Perfect Match (Vice Club Nights #2)

14. Tori

Chapter fourteen

Tori

C iao, bella.

Gio’s last words to me still ring in my ears. The bruising press of his lips a faint imprint on mine. But it’s the act of saying goodbye that has left a fault line through my heart. The train picks up speed, taking me farther away from the man who rekindled my dormant sex drive, and I have to believe this isn’t the end of us. Now is the time when a crystal ball would come in handy because I want to see into our future. Instead, all I have is hope and a little book to capture my thoughts and feelings.

Unzipping my backpack, I drag out my journal and read the entry from yesterday.

June 9 –Today was probably the best day so far. Even better than yesterday, and driving through the Tuscan countryside in a red Ferrari convertible was pretty goddamn memorable.

I’m calling it right here, right now: Florence is my favourite Italian city. And I swear it has nothing to do with Gio being my personal tour guide and favourite new sex toy. Okay, I’m lying. It has everything to do with him.

How could I not be swept away in the magical romance of this city when Gio treats me like a princess? The guy certainly knows how to woo! Along with a catalogue of other things that I’m too embarrassed to admit even in this very personal journal. I swear, Charli, what I’ve written has to stay between us.

Now, back to what we did today. The girls and I spent the morning climbing to the top of the Duomo bell tower (414 narrow stone steps). A great view that was well worth the hot trek. Then in the afternoon, Gio had booked us a spa afternoon at the hotel. I can’t tell you how good it felt to have my hair trimmed and my nails clipped and painted. Only problem is my friends may now be in competition with me for Gio’s affection because they loved the pampering so much.

But that wasn’t the best part of the day. It seems my favourite moments in Florence all centre around one special man. Gio is so damn romantic but in a steamy, sexy kind of way. How am I meant to resist that? Simple answer, I can’t and I won’t. Anyway, tonight he took me to the Piazza Michelangelo, where we sat on the stone steps at the foot of the statue of David and watched the sunset. He brought along a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes. For my man, there’s none of those silly plastic ones with the detachable bases that would always spill the wine when we went for picnics at the beach. No, this guy is pure class and thoughtful ... Heavy sigh.

Then we spent hours walking hand in hand through the narrow city streets and squares, stopping occasionally at a wine-in-the-wall place. A Florentine tradition where a bar has a small window cut into the stone wall at the front, and you knock on the little door, order, and they pass the glass of wine through to you. Pretty cool.

On the way back to the hotel, we stopped at the Duomo. For me, the soaring gothic marble walls lit up at night are even more beautiful than during the day. And when Gio leaned me up against one of those walls before kissing the breath from my body, I melted.

I like that he isn’t embarrassed to show his affection in public with little gestures like holding hands and spontaneous kissing sessions. It’s what makes Gio different in a way that I’ve never felt with other guys before. Like I want to share everything with him and have him do the same. Our hopes. Our loves. And of course, our bodies.

He steals my soul … to be continued.

The entry stopped abruptly when Gio walked back into the sitting area after finishing a call with his father. It was the third time his father had called that evening, and up until we’d returned to the suite, Gio had been ignoring them. But it seems to me that his father doesn’t like to be ignored and has little to no respect for his son’s privacy.

Gio’s frustrated “I’m busy, and I’ll call you tomorrow” made no difference, and he ended up speaking to his father for more than twenty minutes. I’d pulled my journal from my backpack after ten, tucked my knees up to my chest on the comfy sofa, and started writing.

When he reappeared in the doorway, I furiously wrote to be continued and snapped the book shut.

“Are you writing about me in your journal again?” he’d asked, and my face had flushed like I’d been caught doing something wrong. I don’t regret what I wrote, but he can never know the extent of my feelings for him.

So I had ignored the question. Besides, my reaction was enough for him to know the answer. The ego of the man , and I can’t help smiling at the memory. Although, I should be embarrassed when I think of how many times his name has appeared on the pages.

I tilt my head back onto the train headrest and close my eyes, remembering what happened next. He’d taken the journal from my loose fingers and tucked it back into the zippered pocket of my backpack, then bent down and carried me to his bed. Last night wasn’t just good sex; it was a slow, more intimate coming together. The connection that sparked between us becoming more.

My eyes spring back open, and I turn to a new page to begin today’s entry.

June 10 – I’m heading north on the train from Florence to Venice and feeling sad.

First, a correction to yesterday. Calling Gio a sex toy diminishes the impact he has left on me. He’s become so much more than just a good time. I’ll never forget my days in Florence, a beautiful city and a special man.

One day I’m coming back, and I’m bringing you with me. Every time I see these iconic sights, I suffer from something I call culture shock. And I’m so carried away in the moment that I forget that you’re not there beside me like you’ve always been. If I’d realised how hard it would be to be away from you for so long, I’d have followed you to New York or dragged you with me.

Tina and Amy are fun to travel with, but they’re not you, Charli. They don’t know me like you do, and while our calls help to tamp down this feeling of being alone, it’s not the same as seeing you standing in front of me, my reflection. I wish I could tell you this in our calls, but it’s too hard because I hear in your voice that you feel the same loss. And it’s crazy to think that I can be lonely when I’m surrounded by thousands of tourists and my friends. Yet I still am.

These last few days with Gio were different. He crowds my head with so many other thoughts and emotions that I no longer feel lonely, and I forget why I ran away from life in the first place.

Charli, I’m worried that I might have fallen for him, even though nothing in these last few days has felt real. I know I should be careful to protect my heart. And I have to keep reminding myself that this might only ever be a vacation fling, which never lasts. A bit of fun that is unlikely to lead to happy ever afters.

Sis, I miss you today more than ever. I could really do with one of your hugs.

I close the cover of my journal, running my hand over the gold-embossed lettering on the front before putting it away.

The rhythmic chug of the wheels on the track rattles the thoughts in my head, but I still don’t have any answers as to why I’m feeling so down. There’s no reason to be so sad, because I’m going to see Gio again in Paris.

He promised.