“The last guest arrived while I was doing a walk-around, Cheyenne Walker?”
I try to hold in my emotions when I say her name. The desire and hunger I have for her has already sunk its claws deeper into me than I just had in Giuseppe. After the wedding, I tell myself over and over again.
“Oh, nice.” My nephew smiles. “Haven’t seen her in a while, explains why Junelle has gone so quiet.”
He shows me his phone screen, not a single message about table arrangements or drivers. Andrea hasbeen so involved with planning both weddings, I’m surprised he’s even still standing here talking to me and not sending strongly worded emails to the caterers or some shit.
It’s not missed on me that he says he hasn’t seen her in a while. Why’s that? Is she a homebody? Introverted? Maybe she doesn’t like Andrea, which honestly is a big fucking red flag if you ask me.
Not that I don’t have my fair share of them, but any mate of mine will love my family. Our pack, our enterprise, doesn’t work if we aren’t all on good terms.
“I’m gonna run back to the villa. Driving or joining?” I ask, hoping I know his answer already.
“Driving. I’ll help the boys get shit sorted and let Junelle have Cheyenne all to herself for a bit longer.”
I nod, worried I might say something truly revealing about wanting to meet Cheyenne sooner. The night air hits my fur and I drop to all fours again, running. I have no intention of returning to the villa until everyone is safely locked in their rooms.
Chapter two
Cheyenne
Junelle keeps shoving the plate of toast and bacon at me at the breakfast table. Andrea is no better, scooping another helping of fresh-cut fruit onto my plate. The Italian sunshine burns through the windows of this small breakfast nook tucked away in the insane palace they are getting married in. If it weren’t for the air conditioners everywhere, I’d probably be sweating buckets again like I was last night, ruining the embroidered chairs we’re sitting on.
I’m exhausted, out of my comfort zone, and would really like a lightly sparkling drink down at the pier with a moment to myself. Since I arrived, it’s been nonstop yapping and book signing.
I missed the fast train from Naples, and by the time I arrived at the Sorrento station, I’d missed the taxi Ihad pre-booked by an hour. I had quite an angry text message from the driver and a long wait at the bus stop before I could even get to the correct town. The walk up to Villa di Benetti wasn’t easy either, it was all uphill. My thighs were burning and I’m sure I looked like a melted candle by the time I spoke to the security guard at the gate.
Junelle and all the aunties didn’t even bat an eyelash. It was screams of excitement and so much hugging. My heart nearly burst, and I cried a little at our reunion despite how much I’d rather have a shower first. Video calls and voice notes aren’t enough. For the first eighteen years of my life, I convinced myself I didn’t need anyone’s affection or love. My parents were cold to the point of cruelty, ruthless in their expectations, and unforgiving. It wasn’t until I moved into my student housing, where I met Junelle and her parents, that I realised you could be successful and supportive.
“Cheyenne, you’ve gotta eat,” she insists.
“I did eat something,” I push back. It’s true, I had several pieces of fruit and half a protein bar I had saved from yesterday.
She rolls her eyes at me, while Andrea folds his arms across his chest, crumpling his soft linen co-ord outfit. As much as I like him, I do wish he would stop trying to boss me around. We are basically the same age, andI have watched Junelle lead him around like a dog on a leash for three years. But he’s a persistent sort that you only see in romance books, if I’m honest.
I take two more bites of melon and carefully push back my chair.
“See, look, eating?” I stand up with a smile.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go birdwatching?” Junelle asks.
I grimace. No, I absolutely don’t want to spend the morning hiking around looking at birds. There’s something about their faces, all leathery, and the way the feathers stick in their skin that makes me uncomfortable. Not that I could own a pet in my small apartment, but if I could, it would probably be a cat, an extra fluffy ginger one, ideally.
The outdoors are really not for me.
“Are you sure you two don’t want to go to the pier with me?” I counter.
Andrea looks at Junelle with hope in his eyes. I know they met at the nature reserve where she works, but he’s not a twitcher by any means. We both agree holidays should be spent lounging by the pool.
“We can’t skip,” Junelle says, wrapping her arm through his. “Plus, I know that Nonna packed a picnic that is ninety percent wine. Half the reason all the ladies go on her hikes is to get wine drunk.”
Yeah, that is definitely not my vibe. Especially with people I barely know. The only person who has seen me drunk at all is Junelle. I make a face that says more than my silence.
“Okay, okay, but you’re back for lunch at three so we can get our nails done,” she says.
“Totally, and I will take the ride you offered down to the pier, Andrea. Just let me know how much it costs, and I’ll send y’all the money.”
His face goes all pinched and annoyed when I offer to pay him back. It’s nice that he’s so generous and caring, but it feels weird. I know it’s a me problem, but I’m used to fighting for myself. If it weren’t for my writing side hustle, I probably wouldn’t have been able to afford this trip.
