The line falls silent again, and I wonder if he’s smiling goofily down the line like I am.
“You looked lovely in that photo you posted this morning. I’ve stared at it all day.”
I bite my bottom lip. I posted a picture of me at my work desk this morning. Giorgio snapped it when I wasn’t looking. But, wait, what?
“How did you see it on my Facebook account? It’s private,” I ask.
“Do you know Beverly Whalen, Olivia?”
“She’s my mom’s friend.” I frown. “Isn’t she?”
“Maybe.” I can tell from the sound of his voice that he’s smiling.
I suddenly want to get off the phone to see who in the heck Beverly Whalen really is.
We fall silent again.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” he says.
“I’ve been banking my hours this week so I can leave at three.”
“Good girl. I’ll pick you up at three.”
“Okay.” I smile as butterflies dance in my stomach. I get to see him tomorrow.
“Goodbye.”
“Bye.” I hang on the line. After a few moments, he hangs up.
I instantly open Facebook and look up Beverly Whalen on my friend list. The profile pic is a woman. She is one of my mums’ work friends, I’m sure of it. Huh?
I click on her profile. No friends, no address, no details. This is weird. I look up the date we became friends.
I got a friend request from her four weeks after I returned to Australia from Italy. I didn’t even look into her profile because I knew the face on the photo. Holy shit.
Beverly Whalen is Rici Ferrara.
With a stupid, huge smile on my face, I go through all my images over the last two years. He’s liked every single one.
He’s been watching me from afar. I should be appalled, disgusted… outraged.
Instead, I’m utterly thrilled.
He cared. Even though he may be wrapped in a bastard suit, I know he isn’t a bastard. I think that, deep down, I’ve always known that, and maybe that’s why it was so hard to move on from him. I don’t know what happened back then with us, or why he handled things the way that he did, but I don’t think I care anymore. I’m going to try my hardest to take him at face value moving forward.
I stand with a renewed excitement.
I need to pack. I’ve got a dirty weekend with a sex god on the horizon.
I can hardly wait.
* * *
The clock strikes three and I have to stop myself from running from my office.
He’s here, just outside. After waiting all week to see him, it’s finally time.
I play it cool and take my time to pack up my desk up. Giorgio swings his head around the door. “Have a wonderful weekend, darling.”
“Thanks.”
For once, everything is going to plan, and not just for me. Natalie seems to have hit it off with her guy, too. She’s going on a date with him tonight that will hopefully last the entire weekend. I’m so relieved. I don’t know if I would have been comfortable going away if I knew she was sitting back here alone.
Giorgio saunters into my office and sits on my desk. “Have you got everything?”
“I’m all packed.” I swing my handbag over my shoulder and kiss his cheek. “Wish me luck.”
He assesses me. “No luck needed.” He stands and straightens my scarf. “Knock him dead.”
My heart begins to race as I make my way downstairs. Finding out that Rico has been stalking me on Facebook for the last two years has made this seem real, and all that more important to get right. I walk out of my building, and I look around.
Where is he? I don’t see him. Panic begins to set in.
Then, a black Ferrari comes around the corner. It drives past me and pulls into the loading bay.
He’s here.
My stomach dances in excitement and I have to stop myself from running to him. I casually walk up to the car as if gorgeous rich men pick me up in black Ferraris every single day.
Calm, calm, keeping fucking calm.
I open the passenger door and lean in. “Hi.”
He smirks. “Hi.”
“Going my way?”
“If I wasn’t already,” his tongues sweeps over his bottom lip, “I am now.” He has a certain twinkle in his eye and seems excited, too.
I bounce into the car, and he grabs my hand. I lean over to kiss him and his eyes flick to the rearview mirror. I sit back in my seat, instantly reminded that we’re not alone.
He pulls back out into the traffic, and then picks up my hand to kiss my fingertips. “It’s good to see you.”
“You, too.” I smile.
I see another two cars pull out behind us, but I push it to the back of my mind as I pretend not to notice. My stomach is dancing, alive with nerves. For the first time since we’ve been together, I actually have hope. Maybe this can be something more?
I didn’t imagine it when we were in Rome. He did feel it too, and I don’t feel near so foolish now. Maybe I’m being presumptuous. I don’t know, but this feels real.
We drive along with my eyes flicking between Rico and the road. He has this smirk on his face, like the guy that got the girl.
“What are you smirking at?”
“Just you.”
“Why?” I smile broadly.
“Are you packed?” he asks as he pulls into my hotel and parks the car.
“Yes, where are we going?”
He turns the car off. “Monte Carlo.”
My eyes widen. “In Monaco?”
“I have a yacht down there.”
“You have a yacht?” I squeak, wide-eyed.
He chuckles, gets out of the car, and comes around to open my door. He takes my hand and helps me from the car. “Yes, I have a yacht.”
“Of course, you do.” We begin to walk into my building. “You have all the toys.”
We get into the lift and he stares straight ahead, while I stare up at him.
Touch me, damn it.
I’m really beginning to hate this no touching in public rule. I want him draped all over me like a scarf. We arrive at my room, and as I unlock the door, his hand takes my hip from behind.
There it is. Touch.
It’s not sexual, not sleazy, but somehow it sends tingles all the way down to my toes. Maybe that’s because I know it’s a prelude of what’s to come. The door opens, and his hand comes from behind me. He pushes it open with force, unable to wait a second longer.
Then he’s on me. His hands are in my hair and he’s kissing me like his life depends on it. I smile against his lips.
“That’s more like it,” I whisper. “Took your time.”
For ten minutes, we kiss, and then he takes me into his big, strong arms and holds me tight. We stand cheek-to-cheek for a long time just enjoying holding each other. I’ve missed him.
His lips take mine, slow and deliberate, and I find myself clinging to him as he leads me into temptation.
“Let’s take a shower,” I suggest.
“We can’t, our plane leaves at five. We have to get to the airport.”
“What?” Damn it, I want to have I missed you sex.
“We can relax once we get there.” He kisses me again. “I promise.”
“Fine.” I step back from him and begin to gather my things. Did I pack right for Monte Carlo? What even happens in Monte Carlo? I definitely don’t have any Princess Grace wear in my suitcase.
“Do you wear that dress to work often?” he asks as his eyes skim my body.
I look down at myself. I’m wearing a tight black, woolen turtleneck dress. It has long sleeves and a lower neckline. “Yeah, why?”
His brows crease. “Please don’t.”