If you were to ask me for my idea of heaven, it would be something like this. It’s not the golden sand or vivid blue seas I love. It’s the beautiful white villas clinging to the lush hillsides, the narrow, cobbled streets that give shelter from the midday sun, the quaint tavernas and little shops. There’s a floral scent in the air and the silence, well, you don’t get too much of that back in Boston. I feel like I’ve landed in paradise. It’s such a romantic location. Too bad I’m seeing it all on my own.
Less than a month ago, as we were beginning the final preparations for our wedding, Colton Barratt III, heir to a real estate empire, and total mamma’s boy, called the whole thing off. If I’m honest, I wasn’t that upset. Was I embarrassed? Yes. I mean, who wouldn’t be? But heartbroken? No, far from it. I wouldn’t have come to Italy’s Amalfi Coast if I was crushed. Some people disapproved of my decision, but who cares? I’ve always wanted to visit here and no spineless bastard, who’s too desperate to please his mother, is going to take it from me. Lillian Barratt hated me from day one, and I’m glad I won’t be saddled with her as a mother-in-law.
As I walk along the street, carrying bags of souvenirs I bought for my family and the few friends I have that weren’t part of Colton’s social circle, I hum to myself. Lost in my own thoughts, I round a corner and crash straight into a brick wall. At least, that’s what it felt like. What I actually bumped into is a man. No, scratch that. This is no mere mortal. With a torso that could have been sculpted by an ancient craftsman, and the most insanely hot tattoo crawling up his arm and disappearing beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt, he’s a modern-day god. Deep brown eyes look down at me with concern.
“Are you alright?” His English is heavily accented, but he doesn’t sound Italian.
“Yes, thank you. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“Lost in your thoughts,” he muses as he drops to a crouch to pick up a bag I hadn’t even realized I had dropped. He hands it to me.
“Oh, thank you.” I move to pass him, but he steps in my way.
“You’re staying at my hotel, I think.”
I shake my head. I’d have noticed someone like him bumming around on the sun loungers by the pool. An imposing figure like him wouldn’t be easy to miss. He’s got a strange air of authority about him, even though he’s dressed casually in colorful board shorts and a white t-shirt.
“Hotel Centrale,” he prompts.
“Oh, that is my hotel.” I clamp my careless lips shut. It wasn’t wise to confirm to a complete stranger where I’m staying. Then again, if he has already seen me there, I suppose it doesn’t do any harm.
“Are you heading back there now?” he asks. “I could walk with you.”
“Uh, no, I was going to grab a bite to eat first.”
“Then allow me to accompany you.” He must see the look of apprehension on my face as he holds his arms out wide in a gesture of openness. “I’d just like the pleasure of your company for a while. I mean you no harm.”
“Which is exactly what someone who did mean me harm would say.”
“True,” he concedes, “but I promise, I harbor no sinister motivations. I’m hungry and so are you. It makes sense to eat together, yes?”
I have no idea why, but my instincts tell me I’d be safe with this guy. I guess a quick meal in a public place won’t hurt.
“Okay, yes.”
The grin that spreads across his face makes me smile.
“What do you like to eat?”
“Anything, really.”
“Seafood?”
“As long as it’s not octopus.”
He throws back his head and laughs. “No octopus. Got it.”
Putting his hand at the small of my back in a gesture that I find surprisingly comforting, he steers me along the street and down an alleyway. If it wasn’t for the potent smell of garlic letting me know there’s a restaurant of some kind down here, I’d be worried. As we’re about to enter, I realize something. “I don’t know your name.”
“Alexander Doukas.”
“Greek?” I guess, and he nods. “I’m Sofia Moretti.”
“Sofia Moretti.” He says my name like he’s testing it out. His smile tells me he likes it.
Alexander leads me into the restaurant. It’s a small place with less than a dozen tables, each big enough to seat four at a squeeze. There’s a space in the back, close to an open kitchen where several people are busy prepping meals for the thirty or so customers. A short man in black pants and a white shirt rushes over to our table. In rapid-fire Italian, he greets Alexander, addressing him as Senor Doukas. Alexander says a few words in return and the man rushes off.
“You’ve been here before?” I ask.
“Once or twice.” The gleam in his eye makes me think it’s been a lot more than that. “I hope you don’t mind, but I asked him to bring the sea bass and a bottle of the Pinot Grigio.”
Although I’m not keen on men taking charge and ordering for me, I have to admit to being relieved. My Italian is passable, but deciphering menus is a chore. “Sounds great.”
He smiles, and I feel a warmth trickle all the way to my core. This guy is really cute and, so far, he seems nice. I just hope he doesn’t run off and leave me to pay for lunch.
“So,” he says as the flustered looking man returns with our bottle of wine, which Alexander immediately relieves him of, “Sofia Moretti. That’s Italian, yes?”
“Yes, but I’m American.”
“But there’s some Italian in your family?”
“My grandfather was from Sorrento.”
Alexander nods as he pours two glasses of the wine and slides one closer to me. “So you came to see the land of his birth?”
“Something like that.” I pick up my glass and sip the deliciously crisp, refreshing wine.
Alexander cocks his head to the side and studies me. “I sense there’s more to it.”
Sighing, I put my glass down. “I’m here on my honeymoon.”
“Your honeymoon?” Alexander splutters. His eye drifts to my left hand, to where my wedding band should be.
“Yes, I came alone after my fiancé ditched me.”
“He ditched you?”
“A whole three weeks before the wedding.”
Alexander gives me a sympathetic look. I’ve seen it often over the last few weeks and it sets my teeth on edge. “I’m sorry, Sofia.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m not. It was the luckiest break of my life.”
Alexander’s brow furrows. “So you’re not upset by it?”
I take another swig of my wine. “Nope. The only thing that bothers me is him making out I’ve run off to Italy because I’m devastated.”
“You don’t look devastated to me.”
“I’m not. In fact, I’ve never been happier. I just wish he could see it.”
A wicked grin forms on Alexander’s lips. “If you want to stick it to him, I could help with that.”
“How?”
“Do you have social media?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“I don’t. I like my privacy.”
My jaw just about hits the floor. Alexander’s a little older than me, but he can’t be more than twenty-five. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone of his age who didn’t have a major online presence. “Wow, really?”
“Really.” As our lunch of sea bass and veggies arrives at the table, looking pretty as a picture, Alexander holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”
“Okay.” I get it out of my purse, unlock it using face ID and hand it to him.
He snaps a photo of the food and taps away at the phone, clearly writing a post. Then he gets up and comes around to my side of the table. He puts his arm around me and positions the camera on the phone to take a selfie. “Big smile, moro mou.”
Though I don’t know what he just called me, it sends tingles down my spine. He squeezes me a little tighter, and I smile broadly. It’s not one of my fake, for the sake of appearances, smiles that I used to give whenever I posed with Colton. This is the real thing. I’ve been in Alexander’s company for all of five minutes and already I feel more comfortable with him than I ever did with my ex-fiancé. I guess that says a lot about my relationship.
Alexander quickly types something and hands the phone back to me.
“Caught myself a cutie.” I quirk an eyebrow as I read the caption. “You think you’re a cutie?”
“My mother said so.”
My stomach sinks. Could this be Alexander’s flaw? I don’t think I can stand being around another momma’s boy after Colton. “Are you and your mother close?”
“Not particularly. We chat now and then and I visit when I can.”
Sensing I might be encroaching on a sensitive topic for him, I turn my attention to the post he just put up. It’s already got six love hearts, and it’s the middle of the night in Boston. By morning, there will probably be hundreds of comments for me to deal with. I glance at the hashtags he used and shake my head. “holidayromance, holidayhookup, hotandheavyholiday. Well, that’s going to put the cat among the pigeons.”
Alexander frowns. “What?”
“That’s going to get people talking.”
“Ah.” He picks up his fork and indicates for me to do the same. “Eat your fish before it gets cold.”
“Yes, sir.”
He smirks across the table at me. “I could get used to you calling me sir.”
“Not going to happen.”
He shrugs as if it’s no big deal, but the way his eyes gleam with desire tells me he’d love to see me on my knees before him, addressing him in that way. Actually, the thought kind of appeals to me too. Clearing the thought from my mind before my cheeks get any hotter, I turn my attention to the food in front of me. I break off a piece of the fish and drag it through the sauce that’s drizzled on the plate. When I pop it into my mouth, I groan in pleasure.
“Good?” Alexander asks.
“So good. That pop of lemon, and those herbs.” I sigh heavily. “It’s perfection.”
“Glad you like it.” Alexander takes a bite of his own fish. “So, how about we really stick it to your ex?”
I bite my bottom lip. “How would we go about that?”
“Well, we spend the afternoon together, taking pictures and having fun. We can go to the beach, have a few drinks, see how things go.”
“See how things go?”
“Yes. Let’s get to know each other a bit and then perhaps…..”
He leaves the thought hanging, but I know exactly what he was suggesting. He wants to sleep with me. I’m not really the one-night stand type but, I’m on vacation. And this is my honeymoon. I guess I should have sex at least once. My mind made up, I nod resolutely. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
As Alexander sends me a smoldering look, my pussy clenches. I just hope I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew.