three years since you last saw him? A lot can happen in that time.”
“We’re just friends,” she sighs.
“You might believe that, but I seriously doubt that he does.”
“Don’t you trust me?” she demands, her eyes blazing with fury at me.
I can’t believe this.
“Of course I trust you!” I snap at her. “It’s him I don’t trust.”
“Well, right now, that’s not exactly the vibe I’m getting from you, and it’s pissing me off. So, thanks for ruining our night, Davison. I’ll talk to you later.”
Before I can stop her, she hangs up. When I call her back, she ignores me.
“Fuck!”
Great. Just fucking great. This is all I need.
I jump off the bed and head straight into the shower to try and calm myself down. As I wash off, I spot her coconut shampoo. I grab it and slam it to the floor, watching as the bottle pops open and the sweet-smelling fluid pours into the drain.
“Goddamn it!” I shout, my voice bouncing off the tiled walls.
I leave the bottle where it is when I finish, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my waist. I storm into the bedroom and snatch my phone from my bed. I scroll through it in search of my pilot’s number. I don’t see it and hurl my phone across the room, landing with a thud on the carpet.
“Motherfucker!”
I drop to my bed, my heart pounding against my chest. I shut my eyes tightly and take a deep breath.
Trust her, you dick. She’s got this. And she fucking loves you.
With a sigh, I stand up and pad into the kitchen. I reach for the bottle of Jameson in my liquor cabinet, filling a tumbler with three fingers’ worth of the amber liquid. I bring the glass with me into the living room, where I collapse on the couch and let the whiskey course through my system, burning my throat, allowing it to dull my senses and deaden the pain of my love being so damn far away from me, with her ex-boyfriend under the same roof as her and undoubtedly prepared to take back what he lost all those years ago.
* * *
Allegra
Staring into the bathroom mirror the next morning, a pair of bloodshot eyes and dark circles are looking back at me. I’m still wearing the Harvard sweatshirt I swiped from Davison’s closet before I left, and my hair looks like a damn bird’s nest.
I barely slept at all last night. I know Davison is worried about me, and he trusts me implicitly. I try to rationalize the reasons for him becoming upset last night, everything from telling him that my ex-boyfriend showed up unexpectedly to the glaring fact that he can’t do anything about it. Basically, these things are out of his control, and it’s driving him mad.
The more I think about it, all of those reasons can apply to me as well.
We’re angry for the same reasons. And in some bizarre way, that brings me comfort.
For the first time since I hung up on him, I take a deep cleansing breath, reminding myself about my phone appointment with Dr. Turner later in the afternoon. We’ve arranged to keep our sessions going while I’m in Italy.
First, my ex-boyfriend shows up, then I have an argument with Davison about trust.
Dr. Turner is going to have a field day.
Before I can reach for my toothbrush, I hear someone knocking on the door of my suite.
When I open it, Matteo’s tall form is standing in the doorway, dressed in a black V-neck T-shirt with the same jeans and shoes he was wearing yesterday when I first saw him.
Shit. I can’t handle seeing anyone now, let alone my ex-boyfriend, who seems to have appeared out of nowhere.
“Morning,” he says with a bit more enthusiasm than I would prefer after such a crap night. “Geez, you look like hell.”
“I didn’t sleep well,” I tell him, not bothering to mask my displeasure at his comment.
“I thought we could have breakfast in the solarium this morning. You know, catch up before you have your morning session with my aunt.”
At first, I want to decline his invitation, but knowing what I have to face this morning thanks to Matteo’s reminder, I decide I need something in my stomach and a strong cup of cappuccino to wake me up.
“Sure. Just give me a minute.”
I slip into my flip-flops and quickly brush my hair. Deciding I look decent in my sweatshirt and sweatpants, I open the door again to a smiling Matteo. He runs a hand through his long, dark hair. “Ready?”
I grunt in reply at his question, causing him to laugh out loud, which irritates the hell out of me.
We walk silently along the marble corridor to the solarium on the edge of the wing where La Diva’s apprentices stay. Her entire villa is a vision of opulence from the materials that were used to build and furnish it, such as the Carrara marble and stained glass windows to the Persian carpets and Murano chandeliers. I wouldn’t have expected anything less from a woman of her fame and fortune. Even after a week of being here, I’m still intimidated by the luxury of it all, and I doubt that feeling will pass.
The sun is shining brilliantly when I walk into the glassed-in space, wishing I’d brought my sunglasses to shield my eyes. The table I usually sit at by myself for breakfast is set for two today. The food warmers on a side table are already set up. This morning, I decide I need protein and carbs to fill me up, so I settle on scrambled eggs, buttered toast, a small glass of orange juice, and a steaming cup of cappuccino. Matteo settles on oatmeal with bananas, and we tuck into our food simultaneously.
Matteo is first to break the silence between us. “So…”
“What?”
“You sing opera now, huh?”
I roll my eyes, so not in the mood for playing catch-up this morning, my mind still on my argument with Davison. “That’s stating the obvious. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“Wow. Sorry, just trying to make conversation,” he says in apology.
I take a deep breath.
Suck it up. He’s just trying to be nice.
“I’m sorry. Seeing you after so long came as a shock to me, and last night I had an argument with someone.”
“No problem,” he says with a slight smile. “How have you been? How’s your father? Still running the butcher shop?”
“Yeah. I’ve been good. He still has the shop. I graduated from the Gotham Conservatory, and then thanks to my professor, your aunt offered me the apprenticeship. What about you?”
He swallows a spoonful of oatmeal before answering. “After we graduated, I couldn’t decide on what I wanted to do with my life. I dabbled in a bunch of stuff, from being an assistant in an art gallery to working in a vintage record store. But in the fall, I’m going to Pratt in Brooklyn for a master’s degree in digital arts.”
“Oh, that sounds cool. How’s your family?”
“Crazy as ever,” he smiles. “We still live in Brooklyn.”
“Near Coney Island?”
He smiles. “Yeah. Some of the best times I’ve ever had in my life were on the Cyclone with you when you held on to my hand so tight that it practically lost circulation.”
I smile. “I remember. I was screami
ng at the top of my lungs.”
“Blowing out my eardrum in the process.”
Suddenly, a thought crosses my mind. “Wait, I’m curious. Why haven’t I seen you since I’ve been here?”
“I was in Milan working on some business matters for my aunt. I’ve been going back and forth between here and the city.”
As I take a sip of my coffee, something Davison mentioned when we were arguing last night pops into my head.
“So, do you work for your aunt every summer?”
“I did for a while after we graduated because my mom made me, mostly because she thought I needed something stable. I wasn’t going to this summer since I told her I got into Pratt, but when she told me you were going to be Zia Ginevra’s apprentice, I knew I couldn’t say no to my aunt.”
I shut my eyes and take a deep breath.
Damn it. Davison was right.
The feel of a warm, heavy hand on mine makes me snap my eyes open. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks, a worried look in his eyes.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
The speed of his question after my reply takes me aback. I swiftly pull my hand away from his. “Wow. Blunt much?”
“Just curious,” he replies casually, but the way his eyes are staring back at me, unwavering, waiting for my answer, he’s dead serious.
“I am. We’ve been dating since November.”
“What’s he like?”
“Davison works for his family’s company on Wall Street,” I reply.
“Sounds rich.”
“He does have money, but it’s not why I’m with him. We just…fit, you know?” I smile as I think of my Harvard.
“Good. I’m glad.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Would you like to have dinner tonight to catch up some more?”
I sigh. “Sure, that’d be fine.”
“I’ll come by around seven.”
“Works for me.” I glance at the small gold clock on the side table. “I’d better go get ready for my session. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Great. I look forward to it.”
Once I’m dressed to meet La Diva, I sit down on my bed for a minute before I head out, shut my eyes, and think of my breakfast with Matteo and how different Davison is from him. Everything about Davison—his confidence, his constancy, his strength, and most of all, his devotion to me, makes me grateful for all of it, for all of him. And even if he would be upset knowing I’m having dinner with Matteo, nothing will happen with him because I love Davison. I smile recalling what I told Matteo because it’s true. Davison and I just fit.
Chapter Ten
Davison
In the past twenty-one hours, I’ve learned more about my girlfriend than I knew before—Allegra Orsini really is the most stubborn woman I’ve ever known. I even used Google Translate to find out how to say that in Italian: “La mia ragazza è la persona più testarda che ho conosciuto.”
She refuses to reply to any of my e-mails or texts, and my Skype calls are going straight to voice mail.
I’m past the point of being pissed off.
I’m fucking livid.
I glance at my watch, realizing it’s past two o’clock and I totally forgot to eat lunch.
I’m working from home today because I can’t deal with any bullshit from my executives. I need peace and quiet.
Suddenly, the security phone next to my elevator buzzes.
Spoke too soon.
I put my laptop aside and pad over to it.
The voice of the doorman on duty comes over the line. “Sir, Miss Canterbury is here to see you. She says it’s urgent.”
Fuck. What does she want now?
“It usually is.” I sigh. “Fine, send her up.”
A minute later, the ding of the elevator announces her arrival, as does the noxious perfume I always hated on her.
“What do you want, Ashton? I’m busy.” I can’t help but be terse with her. She doesn’t deserve any better, really.
But now that I’m studying her more closely, I realize something’s off. Her hair is pushed back with a headband, and she’s wearing sweats. If I learned anything from dating her, it’s that she never wears sweats in public, even if they are cashmere. And even more, her hands are trembling and she looks pale.
For as long as I’ve known her, I’ve never once seen her like this. Vulnerable and scared. She keeps clasping and unclasping her hands from what I can only assume is nervousness.
I take a deep breath to calm myself down. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
“You know I wouldn’t have come here if it weren’t something important. It’s just that…I got a strange phone call.”
“About what?”
“Someone told me to tell my father to think twice.”
Shit.
My pulse starts to quicken.
She takes a step closer to me. “You know something, don’t you? I can tell from the look on your face.”
My mind begins racing as I recall the phone conversation my father was having when I walked into his office. “I got the same phone call. Then I went to see my father about it, and I think he was on the phone with your dad, because I heard him say ‘Mal.’”
“Malcolm…” she says, whispering her father’s full name. “What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know,” I reply to her, shaking my head. “Did you ask him about it?”
“Yeah, and he completely evaded my question.”
I take a breath. “Okay, if anything else happens, I want you to let me know.”
“Do you think they’re up to something?” she asks worriedly.
“I have no idea. But I’m going to find out.” I hear the beep of an incoming text on my phone. “I should get that.”
“Of course. Please keep me posted,” she asks.
“I will.”
She reaches for my arm, gripping it while looking at me sincerely. “Thank you, Davison.”
I nod at her and watch as she steps into the elevator, the doors slamming firmly behind her.
I step back into the living room and reach for my cell phone on the coffee table.
I unlock the phone and read the text.
I purse my lips together, gritting my teeth. My fingers start flying over the screen.
I wait for the beep after I hear my father’s voice telling me to leave a message.
“Dad, Ashton was just at my apartment and she’s scared shitless over whatever it is you and Malcolm are involved in. You’d better straighten this shit out because it’s not just threatening me but her as well, and probably the company, I’m guessing. Call me.”
There. Done. Now I can get back to what really matters.
I search for the other number I need in my contacts list.
Once I hear the voice on the other end pick up, I start to issue instructions clearly and concisely so there are no fuckups. “Frank, fuel the jet and file a flight plan for Milan. I want to take off as soon as I get to Teterboro. I’ll be there within the hour.”
I rush into my bedroom and start throwing clothes into a duffel bag.
Enough of this bullshit. This ends now.
* * *
Allegra
I love pasta. As much as I love eating it the way my father makes it back home, there’s something about having it in Italy that makes it a religious experience. I don’t know if it’s the quality of the pasta or even the water used to boil it, but it tastes completely different here. When I eat it, I chew it slowly, reveling in the sublime taste of it in my mouth.
Pasta was the primo piatto at my dinner with Matteo in the solarium. For the secondo piatto, we had a fish course with a side dish of an insalata, and now, we’re enjoying a dessert, or dolce, of chocolate gelato.
“Are you seeing anyone now?” I ask him.
“No. I just broke up with someone. She was getting too serious. I’m not at that point yet in my life where I’m ready to settle down.”
“Hmm, sounds familiar,” I
tease him.
He rears back in surprise. “I thought I was doing the best thing for us.”
I smile back at him. “I’m kidding. You were what I needed at the time. And it all worked out in the end because I’m with Davison now.”
“Bet he doesn’t try to cop a feel like we did when we made out on your couch while your father was downstairs in his shop.”
I decide not to tell him about the time Davison finger-fucked me on that couch after he’d shown up at the shop to ask me to give him another chance.
“Umm…no, not at all,” I tell him, pursing my lips together.
I take another bite of my heavenly dessert, seeing Matteo’s eyes staring right back at me with an amused smile on his face.
“What?”
“You’ve got a spot of gelato on your chin.”
“Oh…thanks,” I murmur.
I start to wipe my chin as he keeps smiling and lets out a slight laugh. “No, you keep missing it. Here, let me,” he offers.
As he starts to reach over with his hand to wipe it off, I lean away from his grasp and look away. “It’s okay. I’ll get it,” I murmur.
When I glance back at him, a concerned look appears on his face. “Are you okay?”
Oh yeah, I’m peachy. I had a major fight with my overprotective boyfriend last night who’s an entire ocean away from me, and you just tried to do something for me that I do for him on a regular basis because he can be a total slob when he eats.
I shake my head, giving him a slight smile. “Yeah, sorry. I’m just tired.”
“No coffee for you, then?”
“Nope. I need to get some sleep tonight.”
“Fair enough. Let me walk you back to your room.”
We push away from the table, taking our plates, cutlery, and glasses over to the sideboard, piling everything neatly for La Diva’s staff to collect later.
As we walk back to my room at the end of the wing, the only sounds in the cavernous hallway are our shoes against the marble floor. I’m finding it intimidating and oppressive, and I just want to get to my room and put on my pajamas and relax.
Matteo breaks the silence. “What are you singing tomorrow with my zia?”
