L'amore: The Luminara Series (60 page)

Although I’m warming to him, and he does have an enticing accent, I’m still peeved with my lack of privacy. It appears he’s going to get the brunt of it since Lloyd took the hint and remained quiet, sensing my foul mood.

“Why don’t you just tell me what it is since you’ve opened it anyway and save me the bother.” Not waiting for a reply, I go straight upstairs into the bedroom and slump on the bed. I need to keep my eyes open before I fall asleep again, so I decide to shower and do my makeup.

I style my hair, apply my makeup and body butter cream, and add jewellery. Then I scroll through the clothes racks in my dressing room. I wear jeans and a T-shirt and my new converse, but put the sexy Alexander McQueen orange bustier dress from Firenze in a bag. I also take the black patent leather peep toes with the gold winged skull brooch and the matching clutch, some makeup, perfume, and my purse. It occurs to me that it might be a bit too adventurous wearing high heels with an ankle sprain, but they match the outfit and I’m not planning on dancing so I won’t be on my feet. I’m so used to seeing bruises on my body that one to my ankle doesn’t faze me.

“Are you going out?” Rose asks, placing some fresh baked goodies on the counter.

“Yes, just over to Jessica’s for a movie night.” I hate lying to Rose. I’m so close to calling this deceitful plan off because I hate dishonesty.

“Have you had dinner yet?” She frowns.

“Not yet. I’ll just grab something quick.”

“Have you spoken with Lucca?” she asks. Shamefully, I drop my head in silence. “Petal, it’s none of my business, it’s up to you to sort out, but he’s frantic and you’re obviously miserable. Lloyd mentioned something.” She gently rubs my arm and says she’ll make me a quick Spanish omelette.

“Thank you, Rose. I’m sorry. I’m hurt and angry now, but I will speak to him, I promise.” She gives me a sympathetic smile.

While I eat she enlightens me about some of Lucca’s pigheaded, stubbornness and laughs about them. I want to laugh, but I can’t. Not tonight.

I finish the omelette then give her a huge kiss and appreciative hug.

Devon is my designated driver tonight, which is awkward because I was so sharp with him earlier. “I’m sorry about earlier. I’ve just had a stressful few days and it’s draining me,” I say to him from the back of the SUV.

“No need to apologise. We don’t take it personally. It’s imperative to remain impassive and professional at all times in our line of work, as it can be a stressful and emotional time for clients.”

“Thank you.”

He remains focused on the road but nods his head in acknowledgement. Who would have thought Men in Black could be so compassionate? I wonder whether they’ll both be coming up north with us to visit my family. That will be interesting, turning up with bodyguards. Granny of course will love it and tell everyone in the village about our security, but my mum will be sick with worry. That’s another concern entirely.

I try to convince Devon I’ll just get a taxi home, but he’s not flinching, so I explain it will be a late night. He nods and parks in Jess’s driveway, reaching for an e-reader device from the glove compartment.

Happy reading, it’s going to be a long night.

I do feel a bit bad he’s going to be left for a long time outside in the vehicle. Before exiting, I thank him in barely a whisper. I’m not sure he even heard me.

The rest of the girls arrive refreshed after our cocktails last night. Oblivious to my rift with Lucca, they’re exceptionally appreciative for last night’s generosity and together have got him a little gift and signed a thank you card which makes my heart melt.

Smart cuff links for his suits. Jessica purchased them today, but it’s from all of the girls. I need to dam the bubbling tears about to flood and clamp my quivering lip in a firm line at their gesture. They are so considerate and I love them all dearly.

The tears are there flooding my eyes, but I’m conscious not to ruin their night, so we group hug when they see me emotional. Right now, I cherish my friends, and the love I feel for Lucca is consuming, which is why I’m even sadder about last night.

They’ve all brought a change of clothes. Changing into our dresses, we drink two large glasses of wine while waiting on the taxi. Jess leaves the TV, music, and lights on for safe measure.

“Ready?” Carrie asks.

“Yes, let’s just go before I change my mind,” I reply. I’m a grown woman and am supposed to be mature and sensible, yet I feel irresponsible, selfish, and childish doing this.

“You are one sexy chick. You look better than a million dollars. Seriously stunning, Lex,” Sam says, running her hand over my dress.

“She’s right, you’re going to stop traffic, sexy Lexi,” Lucy adds, admiring my new designer look.

Blushing at their compliments has me thinking of the day Lucca nearly had an aneurism when I wore this outfit at the Four Seasons Hotel in Florence. It’s very sexy and just what I need to boost my depreciating confidence today.

The taxi drops us off at BarAsta, an exclusive cocktail bar and club in Glasgow with private membership only access. One of the many perks of being the future Mrs. Caruso has proven useful. We’re shown to a private booth area surrounded by silver and crystal chains hanging from the ceiling, acting as a decorative but shielding curtain, and we’re surrounded by tall, exotic flowers in large shapely vases. It’s very pretty.

The bar is starting to fill with many recognisable socialites; it’s rather pretentious, but the girls love it, so I go along with their optimistic excitement and pretend I’m enjoying myself. Determined to stay upbeat for them, I join in on their girly fun despite my stomach churning for Lucca and the nagging ache from my throbbing ankle. I thought tonight would help me forget, but I can’t seem to get him out of my mind.

I’ve opted to stay with Southern Comfort as opposed to cocktails tonight. It’s the most sensible option having had my fill of cocktails last night. The girls squeal and bounce out of their chairs to dance when their favourite R&B club remix blasts from the speakers.

Using this opportunity to boycott the ass shaking, I make my escape to use the restrooms. Wincing as I stand in my heels, I bite the inside of my cheek, put my clutch under my arm, and signal to the girls that I’m going to the bathroom.

Shambling past the huge centre oval bar, I’m conscious of people staring at me. The hungry eyes of men linger on me, while the women on their arms are rapacious with their beady eyes like intimidating predators. Keeping my head straight, I try to ignore the sleazy glances from a group of business men at an exposed raised glass table in front of a glass and water screen.

I hobble through this futuristic maze, past the ornamental sculptures, hanging screens of silver beaded chains, and full-length glass panels with water flowing inside. These waterfall panels conceal more private booths. The screens I like; they’re very swish. As I weave through, I’m camouflaged and given privacy from prying eyes. I like that even more.

It’s easy to make out shapes, colours, and body outlines through the opaque panels, but they do act as a great cover-up from the painful anguish evident on my face. Right now, I regret stepping out in this sexy little dress with the attention it’s drawing, and walking in these heels is proving very difficult which adds to my discomfort. I should have brought a pair of flats to change into.

Exiting the restroom, I notice the bar has become more populated and is much busier with minimal empty spaces between the suspended silver curtains and glass panels. I suppose the temporary mask between these dividers was short lived. When I get back to the table, I plan on kicking these shoes off and not moving again tonight.

I’m unnerved with an image of someone I think I see in my peripheral vision exiting a booth in the corner, but it’s difficult to be sure under the hazy mask from behind these screens. Maybe I’m paranoid, but then I’m sure I’m right. Another glance.

Fuck!

File C for confirmative. Confirmative intruder. Yes I’m positive.

Shit.

Oh God. Not here, not now. Why oh why?

Taking two more unsteady steps, I’m conscious I need to discreetly fade into the crowd behind the partitions before I’m seen. My heart hammering against my chest causes me to fluster and stumble on my sore ankle. I lose balance and I’m about to topple over when a pair of muscular hands wrap around my waist pulling me back up and turning me around.

A sexy male voice says, “Falling again? It really is your specialty, Alexis.”

Jackson.

Oh dear Lord.

“Thank you, Jackson, for once again helping me in my klutziness.” I purse my lips and blush.

He looks sexy, smart, and handsome. His rich chocolaty eyes have doubled in size, literally staring at me, all of me, head to toe.

“You look absolutely stunning. You are simply beautiful. You always are, Alexis, but Jesus you’re hot shit tonight. I like your dress it’s um …
very
… nice.” He smiles his photogenic smile, smouldering in a tailored suit, shirt, and tie.

His brown hair is styled in male model fashion. His coffee brown eyes are rich and dark and he smells divine. He’s not as sexy or handsome as Lucca, not even close, but he’s undoubtedly attractive, and I notice it more tonight because he’s smartly dressed and well groomed.

Fuck!

File W for worst. Worst fiancée in the world having inappropriate thoughts.

“Thank you,” I reply. His hands are still wrapped around my waist, and it’s not lost on me that he hasn’t let go.

“How’s the ankle? Should you be wearing those killer heels? Sexy but not very practical.”

“Truthfully, it’s killing me. I can barely walk in them and they need to come off.” He frowns then instantly scoops me up and walks towards one of the private booths behind a glass panel of running water. He places me down on a white leather sofa and slips my shoes off.

Again, impressing me with his chivalry. Fuckity-fuck!

It’s heaven to wiggle and rotate my ankle. “Thank you, but you realise they won’t go back on now?” I sigh, but he laughs.

“Well, looks as if you’re in a bother then.” I manage a pitiful laugh despite my humiliation and feeling sorry for myself. “Is everything okay? I mean, other than the ankle? You just seem very … distracted.” Sounding more sincere, he leans back on the sofa, undoes his tie and top button of his shirt, then throws his tie on the glass oval table in front of us.

Please don’t. Too friggin sexy.

“That’s better. I hate those fucking things.”

I smile at his honestly, and he has a way of making me feel more relaxed.

“Yes, I just saw someone whom I’d rather not have the pleasure of a confrontation with this evening, so I panicked to get away,” I confess.

“Hmmm, so you’re trying to hide?”

“You could say that, yes.”

“I saw you come in with your friends. Where’s Lucca?” he asks. I need to let the girls know where I am, they will come looking for me.

Just the mention of Lucca’s has me anxious. I’m pining so much for him, missing him terribly, and feel guilty for ignoring his calls. I wish he was back and I knew what the hell was going on with him. I need his arms wrapped around me. I want him close to me. I’m still infuriated, but I’m vulnerable and I want him with me even more than ever.

Sighing, I explain. “Lucca isn’t back until tomorrow. The girls have brought me out to cheer me up.”

“Why? What’s up?”

“I’ve got 24-7 security, two bloody bodyguards suffocating me, so the girls helped me sneak out. Please don’t tell Cameron though.” I chew the inside of my cheek.

Jackson bursts into a fit of laughter with a coy cheeky smirk framing his sexy lips.

“So you’re on the run?”

“Yes.”

“Oh dear. I’ve got round the clock bodyguards too. Although, you wouldn’t know it; they’re very discreet. They’re here with me as we had a press conference earlier, but I’m so used to it now. I just go about my business. I’ve no choice. I need to have them. They’re not so bad.”

Being a celebrity I suppose he does warrant protection, but it’s ridiculous that I would need them. He watches me form a spiritless smile, unconvinced.

“Hold on, I’ll be back in a minute.” He moves out of the private booth to the other end of the glass panel, but now I can’t see him as it acts as a complete concealed wall of water. Odd, I never noticed the water before. It just looked like opaque glass.

He’s only away a moment then returns. “I’ve asked for a message to be sent to your friends to let them know you’re here and you’re good.” Gratefully, I shrug and smile.

“Thank you.”

“Okay, would you like a drink? And you can tell me why you need protection.”

Is he serious?

I wasn’t planning on staying here, but I’m not exactly walking anywhere just yet—unless I go barefoot—and I do want to keep hidden until my worst nightmare has left the vicinity. Lucca would be furious with me if he knew I was out without Men in Black
,
and alone with Jackson. Although, it’s all completely innocent.

I hope everything with Lucca last night was completely innocent, but then the fire burns in my stomach with worry again. Meeting his hopeful eyes, I compulsively reply, “Yes, a drink would be lovely, thank you.” He smiles then strolls out the booth and returns with a bottle of expensive champagne in an ice bucket and one champagne flute.

“You’re not having any?” I ask. He shakes his head, disappears again, and returns with a jug of iced water and two glasses.

“I’m training tomorrow. I can’t drink alcohol.”

“Oh.” Dear Lord.

I’ll be sitting here like a drunken idiot and he’ll be sober, and I’ll say things that later I wish I had kept filed in the mental library.

The cold champagne is lovely and easy on the palate. I feel much more relaxed when the bubbles start going to my head and try to forget all about my worldly worries. Jackson and I talk about properties and Lucca’s empire, my friends, his family, his career. I could easily be sitting talking to Cameron, Dominic, Steve, or Justin—the girls’ partners.

Our conversations have been refreshing and very down to earth. Not awkward or uncomfortable. Easy, actually.