Page 4 of Bella Rosa
Matteo never stops walking or even looks back to see the confusion on my face.
Whatever. As long as I make it to my train on time, I don't care.
I just realized I forgot to get my rolling suitcase. When I stop and turn around to get it I'm greeted by a very knowing smile on Luca's face, and my rolling suitcase being pulled behind him.
He passes it to me, but I struggle to get a good grip on it because of everything else I'm carrying.
Matteo surprises me by reaching around me and grabbing the handle instead. He barely even slows down.
"Keep up. We don't want to be late and miss the train. The next one doesn't run for hours."
Two things. One: his Italian accent isn't nearly as thick as Luca's. Two: how in the world is he so graceful with his movements?
Okay, three things. His voice is magical. I'm pretty sure I could listen to him read The Declaration of Independence and wouldn't be bored. Stop thinking about his movements and voice Rosalie and get to your train. You can daydream later.
"I'll let Mia and Emilia know you won't be able to make it, Matteo! See you later, Rosalie!" Luca suddenly belts from where he’s standing. I toss a thank you and a wave over my shoulder and I hurry after Matteo.
"At least let me buy you a coffee when we get to Azzurro as a thank you for all this trouble," I say through labored breaths. Man, I really need to work out more. A snort, followed by a, "No. I don't drink coffee. Just keep up.", is all I get. A snort. The man snorted. What is up with that? And how did he make that sound sexy. It must be the jet lag. Also, who doesn't drink coffee?
There are vendors and artists all along the edges of the station. I would love to stop and look, but Drill Sergeant up there won’t even slow down for my much smaller legs. I have to walk twice as fast just to keep up. He has no trouble making a path through the crowd. His intimidating glare is working to our advantage.
This does give me plenty of time to admire the man though. Dark hair, but lighter than the scruff on his face. It’s clear he's out in the sun a lot. The natural highlights are a dead give away, but also his beautiful olive skin. He’s not overly muscular, but it’s obvious he takes care of his body. He has on the perfect outfit that screams ‘I don't even have to try to look this good.’ Dark jeans, a dark blue t-shirt that fits him like a glove, brown shoes, and sunglasses hanging from the collar of his shirt. Why is it men can just wake up looking this attractive? It’s really a crime.
His perfectly imperfect hair is shorter on the sides and longer on top, and is begging to be touched. I wonder what it would feel like to run my fingers through it. Where did that thought come from? I am losing my mind.
I can't think that about someone I just met. Especially someone as rude to me as Matteo whatever his last name is. I don't care how gorgeous he is. A girl has standards.
We finally make it to our platform after bobbing and weaving through hundreds of people, and I come to the conclusion I never would have found the platform on my own, let alone carved a path through the crowd like he did. I definitely got my steps in today and it's only 1:26 p.m. My train leaves in four minutes.
Matteo stops abruptly enough to cause me to slam the left side of my body into his solid back. He quickly hands my bag off to the attendant.
He gestures to one of the last train cars.
"There's your train." It’s all I get before I see his retreating form heading to the front of the train. I will probably never see him again. Fighting a wave of disappointment, I climb on the train to find my seat.
This trip is already off to a very interesting start.
3
All Roses Have Thorns
Matteo
Shit.Icanbasicallyfeel her gaze boring a hole in the back of my head as I stalk away from the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
Why couldn’t I pry my hands off her after I almost caused her to fall by opening the door in a rush? I have no idea. I wish I did. I've never acted like such a fool—a love struck fool. I fully expect a text from Luca any moment now telling me as such.
He's the reason I had to take her to the train instead of him doing his own damn job. I shouldn't need to babysit her. He was going to walk with me to the train anyway.
Maybe if I just get to my seat and catch up on some work it'll take my mind off the dark haired five foot something beauty I specifically placed four cars back. Hopefully she stays there. I will most definitely not be making the same mistake my father made. An American. Why did she have to be an American?
It doesn't matter. I don't have time to worry about a relationship anyway. I don't need any distractions. I have far too much work on my plate with the ten year anniversary of the restaurant coming up. No use in putting the effort into someone who isn’t likely to stick around. My father learned that lesson the hard way. And I refuse to repeat his mistake.
Life was great living in St. Petersburg, Florida before everything went to hell. Before mom lost her shit and left us. I wasn't surprised. After her accident she got hooked on pain pills and then alcohol. Dad and I were no longer her priority.
At least she gave me one thing. My love and talent for cooking. It allowed me to go to the best culinary school in Europe and open my own restaurant with dad all by the age of nineteen. I'm proud of what I have accomplished in my twenty-nine years. I'll forever be thankful my dad signed me up for a cooking competition in high school. The grand prize was a scholarship to the local culinary school.
I somehow make it to my seat through the rows of crowded passengers and tourists. At least there's no way she can sit near me. This train is full as usual. She will have to take the first seat she finds which will hopefully be at least a few cars away.
