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WREN
Dinner was awkward. Quiet. Tense. Tate barely said anything, and I had nothing to offer either. Though, I was pretty overwhelmed with all the pizza choices and just wanted to eat in peace.
He gripped my hand tight as we walked through the dark street. Standing close to me at all times, never once removing his hand from my lower back, he ushered me through the busy little pizzeria.
It was slightly possessive and dominating of him, but if I was truthful with myself, I enjoyed it. It provided comfort, even though we barely spoke. And, when he walked me to my room at the end of the night, he pressed a kiss to my cheek and whispered, “Sorry for acting like a dick earlier.” With a gentle squeeze to my hip, he left and returned to his room.
I was up early in the morning. I was never one to sleep in. So, I grabbed my yoga mat and placed it out on the balcony as the sun rose in front of me. Dawn was my favorite time of the day. It was most peaceful.
I went through my yoga practice, taking time to stretch my limbs and relax my body after being cramped on a plane for almost twenty hours. When I finished, I sat there with my eyes closed for a minute, concentrating on my breathing and trying to get my anxiety under control.
I was going to meet Giovanni Russo in a few short hours, and he was going to feature my art in his latest shoot with Tate. It was a little overwhelming and hard to comprehend.
Not too long ago, I had debt collectors knocking on my door and the fear of never eating a pizza again was real. Now, I was in Florence with the stupid, sexy bastard, Tate, about to meet arguably the world’s most talented designer and have my work incorporated into his photoshoot. Surreal was an understatement.
I opened my eyes and stood up before bending down to roll up my yoga mat. When I turned to walk inside, I noticed Tate standing on his balcony, his eyes locked on me. He stood there in nothing but a pair of low-slung gray sweatpants and coffee in his hand.
Did the guy ever wear a shirt?
Seriously. Not that I was complaining. I mean, the view was spectacular.
I stared at him. He stared at me. Neither one of us would back down. He smirked behind his coffee mug.
Stupid, sexy bastard.
“How long have you been there?” I asked, watching the movement of his throat as he swallowed his coffee. Had he watched me the whole time or did he just get there?
“Good morning, Wren,” he said, completely ignoring my question. “We have a big day; you better get ready.” He approached the barrier between our two balconies, pulled another coffee mug out of nowhere and balanced it on top of the post before turning his back to me and walking back inside.
He made me coffee. I smiled gratefully and lunged for the steaming mug of bittersweet life.
Trudging back inside to shower and get ready for the day, I felt lighter than I had in a long time, as if I knew everything was going to be okay.
Tate knocked on my door just before eight a.m. and my stomach churned. I wasn’t ready. Heck, I didn’t even know what I needed to do to be ready. I pulled open the door and huffed out a breath, blowing a stray strand of hair out of my face.
“Oh, babe.” He placed his hand over his heart as he took in my appearance of fluffy knee-high socks, gray shorts and paint splattered t-shirt. “You didn’t have to dress up for me,” Tate said in way of a greeting as he breezed through my door as if he owned the place.
I stuck my tongue out at him like a petulant child.
At least I showered I wanted to say, but instead I went with the more dignified response of, “It’s better to let people think you’re an idiot, Tate, than to speak and prove it.”
“Are you trying to insult me?” He chuckled.
“Nope. Just stating the obvious.” I sat down on the floor and began pulling out all the clothes I’d packed, throwing pieces behind me if I didn’t like the look of them. Nothing was suitable. Jeez, why did I have to have such a relaxed wardrobe? And where was Eva when I needed her?
“I think you should wear this.” Tate’s voice was thick. I whipped my head around to see him holding a scrap of material that looked vaguely like a teddy. I was going to kill her.
Eva had come around the night before we left to help me pack, and I’d bet my last dollar that she’d slipped that into my case without me knowing. She was on a mission to get me laid. Her words. Not mine.
I scoffed. “Really? You think I should wear a lacy black camisole?”
His eyes darkened, and he scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “Yes.”
There was a glint in his eye. He was issuing a challenge. He didn’t really think I would wear it. But I was never one to back down from a challenge—I mean it was how I became a pizza-eating champion—I pushed to my feet and walked over to him.
Snatching the scrap of material from his hand, I smiled sweetly. “Fine.”
I picked up a pair of ripped skinny jeans and black leather stiletto boots and slipped into the bathroom. At least I had the foresight to throw on a nude bra after my shower because otherwise everything would be visible.
I changed quickly and attempted to smooth out my hair. It was still in waves from the night before and didn’t look like I’d put my finger in a power socket, so I took that as a win.
Tate was pacing the room when I returned but stopped the moment he heard the door open. Pinching his bottom lip, he looked me over once and said, “You need a jacket.”
“It’s warm out. I don’t need one.” I folded my arms over my chest and his eyes followed the movement, zeroing in on my chest. Typical guy.
“Then you need to change.” And this time it was my turn to smirk. He picked up a ratty old t-shirt and laughed. “This one will do.”
It was my favorite one. It had a dancing pizza slice sticking his middle finger up and a caption that said, ‘Eat me.’ It was totally inappropriate, so I usually only wore it to bed. I tapped him on the chest, and said, “Sorry. Driver should be here now. Wouldn’t want to be late.” Then I picked up my bag and walked out of the room not even waiting to see if Tate would follow.
He would.
He had to.