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“Don’t be so cynical. You’re older and wiser now. Things will be different.”
“I can’t afford to take that risk. I still owe my dad thousands of dollars. I’ll be paying him back for many more years to come.”
Cassandra stood, gripped Paris’s shoulders and stared her down. “Then do what you do best—find some big-money investors and persuade them to back your salon.”
Leaning against the vanity table, Paris gave some thought to what her friend had said. It was a good idea, but she didn’t have the time or energy to take on such an enormous endeavor. Not when she had more responsibilities than ever. Besides, no one in their family ever defied her father, and Paris wasn’t about to start.
“I’m going to go change.” Selecting one of the dresses on the bed, Cassandra sashayed back inside the walk-in closet, and shut the door. Minutes later, she returned to the bedroom wearing a designer bejeweled gown. “How do I look?”
For effect, Paris hollered like a cheerleader. Her best friend had always been a low-key, no-fuss type of girl, but there she was, in her third dress of the night. She was draped in thousands of dollars’ worth of diamonds, and her blue silk gown made her look as graceful as the Duchess of Cambridge. “I love the color of your dress, and how it shows off your killer bod. Your fiancé is one very lucky man!”
Giggling, the friends linked arms and exited the bedroom.
“We better hurry,” Cassandra said, as they slowly descended the spiral staircase. “It’s time for dessert, and if we’re late there’ll be nothing left. Julietta is a little, bitty thing, but boy, can that girl eat!”
Paris followed Cassandra through the grand foyer and out the French doors. Music, laughter and the pungent scents of fresh fruit and flowers filled the night air. With a dry mouth and an erratic heartbeat, Paris stepped inside the tent, hoping Rafael was long gone. At the thought of him, blood rushed through her veins. Try as she might, she couldn’t squelch the butterflies swarming around her stomach. He had a hold on her still, after all these years. One Paris didn’t understand, and couldn’t explain. Memories sneaked up on her, scrolled through her mind in slow motion. The first time they’d kissed and the nights they’d made love were deeply cherished memories, ones she had relived hundreds of times over the years, and nothing would ever change how much she’d once loved and adored Rafael Morretti.
Once loved him? her conscience repeated. When did you stop?
To that, Paris didn’t have an answer.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_29713b92-9491-541d-b93b-72bbbc3717c3)
Rafael sat in the media room, playing chess with Stefano, but he was having a hell of a time concentrating on the game. His thoughts were on Paris. Had been from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Seeing his old college sweetheart again, after more than a decade, had his mind so twisted he couldn’t think of anything but her. Stefano had won the last three games, and if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d bragged about his landslide victories on Facebook and Twitter.
Realizing he didn’t have a chance in hell of beating Stefano, Rafael threw his hands up in defeat and reclined in his leather chair. Low-hanging lights, plush furniture and colorful artwork gave the room a one-of-a-kind look. The air smelled of roasted peanuts, and the mouthwatering aroma made Rafael’s stomach grumble. The wet bar was only a few feet away, but he was too tired to get up and fix himself a snack. It had been a day filled with surprises, and he still couldn’t wrap his mind around Paris St. Clair being at his best friend’s wedding celebration.
Raising his eyes to the ceiling, he contemplated calling it a night and heading upstairs to his bed. Paris was staying on the second floor, only three doors down from his room. And knowing that his ex—the woman he’d once loved more than anything in the world—was only a breath away would be the ultimate torture.
Rafael heard his cell phone chime, and glanced down at the coffee table to read the number on the screen. His eyes narrowed, hardened with disgust. It was Cicely Cohen. His ex-girlfriend. The woman who’d betrayed his trust for fifteen minutes of fame. She’d been blowing up his phone for weeks, had left dozens of teary voice mail messages, but Rafael hadn’t returned her calls. Wasn’t going to, either. He had nothing to say to her, and the sooner she got the hint the better. They were over for good, and there was no way in hell he was taking her back.
“Rafael, is everything okay? You seem distracted.”
“I’m cool, man. Don’t worry about me,” he said. “How are you feeling? The big day is fast approaching, so if you’re having second thoughts, now’s a good time to skip town!”
Stefano wore a proud smile. “Proposing to Cassandra last year in Aruba was the best decision I ever made, and I can’t wait for her to become Mrs. Stefano Via.”
“I’m glad to hear that. You’re an incredible couple, and she definitely brings out the best in you.” Rafael wanted to say more, but stopped himself in the nick of time. He couldn’t fire off questions about Paris—not without raising suspicion—so for now he’d just have to cool his heels. “Have you guys decided where you’re going to live after you get married?”
“We’re going to stay in England for the time being. We love living in London and now that my consulting firm has taken off, I’m in no rush to return to the States.”
“Congratulations, man. It sounds like everything has finally come together.” Rafael picked up his wine cooler and took a swig.
“Where’s Nicco?” Stefano asked. “I thought he was joining us for a nightcap.”
“That’s what he said, but Jariah probably had other ideas. My brother thinks he’s running things, but make no mistake, his fiancée is the one in charge.”
Stefano chuckled, and nodded in agreement. “I know what that’s like, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. If my woman’s happy, then I’m happy. Cassandra means the world to me, and I’ll never let anything come between us.”
“You sound like an online dating ad!” Rafael joked.
“And you have no idea what you’re missing. Now that I’ve found my soul mate I—”
“Have you met Paris’s husband?” Rafael felt his cheeks burn, heard his pulse hammer in his ears, but faked a smile. It was too late to stuff the words back down his throat, and besides, he was curious to know about the man who’d captured his first love’s heart.
“Who told you Paris was married?” Stefano asked, wearing a puzzled expression.
“She’s not?”
His frown deepened, caused fine lines to wrinkle his forehead. “Nope, last time I checked she was single and ready to mingle!”
“But she’s wearing a massive diamond ring on her left hand.”
“Paris loves jewelry. Most women do.”
Surprised, and oddly relieved by the news, Rafael pressed on. “Is she dating anyone?”
“Why? Are you interested?”
“I didn’t come to Venice to make a love connection.”
“Nicco said you dated Paris in college. How come you never mentioned her?”
He shrugged. “Because we weren’t serious.”
“Why did you guys call it quits?”
“What’s with all the questions?”
“I just couldn’t imagine you dating someone like Paris, that’s all, and I wonder—”
“Someone like Paris?” he repeated, interrupting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re polar opposites. She’s a high-maintenance diva and you’re Mr. Laid-back.”
Rafael thought about what his friend had said, wondering if there was any truth to it. In college, Paris had been the girl every guy wanted, and every girl wanted to be. But he couldn’t recall her ever copping an attitude with him, or behaving like a diva. Loved by everyone, and admired by all, she’d easily made friends. She had shone as the student council president, and gained the respect and admiration of the faculty and staff, as well.
Had Paris changed? Was she like all the other shallow, materialistic women he’d had the misfortune of dating in the past? Unlike his friends, Rafael didn’t flaunt his wealth, and derived great pleasure from the simple things in life. Hot summer days spent jogging through the park with his beloved dogs; spending Sunday afternoons playing golf and watching football. He’d yet to find someone who loved the great outdoors, and humanitarian work, and doubted he ever would. Most women he met were more interested in driving around town in his Bentley and dining at five-star restaurants than getting to know him as person. And since he had more than enough work to keep him busy, he had zero interest in the Washington dating scene.
“Paris loves to party, and you’re a recluse, so you’d definitely make an odd pair.”
“Recluse? That’s a stretch, don’t you think?”
“No. The last time you went on a date Michael Jordan was still playing for the Bulls!”
Rafael had a zinger on his tongue, one he knew would wipe the grin clear off Stefano’s face. But before he could speak, his friend resumed his interrogation.
“Did Paris cheat on you?” he asked in a solemn tone. “Is that why you broke up?”
“No, she transferred to Spelman her junior year, and the distance proved too much....” Rafael trailed off, stopping himself from saying more. What he didn’t tell Stefano was that Paris had dumped him three days before his birthday and immediately started dating someone else. Some rich, good-looking clown on the football team. It’s in the past, water under the bridge, he told himself, downing the rest of his wine cooler. I moved on a long time ago, and never gave Paris, or her loser boyfriend, another thought.
If that’s true, his conscience said, then why are you still bitter and resentful about your breakup? Why does your heart ache every time you see her?
“I can’t believe you’re still sweet on her after all this time.”
“Stefano, knock it off. I’m not sweet on Paris. I haven’t seen her in years.”
“So? Who’s to say she’s not the one?” he challenged, raising an eyebrow. He leaned forward expectantly. “Maybe it’s true what they say. Maybe absence does make the heart grow fonder.”
Rafael laughed, rejecting his friend’s opinion with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Thanks for the advice, Dr. Love, but I’m not interested in making a connection with Paris or anyone else.”
But I wouldn’t mind a few nights of carnal pleasure, he thought as images of his ex-girlfriend bombarded his mind. Rafael couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex. Six months? A year? He told himself it didn’t matter, because now that he’d reunited with his old college sweetheart his sexual drought was about to come to an abrupt end.
A grin tilted the corners of his lips. Seducing Paris was going to be more fun than playing high-stakes poker in Atlantic City. Rafael lived for the thrill of the chase, the pursuit, and he had a feeling the sexy socialite was going to make things very interesting this weekend. The only hurdle would be hooking up with Paris without everyone at the villa finding out. Rafael didn’t want word of his holiday tryst getting back to his brothers, or worse, his matchmaking mother. He’d think of something, he had to, because tomorrow, when he saw Paris at breakfast, he was setting his plan in motion.
“I’m beat. I’m turning in.” Stefano stood and swiped his iPhone off the coffee table. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and if I doze off during the tour Cassandra will kill me!”
“Is everyone heading into the city for the sightseeing excursion?”
“And by everyone, you mean Paris, right?” He wore a wry grin. “Yeah, she’s going.”
“I might tag along,” Rafael said, keeping his tone light, casual. The thought of spending the day with Paris appealed to him, but he didn’t confess the truth. If his best friend knew he was feeling something for her—even just a little—he’d blab to Cassandra, and Rafael didn’t want anyone to know he was interested in hooking up with his former flame. “My meeting has been pushed back to Monday, and I have nothing planned tomorrow.”
“That’s great. Now you’ll have time to romance Paris!”
Rafael scoffed at the suggestion. Ever since Stefano had proposed to Cassandra he seemed hell-bent on hooking him up with one of her single friends. And when he wasn’t playing matchmaker he was bragging about his lady love. Stefano couldn’t go five minutes without talking about how great she was, and listening to his buddy gush about his bride-to-be made Rafael feel lonelier than ever.
First my best friend finds love, and then my brothers, he thought, releasing a deep sigh. Coming to Venice was a bad idea. All this love and happiness is sickening.
“I’ll meet you on the tennis court at 7:00 a.m.,” Stefano said, as they exited the media room. “Don’t be late, or I’ll send Julietta to come get you.”
“You better not, or you’ll be sporting a black eye on your wedding day.”
Chuckling good-naturedly they strode down the hall and climbed the staircase.
“Good night, man.”
“Try not to snore,” Rafael teased, clapping his friend on the back. “I’m a light sleeper, and I need my rest so I can whip you in straight sets tomorrow.”
“Keep dreaming, pretty boy, it’s not going to happen!”
Seconds later, Rafael opened his bedroom door, flipped on the lights and kicked off his shoes. The first thing he noticed was Julietta—sitting on the king-size bed in a flimsy lace negligee.
“I can’t sleep,” she stated. Her eyes were as wide and as innocent as Bambi’s, but the mischievous expression on her tanned face told another story.
“What are you doing here?” Rafael retorted.
“I came to see you,” she purred, flinging the blanket aside and hopping to her feet. Meeting his gaze head-on, she stalked toward him like a jaguar prowling the jungle for fresh meat. “Let’s get down and dirty. I have wine, and more toys than a dominatrix!”
“I’m not interested.”
“Then I’ll just have to change your mind.” Julietta reached for his belt buckle, but Rafael grabbed her hands. “What are you doing? Don’t you want to have a good time?”
“It’s late, and I have work to do.”
“You don’t want me to stay?”
“No, sorry, I don’t.”
Her smile fell away, and a sneer stained her glossy red lips. “I don’t need this crap. I’m superpopular here, and there are plenty of guys who’d kill to be with me,” she argued, propping her hands on her wide, full hips. “I was the third runner up in last year’s Miss Italia contest, and I have more Twitter followers than the Dalai Lama....”
To end her rant, Rafael opened the bedroom door. “Good night, Julietta. Sleep well.”
“If you change your mind, which I know you will, I’ll be skinny-dipping in the pool.”
Rafael watched the blue-eyed temptress slink down the staircase, convinced that things couldn’t get any worse. But as he turned away, he spotted Paris standing at the other end of the hall, staring at him. He wanted to tell her about what didn’t happen with Julietta, but he could tell by the malevolent glare on Paris’s face that she thought he was the scum of the earth. But he had to say something, had to defend himself. Before Rafael could utter a word she marched into her bedroom and slammed the door.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_b5978cc3-e8a5-5f07-92c3-8b434f481a78)
On Friday morning downtown Venice was clogged with noisy tourists, and flamboyant street performers hoping to make a quick buck, but Rafael couldn’t keep his eyes off Paris. Standing in the middle of the world-famous Piazza San Marco was a mind-blowing experience, one that should have been captivating enough to hold his attention, but it didn’t. Not with Paris around.
She looks like an angel, Rafael thought, admiring her on the sly. Her oversize sunglasses gave her a youthful air, her crimson lips held a dazzling smile and her sleeveless white dress played up her pear-shaped figure.
Yeah, a naughty angel you’d love to see naked, his conscience taunted. Quit gawking at her. You’re better than that. You’re a Morretti, remember?
But Rafael didn’t turn away. He lacked the willpower and fortitude it required. Paris was dressed to kill, and her traffic-stopping curves made him hot under the collar and below the belt. Diamonds dangled from her ears, neck and wrists, and her ankle bracelet drew his gaze down her long legs time and time again.
“The Piazza San Marcos is one of the most beautiful places in Italy, and people travel from far and wide to admire the magnificent works of Antonio Canova, Giovanni Bellini and Vittore Carpaccio.”
Rafael tore his gaze away from Paris, and turned his attention to the middle-aged tour guide with the receding hairline. He tried to listen to what Mr. Esposito was saying, but all he could think about was kissing Paris with all the passion coursing through his veins. He wouldn’t act on his feelings, knew better than to make a move on her in public, but dammit if he didn’t want to.
That morning at breakfast he’d scored a seat beside her. But unfortunately Paris had spent more time chatting with the other groomsmen than talking to him. And when they did speak their conversation was plagued with tension and awkward silences. No matter, Rafael told himself. He wasn’t giving up. They’d had something special once, and he liked the idea of having a holiday fling with Paris in his beloved hometown. In fact, he couldn’t think of a better way to kick off the New Year. He was determined to connect with his old college sweetheart and nothing was going to stop him.
Raising his water bottle to his lips, he took a long, refreshing drink. The sky was clear, the breeze thick and the air was filled with the scent of sweet-smelling flowers. People were everywhere—snapping pictures, feeding the pigeons, wandering the cobblestone streets and pushing and shoving like kids waiting in line at the water fountain. As Rafael moped the sweat from his brow he decided he’d had enough excitement for one day.
He choked down more water. After hours of walking from one ancient monument to the next, he was ready to head back to the villa for some R & R. He’d been up since dawn, and after working on his presentation, he’d played tennis with Stefano and swam in the heated pool.
Checking his gold wristwatch, Rafael was surprised to see that it was midday. After lunch, the group was heading over to the fashion district. He had no desire to go shopping, and had better things to do with his time, but knew it was a bad idea to ditch the group. If he did, one of the other groomsmen would make a move on Paris, and there was no way in hell Rafael was letting that happen. He’d have to suck it up, and bide his time.
“Are we going on a gondola ride today?” asked one of Stefano’s short, plump aunts.
The tour guide wore a polite smile. “No, ma’am, I’m afraid not.”
“But it’s on the top of my bucket list, and I may never come to Italy again!”
Everyone in the group laughed. The bride and groom’s friends and family—sixty-five loud, boisterous people in all—entered the Campanile, the city’s oldest and tallest building. But Rafael noticed Paris ducking into one of the nearby bakeries.
Curious, he entered the pasticceria and took off his Ray-Ban sunglasses. A fruity, spicy aroma sweetened the air, stirring his senses and rousing his appetite. With its sultry lights, timber chandeliers and glass sculptures, the shop looked more like an art gallery than a pastry store. Italian music was playing, and the servers looked as chic as the decor.
