“They’re waiting for you inside,” Vincenzo said, turning his head to gauge my reaction.
“No, they’re not,” I laughed.
Because this was the premier spa in the city, a place with memberships for only the elite to gain access to the services. Tom Brady’s ex-wife had to wait a month to have a facial, people said, although I found that hard to believe.
“Use the name Noel Messina, and they’ll take you straight back.” Vincenzo held out his hand.
There it was. Two times in one day, my codeword for walking through the underworld unscathed. It felt good to assume the alias I used once upon a time.
But it would feel even better to use the nameAmanda Messina.
“Enzo, be serious.” I slapped his shoulder. “Where are we really going?”
But he wasn’t smiling. Those dark eyes were the deepest shade of brown in the morning sunlight. They fixed on me with a gaze so intense, I felt it shiver down my spine.
“My wife has been overworked for too many years. Making you an appointment for a full spa treatment was the least I could do,” he finally said and snagged my fingers.
I stumbled off the bike but didn’t fall.
Because Vincenzo would never let me.
“I can’t go in there!” I gazed in horror at my wrinkled white slacks and the rain stains on my white blouse. Not to mention the helmet on my head and the mess of hair underneath.
“Would you prefer that I carry you?” he countered.
“Enzo!” I yelped, jumping back. “They don’t see people like me; I don’t have that kind of status!”
Vincenzo swung a leg off his bike. “March that sweet ass in there, fiore mio, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and find another use for the massage table.”
I stumbled back, breathing hard, and secretly asking myself why that was a bad idea. Vincenzo’s lip twitched as I spun around to meet the doorman, who was already waiting for me to go inside.
Since the employee didn’t bar the entrance, I supposed it was a good sign. Curiosity made me walk into the cool, vibrant interior.
“Good morning,” the receptionist called out. Her sleek black dress was pristine, and not a hair was out of place. “Signora Messina, I presume?”
I wanted to die. But I summoned courage and pulled off the bike helmet. “That’s me.”
That’s…me.
Married to Vincenzo Messina. Living a dream that I thought was lost forever.
As I was handed a cup of volcanic water with Amalfi Coast lemons, which I was told were picked just yesterday, I accepted the trip down the rabbit’s hole. Wonderland was an incredible place. No expense was spared to create a luxurious ambiance. The very paint on the wall seemed to be flecked with real gold.
My phone buzzed as the attendant left me to change into a fluffy, Egyptian cotton robe.
Vincenzo: Enjoy your appointment, Guglielmo will pick you up when you’re done.
As the soothing music spread through my chest, I gave up fighting this.
***
Rubbed, pampered, and relaxed, I felt like a new human as I emerged into the lobby. Through the tinted windows, I saw Bill lounging by a convertible, chewing on a beef stick. My heels clipped across the lobby, and I vaguely remembered feeling uneasy about my appearance when I walked through those doors. The full-service treatment turned my body into goo, even the freshly waxed areas, and I just didn’t care right now.
It felt simply wonderful.
“Have a blessed day, Signora Messina,” the receptionist called after me.
I turned and gave her a little wave. “Thanks, you too.”
