While flights and accommodation are completely covered by the bride and groom, that didn’t account for the unpaid personal leave and new outfits. Being a teacher and a homebody does not make for the luxury styling of an Italian destination wedding. Also, I didn’t own a single swimsuit, and at my size those aren’t cheap.
“If you send me a single cent, I will sic all my aunties on you for the rest of the weekend,” he threatens.
I raise my hands in a show of defeat and back away from the table. Yeah, I’m okay without that. They are a lovely group of ladies, but I have never hadso many invasive questions in my life. Both of their families ask too many questions for my comfort, but Andrea’s knows more about me somehow, and it’s disconcerting.
Junelle squeezes my hand as I walk by, a silent understanding between us. She knows I would die for her, I would kill for her. I may not be the Gomez to her Morticia, but there is very little I wouldn’t do for if she asked. She understands I’m usually a stage nine clinger or completely cut off from people.
We know each other’s dark secrets, and I will forever be on her side.
Past all the opulent tiles and ornate Sicilian designs, I close the heavy wooden door to my room. Like every other room I’ve seen here, mine is rustic with vaulted ceilings and exposed stone walls, but one look will tell you there wasn’t an expense spared in decorating it. My busted suitcase looks wrong shoved into the corner.
I heft it onto my unmade bed and rummage around for my swimsuit. After I turned thirty at the start of the year, I decided it was time to be brave and embrace my life. I shouldn’t hide from myself, and I shouldn’t hide from others. Following a few amazing influencers isn’t going to change my mindset completely, but it made me delusionally believe I could rock bikinis for this whole vacation.
For this first venture, I dig out the lavender halter bikini. A style and colour I wouldn’t normally wear, it’s pricey enough I can’t not wear it. The suit slides across my skin like a dream, and when I look in the mirror to adjust the ties, Ifeelgood. There is a flush on my cheeks when I see the amount of pale skin I’ve got on display. Boobs, tummy, and stretch marks all visible without any lifting or tucking.
“You look really good, you stupid bitch.” I point at my reflection. “You deserve to take up space.”
The affirmation I’ve been saying to myself every morning makes me smile for a moment, but then I take a deep breath. Nobody is going to look at me weird or even pay attention to me. It doesn’t matter what I tell myself though, my mother’s nagging voice in the back of my head tells me I look ridiculous. I pull on some loose shorts and an open, oversized button-down before packing up my towel, my e-reader, and enough sunblock to paint the town pasty white.
My sandals slap against the tiles as I wander towards the foyer. The birdwatching group should have left by now, but there is a man dressed for the cover shoot of some outdoors magazine lingering by the door. His olive trousers are snug, showing off a plump ass, while his shirt is definitely hiding a well-padded torso based on how wide he is. One I bet is perfect for snuggling or grinding on with his dick buried in you.
When he turns to look at me, my entire body lights up. My cheeks heat, my heart stutters, and my clit throbs with how fucking delicious this man looks. Thank god I’m wearing a swimsuit because my bottoms are now soaked. His dark hair even turns grey and white where his facial hair begins, like he’s from some kind of superhero comic.
Fuck me.
When my eyes finally drink in enough of his body, I realise he’s been staring at me as well. His gaze is hot and heavy, checking me out like I’m a whole fucking buffet. Unconsciously, I wrap my open shirt up to hide myself. Shit, I’m being rude. He’s dressed like he’s also going birdwatching, so the group clearly hasn’t left yet.
“Morning.” I wave, quickly stepping up and putting on my peopling persona. “Cheyenne, I’m with the bride’s side of the wedding. I got in late last night.”
“I know,” he says. “You don’t look dressed for a hike.”
Motherfucker. My lips part when I hear his voice. Wow. What would it sound like to hear him saytake my dick like a good girl? Should I be taking notes on this guy? My fingers itch to take out my phone and start interviewing a total stranger. Like where does he get this cologne he’s wearing so I can buy a bottle?
“Cheyenne?”
“Sorry, I’m supposed to be getting a ride down to Pietro’s Pier. I’m not really the outdoorsy type.”
“What type are you then?” He steps closer to me, but rather than move back, my feet are glued to the floor. He’s practically on top of me. Every breath I take has my chest brushing against his. This unbelievably hot man dips his head lower, his fingers touching the strap of my beach bag where it digs into my shoulder.
“Um—” I don’t know what to say but words tumble out of my mouth anyway. “I like being home, it’s where my stuff is.”
If I could kick myself, I would. That is not what you say to someone when you’re at your best friend’s destination wedding. You say something like museums or sightseeing. Not imply that you already want to be done with this place.
He smiles, though. Maybe I amuse him and he’s humouring me for the simple fact we are attending the same wedding and staying at the same villa. Close quarters like this means you’ve got to play nice with people.
“Nothing wrong with being a homebody. Keeps you out of trouble,” he teases.
“Oh, I’m not sure that’s true.” My cheeks immediately heat. Why did I say that? He’s going to think I’ve got some sort of taboo hobby or, worse, that I’m a curtain twitcher. “I just mean that with my work,I don’t have much free time, so I like to recharge at home.”
“What do you do to recharge?”
Write sex scenes that make me question my own sanity.
“Journaling, but if I need fresh air, I go to TAM. The cafe there is gorgeous.”
“Can’t say I spend a lot of time at the Tolson Art Museum,” he admits. “But if I had a guide as gorgeous as you, I’d make a point to go every day.”
I’ve died. Clearly, this is my own personal heaven because what do you mean this ridiculously handsome and thick man is flirting with me with such ferocity? This can’t be real, but I want it to be desperately. We are standing so close together and I want him, but I don’t even know his name. He’s carried this whole conversation. I need to engage better, flirt back, ask him to fuck me on this side table.
