Conquer Your Love
Page 9

“He said that to Clarkson?”
Sylvie nodded. “I swear I was around the corner. They didn’t know I was listening.” She faked a shudder. “Seriously, old people give me the creeps. They’re so weird. My grandfather was like that. He was so paranoid of children, kept saying he could see them and hear their laughter when no one was around. I guess it comes with age.”
I grimaced. The poor guy. I could only hope Sylvie’s relatives were accepting of his quirks. But she was right. Paranoia was a scary disorder of the mind and not easy to deal with.
“So where’s Clarkson?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Don’t know. I guess still with him. What did you talk about?”
I pulled out the envelope and held it out to her so she could peek inside. “Nothing big really. We talked about his life and the conditions of my inheritance. He made me promise not to sell the estate. Actually, he was pretty specific about that. He doesn’t want me to alter it either. He also wanted to—” I saw Clarkson standing in the doorway to the backyard and dipped my head toward him, deciding now wasn’t the right time to talk “—I’ll show you later.” I sat up and waved at Clarkson to get his attention.
“It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” Clarkson said.
I nodded. “I’m glad Alessandro is taken care of in such a nice place.”
***
Clarkson explained he had some business to tend to. After a short talk we agreed that he’d be calling me with updates. Alessandro Lucazzone hoped to see me again in the next days and I was happy to oblige, not just as his heir but also as the last family member he had.
Anxious, I kept glancing at my watch. With every second that passed, I was moving closer and closer to 11.45 a.m. Jett and I had agreed to meet at noon and I couldn’t wait. My only problem now was getting rid of Sylvie. She wasn’t his biggest fan, so there was no way I could tell her about my lunch arrangement. If she found out, she’d only end up thinking I was still into him—which was true—and she’d try to talk me out of it. Not only did I promise Jett that I wouldn’t back off, but his over-protectiveness had managed to spark my interest. My sole intention was to listen to his reasons and clarify what exactly he thought put me in danger. Maybe even discover a way to heal my heart, like parting on good terms rather than in anger and pain. Only the truth can set the heart free. With knowledge I could move on, learn from my mistakes. If I was lucky, his sincere apology would be enough to make amends and help me move on. Although it wouldn’t stop the pain, I was sure it could heal some of my bruised ego.
By keeping our meeting short and to the point, there was no need for my best friend to know about it. I’d tell her eventually when I could deal with her angry outburst, but right now I sure wasn’t going to listen to her ranting for the next hour.
So how best to distract her? Three things always managed to help Sylvie forget the world around her: fashion, men, and parties.
Considering it was late morning, the clubs were closed and Sylvie had no date, taking her shopping was my best bet, even if she probably had more clothes than Carrie Bradshaw from Sex And The City. But could I convince her to go on a shopping spree without me?
Probably not.
Throughout the first years of our friendship, Sylvie had always joked about how clingy she was. Turned out, it wasn’t really that much of a joke. This left me with one other option: treat her to a spa visit.
Sixty minutes of sighing under the expert hands of a massage therapist should provide enough distraction so I could meet with Jett. I had another problem: Alessandro was stationed at a private hospital in a secluded area far away from the city center. According to Clarkson, the bus station was a half hour walk away.
“So what now?” Sylvie asked as we stepped out of the hospital. She sounded so bored already, and I hadn’t even shared my plan with her. I scanned the area. The residential street was almost empty. Apart from a busy café at the corner and some parked cars, there was nothing that could possibly be of interest to Sylvie or help my quest. Until my glance fell on a parked taxi on the other side of the road.
“Let’s drive back to the city,” I suggested, interloping my arm with hers so I could use bodily force to push her in the right direction, if need be.
She eyed me carefully. “Why? What’s there to see?”
“I want to treat you to a spa visit. I’ve heard nothing but amazing things about Italian spas, and I think you should try one. Come on.”
Dashing for the taxi before she could object, or the driver could decide to take off, I pulled her after me. Sylvie opened the door and we both slumped onto the backseat. I instructed the driver to take us to the hotel Jett booked me in during my first trip to Italy. As he drove off I sat back in my seat.
“New city, new scene, and you’re already forgetting Jett. My work’s almost done,” Sylvie said.
“Yeah.” I cringed inwardly at hearing his name. She couldn’t be farther from the truth. If only she knew. It was impossible to forget him, not least because he was here.
By taxi we reached the city in less than ten minutes. As it turned out the driver would have made a great sightseeing guide. Speaking half English and half Italian, he recalled everything he knew about Bellagio’s history and ancient buildings. It wasn’t exactly Rome, but I listened nonetheless and even Sylvie seemed fascinated. As we cruised down the busy main street, the driver pointed out the designer shops and even recommended the best places to get a bargain. Not that Sylvie needed to save cash. She had always been loaded—courtesy of her rich family whom she actually despised. But what woman is immune to the prospect of a mid-summer sale?
Eventually the taxi stopped on a bus lane. I paid quickly and we got out in front of the large sign advertising the spa hotel I had stayed at on my first trip to Bellagio.
“Not bad,” Sylvie said, looking up at the impressive building.
“Good choice, huh?” I beamed at her and dragged her through the glass doors into the marble floor reception area. The spa center took in the entire basement. I paid for a full body and facial treatment package, and the receptionist handed Sylvie a white bathrobe and towel with instructions where to get changed.
“Aren’t you coming?” Sylvie asked.
“Sorry, can’t.” Sylvie could always look right through my lies so I averted my gaze, hoping she wouldn’t catch whatever gave me away. “I’m supposed to do something for Alessandro. Can’t explain now because I’m running late, but I’ll pick you up when you’re done, okay?”
I pecked her cheek and headed for the door before she could start her interrogation.
“Don’t be late,” Sylvie called after me.
“Have fun,” I called back. My guilt at lying to her flared up again. It was nasty, self-focused, and certainly not what real friendship stands for. I hated doing it but she wouldn’t understand. I had to find out what Jett had to say.
Outside the hotel I glanced at my watch. It was 12.30 p.m. I was running half an hour late. I fished my phone out of my bag and switched it on with trepidation at the outlook of calling him to pick me up. The screen came to life with the usual swirls of colors. Three bars loaded together with a welcome message from an Italian service provider. I scrolled through my contact list when the text messages and call notifications began to come in one after another.
Holy.
Cow.
Ninety-eight messages. And all from Jett.
And then the phone started to vibrate and the display showed his caller ID.
I pressed the response button and held the earpiece to my ear.
“What did I tell you about switching on your goddamn phone, Brooke?” His deep voice thundered down the line. I gasped at just how amazingly sexy he sounded. He seemed slightly annoyed, but I could sense a hint of amusement in his tone. “Have you forgotten about our meeting?”
The idea that he still thought he was entitled to treat me like he was my boss annoyed me. If he could play this game, so could I.
“Sorry, is it noon already?” I faked a surprised pause, making sure I sounded sarcastic. “I didn’t realize. It’s been such a busy day.”
“Really?” His voice changed, became softer. Did I detect a hint of jealousy?
“Where are you? You were supposed to be at the bus station in front of the club.”
I communicated my location.
“Okay, wait there. I’ll have you picked up. The driver will be there in five.”
And with that he disconnected, leaving me more nervous than before. Was it really such a good idea to meet with him? Probably not but, damn, I wasn’t going to back off now.
Chapter 7
The waiter led me through an almost empty restaurant, then up a broad staircase. Soft voices and the noise of cutlery carried over from what I assumed was the kitchen area somewhere below us, but apart from that nothing really stirred. I peered around me, wondering why a restaurant in a famous tourist area would be so unusually quiet at this time of day.
“Where are we going?” I asked the waiter. He continued to walk, ignoring my question, which led me to believe he either didn’t understand me, or he was following specific instructions not to answer any questions. I clamped my mouth shut, both confused and fascinated. Surprises weren’t my thing, however I had to admit this one was more than interesting.
We passed through a closed off dining room on the second floor which—by the look of it—was probably reserved for special events and wedding parties. To our left, chairs were stacked on top of the tables. To my right, the whole wall was made of glass, allowing a clear view of the blue sky and the mountain backdrop. Soft Italian music played in the background—not loud enough to be intrusive, but loud enough to give a romantic flair. The waiter slid the terrace doors open and guided me out onto a panoramic patio decorated with flowers. In the middle, near the white stone balustrade, were a table and two chairs, the white brocade tablecloth shimmering unnaturally bright in the sunlight and building a beautiful contrast to the crystal vase holding pink roses. A bottle of champagne was perched between ice cubes in a silver bucket next to two champagne flutes. I swallowed hard to get rid of the sudden dryness in my throat.
Holy shit.
Did Jett pay to have the restaurant closed off to everyone but us? And I thought by agreeing to just having lunch with him I could avoid exactly this kind of shocker. From the way the roses were arranged, to the fine tablecloth and sparkling glass and cutlery, I could tell someone had mulled over every detail. It would have been the perfect spot for a marriage proposal.
A proposal, Stewart? Really?
I snorted at the mad and absolutely irrational direction my thoughts were taking. Obviously I was still the hopeless romantic, and yet I didn’t quite want to be in love. Not to mention the fact that I barely knew anything about Jett and his life, while I had already told him everything about me and my life. The good, the bad, and the horrible.
“Like it?” Jett whispered behind me.
As usual, my abdomen twisted and knotted at the sound of his voice, and my heart began to beat faster like a helpless butterfly in a glass cage. I spun around and smiled at Jett, barely able to keep my eyes off him. He was dressed in a V-neck shirt and tight jeans that barely managed to hide the perfect sculpting of his hard muscles. The sunlight caught in his eyes, reminding me of dark-green gemstones.