Nicole muttered something Emma didn’t catch and curled deeper into the covers.
Flipping back the sheet, Emma moved from her bed to the bathroom. One look at her face and she saw the late-night drinking under her bloodshot eyes. “What the hell was I thinking?”
The memory of Giovanni laughing warmed her inside. Oh, yeah . . . one-upping a man drink for drink probably wasn’t the wisest of choices. Especially with wine.
She knew better but that hadn’t stopped her.
Her body reminded her of her bad decisions as she used the toilet.
All she wanted to do was sleep for another four hours and attempt to get up then.
But no, the airline had said they’d sent a man out with her suitcase and it would be at the previous hotel that morning.
Gio, being Mr. Helpful, had disappeared after she received confirmation that her luggage was on the move, to ask the concierge about rental cars.
There weren’t any. As in none in town that they could rent.
But before Emma even knew there was a problem, mainly because she was a part of the conversation with the concierge, Gio procured a car that the owners apparently used when they were in town.
So long as he drove it. At least that’s the story that he told Emma.
All said and done, Gio was meeting her and Nicole at seven.
After a quick shower, Emma padded back into the room.
Nicole was still sound asleep.
“Hey?” Emma said quietly. “Nicole?”
Nothing.
“Nicole?” A little louder.
“No . . . ,” she moaned.
Emma grinned. “Headache?”
She rolled over, nodded, then turned white as a sheet, jumped out of bed, and ran into the bathroom.
Emma winced. Yeah, Nicole was not feeling it.
A couple of minutes later she emerged and fell back into the mattress. “This sucks.”
“That bad?”
Nicole looked at her, eyes narrowed.
Emma sighed, pushed off the edge of the bed she’d been sitting on. “Okay. I got this without you.”
“You sure?”
“I’m a big girl. Besides, Gio is coming, so . . .”
“I’m sorry, Em.”
“No worries. Text me when you’re moving. I’ll be back tonight.”
Nicole turned her pillow over, punched it, and laid her head down. “Thanks.”
After getting dressed and tiptoeing out of the room, Emma searched for Gio in the foyer of the villa.
His back was turned.
The man knew how to wear jeans.
“Good morning,” she said to get his attention.
He turned, instant smile.
“Why do you look like last night’s drinking took no toll on you?” she asked.
He walked closer and that’s when she noticed two cups with lids in his hands. “About an hour ago you wouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s going to take more than an hour for my headache to go away.”
He handed her one of the cups.
“No coffee. Not yet.” She waved her hands against what she thought was in the cup.
“It’s not coffee,” he said. “It is what will make you feel better.”
She pulled the cup to her nose to smell what was inside.
“Don’t. Just drink,” he encouraged her.
He must have seen the suspicion on her brow.
“You have to trust me,” Gio said.
While she contemplated the cup in her hand, he asked. “Where’s Nicole?”
“Doing a morning prayer ritual to the toilet.”
He laughed. “I take it she’s not coming.”
“No.” Emma removed the lid of the drink, really didn’t like the color of the contents.
“Down the hatch,” Gio said.
She shrugged. “Here goes nothing.” A deep breath and she lifted the drink to her lips. It was thick, a little carbonated, something spicy and a suspicion of wine. Like taking medicine when she was a child, she guzzled it as quick as she could and gasped when it was done. “That’s awful.”
Gio was laughing. “It is, but it works. I promise.”
Gone was the minty toothpaste flavor in her mouth, and it was replaced with what she imagined the floor of a bar would taste like.
Gio found the person in charge behind an open office door beyond the reception counter. He spoke in Italian and left the second cup with the person in the room. When he turned his attention back to Emma, he smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Ready?”
“As long as you’re willing to drive.”
He motioned with his thumb outside.
It was still early enough that the dew in the air had yet to be burned off by the rising sun. A few high clouds gave a hint that they might have a spring shower at some point in the day.
Gio led them to a small car, the name of it she didn’t recognize. “Does anyone here drive an SUV?”
He laughed. “Have you seen the cities?”
He had a point. Narrow streets, no parking. Still, out in the country she expected something bigger. “Probably a good idea Nicole wasn’t up for this.” One of them would have had a tight fit in the back seat.
“We can’t complain. They aren’t charging for the car. Just fill up the tank.”
“A bargain.”
Inside, Gio opened a map app on his phone and set their route. “Three hours and fifty minutes.”
“I can’t tell you how much of a nightmare this luggage fiasco has been.”
He pulled away from the villa and started down the long drive. “It’s almost over.”
She leaned her head back, closed her eyes. “Sorry.” She forced herself higher in her seat.
“I’m driving. Lean back, get some sleep. Let my hangover cure take hold.”
She blinked her heavy eyelids. “That shit was awful.”
“Tell me that in an hour.”
Seemed like his permission to sleep was all she needed. Emma’s eyes started to drift. “I promise I won’t sleep the whole way.”
“Get some rest, Emma.”
“Thanks, Giovanni.” With that, she leaned her head against the window and allowed her body to relax.
When was the last time he felt this full?
All she was doing was sleeping.
Lips slightly open . . . a little spot of moisture on the side of her mouth.
Outside of family, Gio couldn’t remember a time when a woman slept beside him that he hadn’t slept with.
He instantly thought of the many times someone fell asleep on the bus.
That didn’t count.
It was only him, Emma, and a whole lot of open road in front of them.
Why? Why did this feel different?
For twenty miles he pondered that thought.
Thirty . . .
Somewhere around the fifty-mile mark he realized his attraction was different because of the woman herself.
Unapologetic. Beautiful . . . of course. He was attracted, so her beauty was a factor. But it was more than what a mirror told him. A little mysterious. Old enough to not play petty games. He thought that even when remembering the night before when they were matching shot for shot . . . of wine, in a competition of who knew more.
Every time he thought they were matched, she one-upped him. And instead of that aggravating him, he celebrated her.
There was definitely more to Emma . . . what was her last name? Had she told him a last name? Didn’t matter.