“You made an impression.” She extracts something out of her pocket. “Take it.”
It’s a heavy black card embossed with a gold script.
“It’s the official invitation,” she says.
“Ibiza Marina, three am,” I read.
“It’s close to here,” she says.
De Rossi was right, the Werners don’t give up easily. They also don’t seem to particularly care that my boss doesn’t want me at their party.
“Are you going?” I ask Jessa.
“No. I’m seeing someone. It’s kind of serious.”
“You could just come to hang out.”
She snorts. “You won’t see a lot of people just hanging out at these kinds of parties. If you decide to go, you better be ready to participate.”
Images flash inside my head. His big hands on my waist. The weight of his body pressing against mine. That heady male scent enveloping me from every direction. I want to kiss him again so badly it hurts. I want to do a lot more than kiss too.
Thirty minutes later, the Werners rise from their seats. Damiano is with them, and as they’re about to walk through the exit, he looks over his shoulder and catches my gaze.
Goosebumps erupt over my skin.
If I see someone else’s hands on you, I’ll break them.
It’s a hyperbole, of course. I have to remind myself that he’s not like the men from my old life.
Then I remember how he broke Nelo’s nose.
I gnaw on my lip, and he watches me for a second before he finally leaves.
I shouldn’t follow. I really shouldn’t. But then I realize something. Damiano told me not to go, but he’s going. And according to Jessa, he’s not going there to just hang out. Is he going to try to screw me out of his system tonight?
I run my tongue over my bottom row of teeth and shake my head. No, that’s not how this is going to work. Damiano said he didn’t need a distraction, but that’s his own problem. I’m going to do what I want.
I’m getting on that boat.
I wrap up my shift, change out of my uniform, and walk down to the dock. The muffled sound of electronic music follows me. It’s just past prime time at most of the clubs. My outfit is as casual as it gets-jean shorts and a T-shirt-but I’m too anxious to get to the party to waste time going home to change.
I still don’t know what madness has taken over me, but it feels like it won’t let up until whatever this thing is between Damiano and me comes to a head. Either I call his bluff and prove to myself his words were just an exaggeration, or I end up in his bed.
Anticipation curls inside my stomach like velvet ribbon.
As I get closer to the yacht, I get picked up by a group of other partygoers heading the same way.
We get on after showing our invitations to a beefy security guard, and like most things in Ibiza, this yacht is larger than life. I’ve been on a yacht this size with my family once. Papà had a meeting with one of his distant relatives from Sicily, so he flew the whole family to Palermo to meet Fabio, our cousin thrice removed. His boat was enormous but tacky. Everything was bejeweled and smelled like bad cologne.
This one is nothing like it. It’s tasteful and modern. I pass by the main salon where a few couples are making out heavily and take the stairs to the bridge deck.
The sky here is impossibly clear. I’m studying the stars when someone appears by my side. It’s a young man who looks to be around my age, thoroughly tanned from long days in the sun.
He catches my eye and gives me an easygoing smile. “Incredible, right?”
“I can’t remember the last time I saw a sky this clear,” I confess. “I’ve spent most of my life in big cities.”
“Same,” he says. “I’m from Chicago.”
“You look like you left a long time ago.”
“I fell in love with island life. I’m based out of Mallorca now, but I come to Ibiza often for business.” His smile turns flirtatious. “And pleasure. My name’s Adrian. What’s your name?”
“Ale.”
“Do you know Tobias and Esmeralda well?”
“Not at all. I met them tonight and somehow got an invitation to this. It’s all a bit overwhelming.”
“If you want to take the edge off, let me know. I might have something.” He pats the pocket of his jacket.
I’m taken aback. Is he offering me drugs?
He laughs slightly at my expression. “You haven’t been here long, I gather. I apologize. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“Assumed what?”
He lifts one shoulder. “That you’re running on chemicals like the rest of us.”
I look down at the revelry happening in the salon. Of course, I’m aware people get high here. I just didn’t expect him to be so blunt. Back in New York, no one would have dared to offer drugs to the don’s daughter. In Ibiza, I’m a nobody, though. I could do whatever I want, and no one would try to stop me.
No one would care.
I have so many things I want to forget. Maybe getting high would help me smudge those memories until I can no longer make out the details.
I chew on the inside of my cheeks. “Well-”
“Adrian.” A severe voice slices through the air between us.
The hairs on the nape of my neck stand straight. I don’t need to look at De Rossi to know what he looks like right now-gorgeous and powerful and mad.
Adrian’s playful expression melts away as soon as he sees who it is. “Señor De Rossi. How are you?”
“Leave us,” he orders.
“We’re in the middle of a conversation,” I say.
Adrian speaks over me, “Of course. I was just saying goodbye.”