“That’s it?” I heard a man’s voice behind me. “I thought your heart belongs to Moët?”
I turned around and froze. There he was, standing right in front of me. Only he wasn’t the Man in Black anymore. He wore off-white linen pants and a bright shirt. It was the perfect counterpoint to his sun-kissed skin. He pulled his sunglasses lower down his nose and fixed me with that cold stare of his again. He called out to the bartender in Italian. As soon as the mysterious man arrived, the man behind the counter had pointedly ignored everyone else, standing at attention and waiting for my stalker’s order. Hidden behind my sunglasses, I felt especially courageous and gutsy today—furious and hungover.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re following me?” I asked, crossing my arms. He raised his right hand and slowly took my glasses off to see my eyes. It felt like he was taking away my shield. Suddenly I was out in the open.
“It’s not a feeling,” he said, looking me straight in the eyes. “It’s not coincidence, either. Happy twenty-ninth birthday, Laura. May the coming year be the best in your life,” he whispered, and placed a delicate kiss on my cheek.
I was so shocked that I just stood there, dumbfounded and mute. How did he know my age? And how the hell did he find me on the other end of town? The bartender’s voice shook me out of that train of thought. I turned his way. He was just setting a bottle of rose Moët and a small colorful cupcake with a single candle on the counter.
“Goddamn it!” I spun to face the Man in Black, who had vanished in the meantime. Again.
“Well, well,” Karolina said with a smile, approaching the bar. “We were supposed to have a glass of Prosecco and suddenly I find another bottle of champagne waiting for me.”
I shrugged and scanned my surroundings nervously in search of the mysterious man, but he wasn’t there. I pulled out a credit card and offered it to the bartender. In mangled English he refused the payment, assuring me that the tab had already been paid. Karolina graced him with a charming smile, grabbed the cooler with the bottle and cups, and went straight back to the pool. I blew out the candle on the cupcake and followed her.
I was pissed off, to say the least. But also disoriented and intrigued. There were dozens of different scenarios playing out in my head, suggesting different personalities for the mysterious man. The first thing that came to my mind was that he was some kind of pervert. But it didn’t entirely agree with the image of the breathtakingly handsome Italian—he was probably spending more time trying to avoid admirers than actively seeking them out. Judging by his shoes and expensive clothes, he was far from broke. And he had mentioned something about checking up on guests in that club. So my next theory was that he was the manager there. But that wouldn’t explain what he was doing at the hotel. I shook my head, trying to get rid of the nagging thoughts, and reached for a cup. What do I care? I thought, sipping the champagne. It must have been a coincidence after all.
When we finished the bottle, our men arrived, looking happy.
“So how about that lunch?” Martin asked with a satisfied grin.
The champagne I had drunk, today and last evening, made me combative. I was furious about his carefree attitude.
“What the fuck, Martin?” I snapped. “It’s my birthday and you vanish for hours and don’t even care what I’m doing or how I’m feeling and now you just show up and simply ask about lunch? Enough of this! It’s always about you. I always do what you want, and you always tell me what to do. I’m never the most important thing in your life. And lunchtime was hours ago!”
I wrapped my tunic more tightly around me, grabbed my bag, and stormed off to the lobby. I crossed the hall and found myself on the street. My eyes were watering. I put my glasses on and started walking.
The streets of Giardini were lovely. There were trees speckled with flowers growing all along the pavement. The buildings were well cared for and beautiful. Sadly, my state of mind didn’t allow me to really take in the charm of the place. I felt so alone. I realized I was crying. Tears flowing freely down my cheeks, racked with sobs, I nearly ran. Was I running away from something?
The sun was slowly setting, but still I walked. When the first wave of anger abated, I became aware of just how much my feet hurt. My wedge-heeled flip-flops, despite being a work of art, were no shoes for long walks. I noticed a small café in one of the nooks and crannies of the town. It was the perfect place to catch my breath, and I found out one of the items on the menu was sparkling wine. I sat down outside, watching the serene surface of the sea. An old woman brought me a glass of wine and said something in Italian, gently stroking my hand. Jesus, I didn’t even have to understand the words to know what she was talking about—that all men were bastards unworthy of our tears. I sat at the table and stared out at the sea until it grew dark. I wouldn’t have been able to get up after how much I had to drink, but meanwhile I had ordered a quattro formaggi pizza that had turned out to be a better salve for my sadness than the wine. Then I had tiramisu and it was one of the best I had in my entire life. Better than the best champagne.
I felt ready to return and face what I had left by running away. Calmly and slowly, I headed back to the hotel. The winding streets were nearly deserted—they were too far from the main boulevard running along the coast. Two black SUVs passed me by. I had seen cars like those before, back at the airport.
The night was hot, I was drunk, my birthday was ending, and everything felt wrong. I turned when the walkway ended and realized I had no idea where I was. Shit. Me and my sense of direction. I looked around, but the only thing I could see were the lights of approaching cars.
CHAPTER 2
When I opened my eyes, it was night. I looked around and realized I still had no idea where I was. I was lying in an enormous bed in a room faintly lit only by the streetlamps outside. My head hurt and I needed to puke. What the hell happened? Where was I? I tried getting up but didn’t have the strength. I felt like I weighed a ton. Even my head was too heavy to lift from the pillow. I closed my eyes and fell back into unconsciousness.
When I came to again, it was still dark. How long had I been asleep? Maybe it was the next night? There was no clock anywhere, and I didn’t have my bag or my phone with me. This time I managed to push myself up and sit on the edge of the bed. For a while, I waited for my head to stop spinning. There was a night lamp by the bed. When its light filled the room, I saw it was part of an old house. I didn’t know this place.
The window frames were gigantic and richly carved. Opposite the great wooden bed there was an enormous stone fireplace, the kind I’d only ever seen in movies. There were old wooden beams running across the ceiling. They matched the color of the window frames. The room was comfortable, classy, and very Italian. I walked toward the window and went out to the balcony overlooking a garden. The view was breathtaking.
“So good to see you awake.”
I froze, hearing the words. My heart must have skipped a beat. I turned around and saw a young Italian. I knew he was a local by the accent with which he had spoken to me in English. His appearance only reinforced my assumption. He wasn’t tall, just like 70 percent of Italians I had seen. He had long, dark hair that flowed freely over his shoulders, delicate facial features, and very large lips. A beautiful boy, you might say. He wore an immaculate elegant suit, but it did nothing to make him look any more adult. He evidently worked out. His shoulders were wide.