Samir was still nowhere to be found.
We walked outside, the cool London air hitting us with a blast.
“Let me just get the valet to grab my car.”
We waited in front of the club. Hugh wrapped his arm around me, pulling me against his body. He took my hands, cupping them together, blowing warm air against my skin.
“Warmer?”
I nodded.
He pressed soft kisses to my face while we waited for the car. We broke apart, Hugh wrapping his arms around me, gathering me against his tall frame. It felt so good to have his arms around me. I felt comfortable. Safe. Nothing like when I was in Samir’s arms.
Hugh nodded toward the valet. “Here we are.”
I turned and my jaw dropped.
A bright red Ferrari pulled up to the curb—a convertible.
The guys in my high school were obsessed with cars. I hadn’t made it through four years in South Carolina without seeing my share of car magazines. That was how I knew that I was staring at a 458 Spider.
Hugh walked over to the passenger side, opening the door for me. I slid onto the dark leather, my pulse racing. This was the single coolest moment of my life. It was one of those moments I wished I could freeze and take a picture of before anyone would be the wiser.
It more than made up for all of those years of sitting on the sidelines.
Hugh strode in front of the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. He flashed me a grin. Okay, he definitely knew how hot he looked in the car. He turned away from me, starting the car with a flick of his wrist. The engine revved.
I felt as if I was having an out-of-body experience. My entire high school life I had been the quiet girl, the studious girl. I was never quite a nerd, but I definitely wasn’t popular either. I’d sort of blended or been invisible.
That all felt different now.
We sped through London, the roar of the Ferrari’s engine mixing with the sound of the wind rushing around us. Every time we pulled up to a traffic light, cars honked at us, yelling for Hugh to rev the engine, telling him how cool the car was. Even in a city like London this car, and Hugh, stood out.
“Are you in the mood for French?” Hugh yelled over the roar of the engine.
“French sounds perfect.”
He maneuvered the car into a parking spot outside of a green and white awning. We were in Knightsbridge, the borough that bordered Kensington. I recognized the side street—it was just a few streets over from Harrods.
“This is one of the best French restaurants in London.”
I followed him into the restaurant. It was small and quaint, with a sort of understated elegance. A few couples sat at small tables drinking wine and eating desserts. The lighting was low, with soft music playing in the background. It was insanely romantic.
A waiter seated us at a small table in the corner, its surface covered with crisp white linen. A candle flickered on the table between us. Hugh leaned forward, reaching out to grab my hand. He turned my palm up, his finger lazily tracing patterns on my skin.
He ordered for us in French and my heart skipped a beat. His accent was nothing like Fleur’s or Samir’s, but it was still far more impressive than anything I was used to. And incredibly sexy.
It was strange—he was so much older than me and definitely way smoother than anything I was used to—and yet I didn’t feel the same rush of nerves I felt around Samir. My hands weren’t clammy, my stomach wasn’t in knots.
It was kind of nice.
Each time I saw him, I was calmer, more confident.
“How many languages do you speak?” I asked, curiosity filling me.
He shrugged. “Enough French to get by. A little Italian, too. Just stuff I picked up during my travels.”
The International School was the same way—everyone spoke a ridiculous number of languages. I felt foolish considering my barely passable Spanish skills. I doubted Hugh would be impressed by me asking him if he would like to borrow my pencil.
“I wish I spoke more languages.” I shrugged. “In the U.S. languages aren’t that big of a deal.”
Hugh grinned. “You’re too beautiful to need to speak the language. You could get by without it.”
A blush formed on my cheeks. I wasn’t stupid. It was definitely a line, and a cheesy one at that. But as far as lines went, I was pretty sure all of Hugh’s would work.
I took a sip from my wineglass, studying him carefully over the rim. “You’re really good at this, aren’t you?” My tone was casual, but somehow his answer was important to me. I had been in London long enough by now to recognize that Hugh was what might be called a player. London seemed like the kind of city where you couldn’t step without tripping over one.
His dimples flashed in a grin. “A guy has to have game.”
“Did you ever consider that you have too much game?” I teased.
“Is there ever such a thing as too much game?”
I made a face.
“Seriously. I’m single, why not?” His gaze met mine. “It’s London. London is all about going out and having a good time. London isn’t meant to be serious. It’s fun. Somewhere you can let loose, let your inhibitions go.”
Was there something in the water here?
“I just got over being in a relationship. The last thing I want right now is to feel tied down.” He took a sip of his wine, flashing me a wicked grin, his handsome face illuminated by the candlelight. “Unless the tying down involves whipped cream and handcuffs or something.”
Holy shit.
“I’m just having fun,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to the feelings his words inspired. “Everyone understands it and no one gets hurt. I’m not looking for a girlfriend or anything.”
His tone was nonchalant, the words delivered with deceptive casualness. But we both knew exactly what he was doing. He was warning me off, setting my expectations exactly where he wanted them.
Whipped cream? Fine. Relationship? Not so much.
I had no idea how to respond. His fingers still traced lazy circles on my hand. With each stroke, my skin felt as if it was on fire. The thought
be careful or you’ll get burned
drifted through my mind before Hugh’s lips brushed against mine and I forgot my fears.
Chapter 17
Mya groaned. “This guy is really pissing me off.”
“Join the club.”
“How did the date end?” Fleur interjected.
We were hanging out at what we termed “family dinner.” Basically we got to dinner right when the dining hall opened and spent three or four hours hanging out and talking. People rotated in and out of the group, dropping in with stories about their days.
Mya, Fleur and I were the heart of family dinner.
“We finished eating—”
Mya interrupted me. “Who paid?”
“He did.”
The bill had been astronomical. If I had paid I would have depleted the majority of my London funds. As it was my semester expenses left me eating Burger King kids’ meals on the days the cafeteria closed.
Fleur nodded. “That’s a good sign, at least.”
“Well, I’m not sure it did me any good. He drove me back and gave me a quick kiss good-night.” I stabbed at the dried-out piece of chicken on my plate. “Oh, and guess what? After four days, still no phone call.”
Fleur sighed. “Because the ball is in your court.”
“What?”
“He told you. He’s looking to have fun. Now he’s waiting to see if you’re on board with just hooking up.”
I grimaced. “What exactly do you think hooking up entails?”
“He’s almost thirty, Maggie. I think hooking up in this case means sex.”
Mya glared at Fleur. “Don’t freak her out.”
“She’s not freaking me out,” I interrupted, defending Fleur. “I had already sort of figured as much.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“There’s a great lingerie store on High Street Ken,” Mya suggested.
I winced. I knew exactly the store she was thinking of. It had scary-looking leather corsets in the front window. “I think that might be a bit ambitious for me.”
Fleur glared at a point over my shoulder.
I turned around. “Who are we death staring at now?”
Mya rolled her eyes. “Do you seriously have to ask?”
Fleur ignored us both, her gaze laser focused on where Costa and his girlfriend, Natasha, sat at a table.
I winced. Enough was enough. I’d been watching Fleur mope over the Costa situation for months now.
Mya shot me a meaningful look, nudging me under the table with her foot. I wasn’t sure why I’d been volunteered to have this conversation with Fleur, but I was willing to take one for the team.
“You have to let it go.” Fleur’s gaze flew to me. “I know you’re upset, I know you miss him, but you have to move on.” Hurt flashed across Fleur’s face. I flinched. I firmly hated any kind of confrontation. “Look, you’re gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. There are a ton of guys who would give their right arm to date you. There are a ton of hot guys in London. Find one of those guys. Like one of those guys. Date one of those guys. Forget about Costa. He can’t be worth how upset you’re making yourself.”
Fleur’s eyes flared. “You don’t get it. It isn’t just about Costa.” She gestured toward the table. “Those were my friends, too. All of those people sitting with him and his new girlfriend were my friends. And when we broke up they dropped me like I didn’t even exist. Sophia and I used to be best friends.” My gaze traveled to a pretty girl with dark hair talking with Natasha. “Now she won’t even acknowledge me in the halls.”
“You’re better off, then,” Mya interjected. “What kind of a friend does that? Drops someone because they broke up with their boyfriend?”
“Seriously. They’re not worth it. And you have new friends now.”
“I know. It just pisses me off to see them throwing their new relationship in my face. He acts like we were never anything to each other. Like everything between us meant nothing.”
“If you ask me, someone needs to take that ass down a peg or two,” Mya interjected.
“Agreed.”
“It would just be so much easier if I didn’t have to see them together every day…”
Mya grinned. “I have the perfect solution to that.”
We both turned to her.
“We should go somewhere for fall break.”
Fleur grinned. “That’s a fabulous idea.”
I hesitated. My budget would probably be exhausted after five minutes of traveling with them. Hell, I could barely afford to be in London as it was. Traveling anywhere else seemed unlikely.
“We could go to Italy,” Mya suggested. “Rome or Venice.”
“Venice. Definitely Venice,” Fleur decided. “I haven’t been since I was a kid.”
They both turned to me. “What do you say? Venice for fall break?”
It was way too tempting. And definitely way too ambitious for me. “I can’t go to Venice.”
Fleur frowned. “Why?”
“Honestly? I can’t afford it.” It was a humiliating thing to admit, but I didn’t see a point in lying. There was no way I could keep up with them. Mya’s dad was an ambassador and Fleur mentioned something about her dad owning a company in France. I was pretty sure neither one of them was here on scholarship.
Fleur waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing. I can’t really avoid worrying about it. There’s no way I can afford to go to Italy.” I played with my fork. “I’m sorry, guys, I really want to go, but I just don’t see how I can make it happen.”
“You’re going,” Fleur announced. “Don’t worry about the money—Mya and I are getting a hotel room in Venice and we want you to stay with us. We can get a cheap flight to Europe for under fifty pounds and food and everything will sort itself out—”
“I can’t travel off of your charity. I appreciate it, but I would feel so weird about the whole thing.”
Mya nodded. “I can see how it would make you feel awkward, but it’s not a big deal.”
“It would be a big deal to me.”
Fleur rolled her eyes. “You’re my friend. Stop being so difficult. My ex-boyfriend, the former love of my life, is tarting it up around school with a girl whose claim to fame is that she once hooked up with Samir.”
My gaze flew back to Natasha.
Bitch.
“I’m dying here. If you don’t come to Italy with me for moral support, you’re a shit friend.”
I shot her a look. “Nice guilt trip, Fleur.”
Mya grinned. “Guilt trips are Fleur’s specialty. It’s a French thing. Besides, she always gets her way. Why bother arguing with her? You’re coming.”
And that’s how I ended up with a trip to Venice.
Chapter 18
Our flight arrived in the late afternoon, the sun just setting over Venice. I peered out the window, my face pressed against the glass. The landscape was stunning—a network of waterways and canals and light shimmering off the water like tiny diamonds.
“I needed this.”
Fleur grinned from the seat next to me, lifting the monogrammed silk sleep mask covering her eyes. “I told you. This is going to be the most fabulous break ever.”
“Are we going out tonight?” Mya asked from the other side of Fleur.
I grinned. “Hot Italian guys? How are we not?” This trip was my chance to get Fleur laid or at least find her another guy. Costa had to go.
When the plane landed, we grabbed our bags and cleared customs. Fleur had called ahead and reserved a private water taxi to take us to the Hotel Danieli. We made our way out of the airport, our bags trailing behind us. Fleur walked in front, scanning the rows of boats. A short, dark-haired man stood on the dock, waving a small white sign.
“Marceaux?”
Fleur nodded, gesturing for us to follow her.
The driver—boat captain—took our bags, setting them in the back of the boat. Fleur, Mya and I sat on a bench, covered by a crisp white awning. The driver turned around to face us, a rush of Italian flowing from his mouth.
I stared at him blankly. “Er, do you guys speak Italian?”
Fleur waved her hand airily. “Enough to get by.”
“Okay, what is he saying?”
She paused. “I’m not exactly sure. Something about a hotel?”
Mya groaned. “Try speaking French. Maybe he knows that.”
Somehow between Fleur’s French and the driver’s Italian we got to our hotel. I spent the ride staring at the scenery as Venice passed us by. Everywhere I looked there were domed roofs and exotic architecture. Opera played from the boat speakers, adding to the already surreal quality of the setting.