Page 3 of Destino

Fabiana winked. In every occasion she tried to use a word or two in conversation. The problem was she found herself stuck on the basics. Living in Italy would surely expand her vocabulary; just as dating Kei had taught her some of the most beautiful words in Mandarin. She glanced to Fabiana. “This is a nice place. Really nice. You said Teddy came here?”

“Oh yes, girl. He and I tried every restaurant alongvia Posillipo. This house vino is so good. Up here and below is a lot of nice dining. However, there’s a bit more than meets the eye.”

Mira glanced up from her menu. “What do you mean?”

Fabiana lowered her menu and leaned across her plate to smirk. Her red lips glistened by the candlelight on the table. “Teddy said that the basement is where people gamble, among other things. Some real freak nasty stuff if you’re into it.”

Mira laughed. “Bullshit.”

Theodore Tate was their financial advisor and attorney. Mira trusted him and Fabiana on all business affairs. However, Mira knew Teddy, as they called him, had an affinity for fast living; women and gambling were a constant in his life. Kei would constantly question her over his abilities, and though she may not have agreed with Teddy’s methods, he found loopholes and opened doors no other man under her employ could. If Teddy said there was something more to this place, she was inclined to believe him.

“It’s true. Isn’t it just decadent! Gosh I love Italy!”

“You being Italian have something to do with it?” Mira joked.

Fabiana shrugged. “It’s like coming to the home you never knew. Being around family you always dreamed you had. Bet you’d feel that way if you went to Africa.”

Mira considered the comparison. She wondered if a trip to the mother continent would do for her what being in Italy for three weeks had done for Fabiana. She’d never seen her friend so excited and happy.

A hot breeze blew in causing the string of lights above their heads to sway. The balcony setting was very serene with large leafy plants and candle lit lanterns. The tables were covered in white linen and the plush chairs with white cushions. All tension drained from her bones. She relaxed in front of a spectacular view of the Amalfi coast with luxury yachts resting upon the dark calm waters.

The manager ofIsabella’s, who Fabiana introduced as Francesco, brought his chair inappropriately close to hers. She offered a curt, yet universal smile of decline to no avail. He stretched his arm around the back of her chair, and she could have sworn he let a few fingers brush her shoulder.

“Benevenuti a Napoli,” Francesco said, his raspy voice only inches from her ear. His breath, hot and garlicky, became a pungent wash across the side of her face, and her stomach muscles clenched in response. Francesco was a short man with wide nostrils, thick pink lips, and brown stained teeth, but he wore a nice suit and had taken the time to curl the tips of his mustache upward.

“Grazie,” she answered to his welcome.

“The place looks wonderful! You’ve done so much with it since I last visited.” Fabiana gushed. “We’ve been here three weeks and do you know this is the first time either of us have ventured out at night?”

“It is lovely.” Mira tried to force a light jovial tone to her voice. His close proximity didn’t help. She swore she’d leap from her chair and throw herself over the balcony if he touched her again.

Francesco whispered in Italian. From the hard look of lust in his eyes she had to wonder if it was indecent. Fabiana laughed. Mira frowned.

“Mi scusi,can you move your armper favore,” Mira said through clenched teeth. Francesco obliged and Fabiana ignored her discomfort and sipped her wine. Theantipastiwas delivered first to their table. A mouthwatering mix ofcured meats, olives, fresh ricotta and a crostini with vine ripened tomatoes. Mira reached with her fork, andFrancesco stayed her hand. He leaned in speaking directly into her face a mix of garbled words that made no sense. Before she could politely ask her suitor to allow her the liberty to breathe clean air, another man approached. He was vastly different than the guy seated to her left.

Darkly tanned, his handsomeness was strengthened by the serious glint in his eye. He fixed his piercing stare on Fabiana first. He was tall. Very tall. She guessed his height to be just over six-foot five or six. And though she admittedly loved to tailor suits for men of his stature she was quite impressed with how nice and trim his attire fit his large frame. When he lifted his hand to smooth his tight dark locks his expensive watch gleamed on his wrist then slipped back under his sleeve. He exuded masculinity certain to stir desire in any woman. She bet he smelled good, too. This meant trouble for her friend. Mira volleyed her gaze between the man and Fabiana. Her suspicions were right. Fabiana’s face flushed and she stared up at the guy with open adoration.

“Ciao Lorenzo,” Fabiana breathed in her sex kitten voice.

“Signora Girelli. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all evening.” Lorenzo’s accent wrapped warmly around his words, and Mira thought her friend would drift up from her seat into his arms. He lifted Fabiana’s hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and then leaned forward to kiss both of her cheeks. His gaze then shifted over to Mira. “And who is this?”

“This is Mira Ellison.” Fabiana extended her hand to her friend with a radiant grin.

“Ah, the renowned designer. There has been much talk of the fashion events in Milan this year, and I’ve heard your name mentioned more than once. Congratulations.”

Mira nodded her thanks.

“May I join you?”

“Of course, you and Francesco invited us.” Fabiana gushed.

What did she mean Francesco invited them?She glanced to her left and noticed Francesco’s wicked grin.Dammit, this is a double date. A setup. She should have known better than to trust Fabiana’s girls night out invitation.She had half a mind to get up and walk out. Before she could question her friend a conversation began at the table in mostly Italian between the three and she felt angrier.

More wine was poured.

Mira took a sip and smiled at the garbage breath man. He ogled her breasts as if they were a pair of pork chop sandwiches. It felt degradingly icky and was the final straw. She’d give it maybe ten minutes, and then she’d announce a headache and make a break for the door. Surely she knew enough Italian to get a taxi back to the hotel.

To her relief a reprieve came. A member of Francesco’s staff approached. He offered apologies with an unsolicited kiss to her cheek and promised to return. All of which he said in Italian. Unfortunately, this Mira understood. Fabiana seized on his departure, and she did so in English. “Lorenzo what’s with your friend? I thought you said he was one of the most sought after bachelors in Napoli?” She slipped Mira an apologetic wink. “He’s not what she expected.”

---