I laughed despite my frustration about my redemption arc getting hijacked.
“C’mon, we’re professionals,” I joked. “Ben is just a good friend.”
“I don’t know,” Campbell laughed. “I’ve never looked atmyfriends the way Ben looks at you.”
I paused to read the comments scrolling beneath us and was shocked by how many people had opinions about us being together.
Alotof people.
I’d avoided social media postbreakdown and never got back into it, so seeing a live representation of the public’s reaction to us was eye-opening. I discovered that we even had a portmanteau—Quinnett.
“I get why you’d want to put up some guardrails with that guy,” she elbowed me. “He’s hot as hell. I don’t care that you get around, Ben baby. Call me, I love me some man-whore!”
I flinched. We both went quiet to read what the people watching were saying in the comments.
“Oh, no way,” Campbell exclaimed and then looked around the crowded cafeteria. “He’shere? That means I’ve got a chance! Ben, I’m comin’ for ya. Quinn might not be buying what you’re selling but I sure am!”
I laughed. “Good luck, I’ll be crossing my fingers for the two of you.”
“Okay my friends, let’s shift the spotlight to your buddies,” Campbell said as she pushed back from her chair and walked to where Kayla and Erica were sitting. “I’ve seen you guys killing viral dances, so canthe three of us do “Les Party” together? Do you guys know that one?” Campbell glanced at me. “You can join us too.”
“It’s okay, I’ll be your audience,” I replied quickly.
The chance to be featured in Campbell’s feed was more than enough to wake up the world’s sleepiest Olympians. My phone chimed right as the three of them started dancing, and I had to hide a smile when I read the text from Ben.
Be prepared, I’m kidnapping you this afternoon.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The whirlwind kidnapping negotiations ended up with me feeling guilty about skipping my final workout of the day,untilwe reached our destination. The promise of an authentic northern Italian meal with local wine was too good to pass up, and the town of Nizza Monferrato was absolutely stunning. I could only imagine how beautiful it would be come summer, although it was still almost too quaint to be true even in the deep winter freeze.
“Have you been here before?” I asked as I climbed out of the rental car.
We wound up at a cream-colored stone farmhouse with tan shutters and a terra-cotta tile roof. It was perched on the hillside, looking out over a dormant vineyard.
“Yup,” he said as he stretched his hands over his head and rolled out his neck. “I have.”
The trip from Milan wasn’t long, just an hour and a half, but the narrow twisty roads and lawless drivers added some stress to the navigation.
“A bunch of times, considering it’s where my dad’s family is from,” he added.
“Oh no way,” I exclaimed. “Are there any Martinos left here?”
“There sure are,” he grinned at me. “And you’re about to meet them.”
I froze. “Hold on. You brought me to meet yourfamily?”
His expression went impish, and before he could answer I heard happy chatter heading our way.
“Ecco il mio bel ragazzo!”
A tiny, stooped, white-haired woman in a black coat ambled toward Ben, alternating between clapping and stretching out her hands to him. When she reached him she took his face in her palms and her expression turned almost wistful as she studied him.
“Sembri proprio lui!” She pulled him close and kissed him on both cheeks, then wrapped him in a hug.
I couldn’t tell if he understood her or was just nodding along until a translator showed up, but I was impressed just the same.
“Zia Matilde,” he laughed as she squeezed him. “Bona sira!”
