L'amore: The Luminara Series (58 page)

“You have nothing to worry about. I am yours and always will be. Fran has done nothing but sing your praises. She is having fashion design samples sent over to you and would like us both to visit her when we are back in Italy. I think she is being very amicable considering.”

This just reiterates what a warm, kind, decent woman she actually is. Maybe it would be better if she weren’t so nice. “That’s very kind of her. Send her my regards.”

Deadpan.

“What is wrong dolcezza?”

“Nothing,” I lie.

I was handling his trip away, and I knew that ultimately he would be spending time with Fran, but suddenly I’m green with envy and regret my decision not to have gone with him.

“You are a terrible liar. I hear Jackson has sent you flowers. I am unnerved by it. I think I will be having words with our local womanising celebrity when I return.”

Stop changing the subject!

“Don’t overreact. It’s only flowers to wish me well because I had an accident. Now we’re on the subject, I’m not happy with Lloyd and Devon opening my mail. That’s why I was trying to call you,” I protest.

He sighs. “I am sorry, it is not forever, but it is just how it needs to be now.”

I need to make my point clear because it is indeed unacceptable, and Lucca is deluding himself if he thinks otherwise. “I feel like my privacy has been violated. I don’t want them going through my things.”

“It is only until I come home, then I will open everything. Baby, it is only two more days.”

“No one should have to open my mail, Lucca. I can do it myself.”

“I know you can, it is just until this Kimberley ordeal passes. We know how malicious she can be. I would hate for you to open anything unsavoury.”

“Okay … I suppose.” I lean over and smell the blue flower arrangement Lucca left for me then sigh.

“I need to go, dolcezza, we have a dinner reservation. Make sure you girls enjoy your evening. I will call you later before bed. Who is staying tonight?”

It’s killing me knowing Lucca is going to dinner with his ex-fiancée, the mother of his deceased son, his childhood sweetheart. I’m struggling to be composed because I’m already imagining the worst.

“Hazel’s staying.” I worry my fingers against my lips.

“Are you upset because I’m having dinner with Fran?”

He’s so intuitive.

Damn!

“Yes, a little,” I whisper.

“It is just dinner so there is nothing for you to be worried about,” he says sincerely.

“Hmmm ...”

“If you do not want me to go, I will cancel.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to be that type of person. I trust you, I’m just …”

He loses reception and the line goes dead. I try calling him back, but it’s switched off. It leaves me uneasy, but I know he’ll call when he can.

And I do trust him. I hope I can trust Fran as well.

Throwing myself on the bed, I try very hard to erase all negative thoughts from my mind. I intend to close my eyes for ten minutes, which actually elapses to nearly an hour.

Downstairs, Rose introduces me to six pristine female beauty therapists who have been hired by Lucca—three from the spa at his Lanarkshire club and three from his Glasgow club. They have brought all their equipment and have set up in the indoor pool area with individual bamboo screens separating six beauty beds.

The area has been transformed into a tranquil, sweet smelling haven of exotic lotus blossom, sandalwood, and passion flower. There are candles everywhere, floating candles in the pool, the mood lighting is on with some little fairy lights, and all sorts of professional products lined up. Each bed has a white robe folded on the end, white slippers, and a gift bag filled with products and makeup for each of us.

The girls will love this. Lucca does think of everything. I’m extremely grateful.

After a commotion bypassing the Men in Black, the girls all arrive together. Samantha is really impressed with the house and décor; she’s speechless even in the hallway, which reminds me of the first time I stepped foot in here. I’m used to it now, but I recall my first impressions.
Overwhelmed
.

“Bloody hell, Roo, it’s easier getting into Buckingham Palace than in here. Lucca has taken your break-in very seriously, which is good, but did he really have to get the Royal Guards?” Hazel gripes, giving me a huge cuddle.

I shrug. “He doesn’t do things by half.”

“Um … no he certainly doesn’t,” she says, tapping her middle finger on her chin.

I ask Hazel to give Sam and Carrie the tour while Devon shows Harriet, my hairdresser, in after asking for appropriate identification and searching her kit bag.

Really? As if my hairdresser carries weapons in a bag with pink rollers and plans to take me out with a hair pin. Honestly, this ludicrous behaviour is wearing thin.

The girls all squeal with delight when they see the pool deck set up for the pampering and take pleasure in their little bag of treats. I know I should be a little more enthused as Lucca has put a lot of consideration and arrangements into this evening, but I’m too preoccupied wondering how his dinner date with Fran is going.

The house is buzzing because Lloyd also brings in some catering staff and a cocktail waiter who work at Luminara—Lucca’s club, bar, and restaurant—after the routine checks. Devon remains outside while Lloyd stays inside keeping watch on the extra hired staff. Hazel strops because Devon’s Irish accent’s growing on her.

Bloody horny flirt!

“Oh my God, we have a cocktail waiter. Girls, I wonder if he serves frozen margaritas in the buff? The Royal Guards could be the male strippers; going by the way they wear those suits.” Hazel smirks. The girls laugh and I dismiss her impishness while I show the staff where to set up in the kitchen.

After introductions and completing health questionnaires, our individual beauty therapists give us the robes and a folder with a schedule and list of treatments we can have. We sit on the loungers next to the pool sipping strawberry daiquiris, gossiping, and nibbling on delicious canapés.

We’ve been appointed ninety minutes of treatments before dinner, then an additional ninety minutes of treatments, and maybe a dip in the pool if we have time.

We finish a second cocktail, a peach mojito, and another round of canapés before running through our choices with our therapist. I’m not comfortable with other people massaging my body, unless it’s Lucca. I ask for an Indian head massage—hoping it will relieve some of my stress—an exotic moisture dew facial, and a full leg, underarm, and bikini wax too.

We’re given jugs of iced lemon water in preparation and are then taken to our individual areas. The lights are dimmed as tranquil music plays. Samantha has to warn Hazel to keep quiet so that we can all relax. I chuckle, knowing it’s going to be a challenge for her. All I can hear is her asking the therapist questions about cellulite, collagen, and laser treatments.

It’s only a matter of minutes before everyone is drugged, deep in the heady trance of relaxation.

No sound from Hazel. Results, she’s been tranquilised!

I have so many things going through my mind it’s taking me a little longer to relax. I’m stiff and tense to begin with until the charming Dana triggers essential pressure points allowing my head to fall heavily until I feel light.

Inhaling the sweet tropical scent of mangos, nectarine, and papaya, I think of Lucca’s exotic smelling skin mixed with the sexy masculine fusion of his aftershave, causing an unsettling pain in my stomach—worry.

Over dinner in the dining room, we are given lots more water to rehydrate us, but we do have some Kir Royals with our three course à la carte Italian-inspired meal. Everyone is thoroughly relaxed with fresh glowing skin, wrapped under their robes, feeling very soothed and pampered.

“Girls, I don’t know about you, but I feel horny as hell. It’s seriously turning me on. That chick has got magic hands,” Hazel says discreetly with the look of mischief, the look where she raises her eyebrow and smirks impishly.

Choking, I spray my drink everywhere, holding my hand to my mouth in complete shock.

“She’s a dirty bloody minx,” Samantha says, chuckling.

Carrie is very quiet. It never occurred to us that she would find it pleasurably erotic, but of course, being gay she might.

“Carrie, don’t you go slipping the hand,” Hazel remarks, causing everyone to laugh. Carrie shakes her head, but I can tell she’s amused at Hazel’s sense of humour under her heated, rosy cheeks. She says Nicole is the only girl who does it for her, and we all roll our eyes, smiling.

“I bet you two are kinky fuckers in bed,” Hazel adds. Now Carrie is turning flame red. Hazel is a liability with that sassy, smart mouth. I wish she’d zip it.

Harriet adjusts a chair for me; I don’t even have to give her any direction for my haircut. She does what she always does and knows best. Dana works on my fingernails, giving them a manicure, and pedicure to my toes. Once Harriet has finished my cut, Dana waxes and tints my eyebrows and eyelashes.

I can’t believe the difference. My eyelashes are much more prominent now that they are darker. Not as dark and bushy as Lucca’s, but still it’s a great improvement.

“Are you going back in the pool?” Harriet asks.

“Yes, probably. Why, what’s up?”

“Nothing, I won’t dry your hair then. You can style it yourself after you wash it. Not that you need to because, you know, it’s going to dry naturally in a bounce of sexy waves. You have the best hair, Lexi. You’re very lucky.”

I thank her profusely and offer her champagne, but she refuses as she has to drive. She does however leave me some quality hair products.

We all change into swimwear once the therapists and catering staff are packed up. They’re escorted by Lloyd, and then he does another sweep of the house, switching positions with Devon, leaving only the cocktail waiter, whom we’ve learned is called Mack since Hazel made a point of flirting with him.

Mack makes us another two cocktails each then retires for the evening. Once he’s left, Lloyd advises he will run any of the girls home while Devon stays on watch. Men in Black are not so bad after all, either that or I’m getting very tipsy and more tolerant.

The girls go into the pool and sauna while I sit in the kitchen and call Lucca to thank him for tonight. No answer, so I leave a voicemail. Smiling when I see Lucca’s name light up on my phone screen, I answer quickly.

“Hey, honey.”

“Lexi, it is Francesca,” she says in her sexy, Italian-English. The hairs on my arms prick up as does my upper body in my chair.

“Hi, Fran, is everything alright? Where’s Lucca?” I ask anxiously.

“Yes, everything is fine. Lucca has fallen asleep. He had some wine at dinner and scotch afterwards. He insisted I get home okay so he had his driver bring me back and showed me upstairs to my penthouse but then passed out, so I am letting him sleep it off. Giorgio had to leave early and attend to business so I cannot call him to come and get him.” Rage burns in the deepest dark cave of my stomach.

Fuck!

File F for fiancé stealer. This is what I was afraid of.

“He’s staying there, with you?” I try to mask the distaste I’m feeling for that arrangement.

“Yes, I cannot very well send him back to the hotel like this. You have nothing to worry about. I am not drinking because of my medication, and I will take good care of him.”

No, please don’t. I don’t want you to.

That has just made me feel worse. I now feel queasy and sick.

“Why is he drinking whiskey? What’s happened? Why is he getting trashed? Something’s up.” I feel agitated and nervous and so helpless not being there with him.

“He has had a challenging few days with the business. I am sure it was not intentional. Just fatigue and stress,” she reassures.

This sounds plausible, but he knows how I feel about abusive drinking, and about him staying with Fran. It must be bad for him to lose control like this.

“Can I speak with him, Fran?” I choke.

“I can hold the phone to him, but he is slurring his words, so he will not make much sense.”

“Where is he sleeping?” It is direct and rude, but I need to know. The hairs on my neck and back stand erect, and I’m stinging with needle like pricks to my skin. I’m edgy.

“In my bed. I will take the single in the spare room. Lexi, you have nothing to worry about because he loves you. He is just very drunk,” she assures me.

“I’m sorry. I know, it’s just … can I try and speak to him?” I swallow a huge lump in my throat. This is tearing me to shreds. I want to look after him, to be there for him.

“Okay, hold on.” I hear her muffled sounds and then Fran speaking quickly, all in Italian which I can’t decipher. “I am not promising, but I will put the phone to his ear.”

“Thank you.”

“Lucca, Lucca, it’s me. Wake up, I need to talk to you.”

I hear groaning then a series of slurred words. “Le … x ... ba … y ... are you rea … l? Are you ali … ve?”

“What? Of course, I am. What are you going on about?”

“He will not ta … ke you ever. I will not let … it … hap …” A low growl emits from him.

Is he talking about Jackson? Why on earth would he get drunk because he thinks I’m being seduced by another guy? Is he trying to get me back by staying with Fran? Well, if he’s trying to hurt me, he’s succeeding.