Chapter Seven
It was the sound of the running water while he was taking the shower that snapped Jordana out of her trance.
She jumped from the bed, grabbing the top sheet in her wake, wrapping it around her nakedness sarong-style. She carefully opened the heavy wooden door. Peeking at the hallway, she quietly uttered a prayer of thanks that no one was up this early to witness her walk of shame. She ran like hell toward her room, hoping that her own door was open. It was unlocked, to her relief. She must’ve left it open after falling into a suspiciously deep sleep last night.
Heart racing, she quickly shut the door, leaning weakly behind it. For several seconds, she just stood there with her eyes closed, trying to process everything. How in the world did she end up sleeping with a stranger? And why did she give in so easily, like a cat in heat? She had been so careful all these years only to have her v-card punched with a one-night stand. Brilliantly irresponsible.
Nice work, Ms. Independent. A mocking voice inside her head drawled.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!
How did she end up in his bed in the first place? Her memory was patchy.
The only logical explanation was she was drugged. She mentally recoiled. That would explain her lack of inhibitions, her too relaxed physical and mental state. She was extremely cautious whenever she was out on location shootings or if she didn’t know the photographer and his crew. She never drank or ate anything except if it came from her own stash. She had near-run-ins with several rohypnol-totting people in the biz. She took all precautions to avoid being victimized.
Who? Who would dare drug her here, at the castello of the groom-to-be? Why here of all places? On the eve of her best friend’s wedding?!
She shook her head to clear it.
Someone must have planned this but who? What was the motive? She racked her brain for answers and came up with none. She couldn’t think of anyone who was that angry with her.
There was only one other person who may have the answers to all of this.
The very one who initiated her into the joys of the act.
She closed her eyes again, her dismay intense.
Had she been raped? Was it possible that he was the one who planned this? Was all the bone-melting passion drug-induced?
Ohmigod. Ohmigod. Ohmigod!
She could feel recriminations creeping in slowly, adding further turmoil to her emotions.
She cradled her head and slid to the floor. She wanted to pack everything up and take the first flight to New York so she can pretend that last night never happened. But she couldn’t. She just can’t let Mel down on the most important day of her life.
Who was he? Well, obviously he was a guest or even a relative of the groom. She’d probably meet him at the wedding later that day.
She better prepare for that eventuality. What would she say to him?
She had to think of something!
She had to confront him and get answers. The very idea of facing him again made her flinch. It would be difficult to prove she’d been raped. Sure, he took her a bit roughly but she was a very willing participant. She didn’t feel revulsion when he touched and did all that sexually wicked things he did. Her body turned traitor on her and came alive in his hands.
She lost control over her body.
The realization tore her up. She had every opportunity presented and dangled in front of her in the past. She had practically worked with the best-looking male specimens in the world yet she never felt something as instantaneous as that.
The press would have a field day once their noses got a whiff of this. After all, she naively said she didn’t believe in premarital sex. How she fell off her high horse right now. She can’t even piece everything together. She lost her virginity to a virtual stranger who may have a hand on this all along.
But then again, so what if she lost it in the most dubious of circumstances? Her virginity brought her nothing but grief. She never really held on to it. Now that the deed was done, she can finally put this episode behind her. Besides, physically she may have been one, but in reality she had lost her innocence a long time ago.
She would forgive herself one day for sleeping with that man. She would. She was not the first woman who stood up from a bad fall. One act of foolishness would not define her as a woman.
Her thoughts comforted her for the time being, gave her enough strength to pull herself up from the floor and march to the bathroom to wash all traces of the sordid event from her sensitized skin.
Lonzo felt like a caged panther as he impatiently waited for the sun to rise so he could start with his search. He was left stewing in anger after she left. He was tempted to knock on every guest’s room to check her whereabouts, but common sense won.
His gut told him she was still here. She’d surely turn up at church. Probably pleased at herself for pulling off her duplicity.
He wasn’t sure who invited her here. Rocco’s family was quite big, some of whom lived abroad and flew all the way to the country for the shackling affair. Was she Mel’s guest? One of her friends from the academe? He mulled on the idea. She looked way too fresh, too young. Remembering how innocent and responsive she was didn’t help at all…as he felt himself growing a boner with his thoughts.
He wanted her like he never wanted another.
And he intended to have her again.
After dressing in a pair of dark slacks and a shirt, he went out of his room to have a look around. He met Rocco on his way down the staircase.
“There you are! I thought you’ll never show up! Been waiting for you for ages. My mother kept on asking me what time we’re leaving,” his friend went on.
He quirked his brow at Rocco.
“We are? And whose excellent idea was this? Yours?” he drawled.
Rocco looked annoyed.
“Erase the thought. And for chrissakes…don’t give me that look! This wasn’t my idea, man. It’s not my fault mama was too old-fashioned to see reason. She said it’s bad luck for Mel and I to see each other before the wedding! I was railroaded into agreeing!” his friend ranted.
“Is that so?”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Fuck you, man. You’ll join me in my fucking misery,” Rocco muttered.
Lonzo was now pissed at the change of plans. He was hell-bent on finding the woman first. Because of this traditional bridal bullshit, there was no way he could ask around about the mystery woman. It irked him big time.
“What’s next? You want me to hold your hand?”
“Come on, stop giving me the shits! Go get the monkey suit. I’m car-less at the moment. The girls will be using the Bentley. You have to drive me over to Uncle Carlo’s place. We’ll have our blasted breakfast there. Go on. No more dilly-dallying!” Rocco was shouting, looking stressed. He’d never seen Rocco like this. Anxious and nervous. Jumpy.
Lonzo raised his eyebrows at his friend.
“Fuck off.”
Rocco grinned and tried his old puppy-eyes tactics on him next.
He finally relented. “You owe me big time for all these shitty things, monkey suit included!”
The cur laughed.
“You sure you still want to go through this? I can put you in the trunk of my car. Just say the word.”
His friend looked at him sharply. “Don’t start, Lonz. I’m not in the mood for your anti-marriage sermons. Just get the freaking tux so we can leave.”
Lonzo smirked at his friend, enjoying Rocco’s bemused expression for a few minutes more. Hell. And the poor bastard still wanted to get married.
“I rest my case,” he managed to say.
And even though he wasn’t a fan of marriage, he reined his tongue. He had never seen his friend so infatuated with a woman before. The guy got it bad.
He went back to his room to fetch his overnight bag and the suit.
As for his mysterious little virgin, he’d deal with her later.
Besides, a little anticipation wouldn’t kill him.
Jordana almost slumped in relief as she watched the roaring Ferrari speed its way out of the castello, driven by the man that she was avoiding to see at all cost.
She was about to leave her sanctuary when she spied him leaving his room. Thank goodness she was quick to shut her door.
She wasn’t ready to see him in the clear light of day. Not when she still felt so unbalanced.
She heard him talking to another man in rapid Italian earlier and from what she could pick in her rusty Italian, the second man was asking him to leave because it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride.
Hoe. Lee. Cow.
She broke out in a cold sweat.
Had she just slept with the groom?!
The idea made her want to throw up.
What have I done?!
She almost jumped when someone knocked at her door.
“Dana? You up?” The voice sounded like Mel
Yeah. I’m up and about all right…oh, by the way, Mel…I may have slept with your groom last night…are we still best friends?
She was freaking inside her head.
“Dana? Are you okay? Is it okay if I come in?”
“Y-Yes. Of course, babe. C-Come in…” she said while trying to gather her wits. Oh, what a mess!
Mel entered, still in her trademark shirt and cut-off shorts, her face radiating with happiness.
“Dana!” Mel shrieked as she launched herself like a little rocket to hug her.
Jordana felt her skin grow colder. How could she do this to her friend?
“Why are you so pale? Don’t tell me you’re still jetlagged!”
“N-No. Y-Yes. Maybe. A bit,” she stammered.
Mel placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t tell me you’re nervous! I won’t believe that! That should be my line!”
She latched on that and even managed a nervous laugh. “Uhm. I guess, that must be it.”
Mel smiled broadly. “If you weren’t so late last night, you would’ve met Lonzo.”
What?
“Lo..Lonzo?”
“Rocco’s bestfriend. Lonzo Vitale. The best man at the wedding. They already left the castello a few minutes ago. My soon-to-be mother-in-law ordered the boys to stay out of our hair. For the meantime, anyway. They’re too distracting.”
Yes. I know he already left…oh heavens! Get me out of here now!
She felt awful.
“Lonzo occupied the room next to yours,” Mel added pointing at the direction of the room where Jordana spent the wee hours of the morning entwined with a man she didn’t know. She almost dropped to the floor in relief.
Lonzo. His name was Lonzo.
Now she finally knew his name. He was no longer “that stranger” she slept with. And the most important thing was, he was not the groom! She almost cried at the knowledge she didn’t screw up her best friend’s wedding.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you teary eyed all of a sudden?” Mel asked, concerned.
She giggled shakily before hugging her friend. Tightly.
“Hormones, hunny-bunny. Must be that time of the month.”
Mel asked her to join her for brunch, finally meeting the gracious and very kind Contessa Maria, who welcomed her with open arms.
“Mel was right. Those pictures of you in the magazines didn’t do you any justice! You are much, much more beautiful in person! And you don’t even have any make up on! You caused quite a stir among my nephews. I have to beat their heads with a stick before they went off to my brother Carlo’s place,” the grand lady said in accented English.
Jordana blushed at the compliment. “Ma’am, those pictures came out of great because of good lighting and skillful make up.”
“See, Mama? She’s so down-to-earth. Told you she’s not like those other supermodels,” Mel said.
The contessa smiled. She must’ve been a great beauty during her time.
“Are you married, my dear?”
Uh-oh. Jordana can smell matchmaking from a mile away, so she just smiled and said she had no plans of taking the plunge. Yet.
“Ah! You reminded me of Lonzo. That dear boy is always working, working and working. Have you met him?”
She had met him alright. She could still feel him deep inside her. Heavens, her face must be beet-red by this time, her cheeks and her ears felt tremendously warm.
The contessa laughed. “I’m sorry if I am embarrassing you. You see, Lonzo is my son’s oldest friend, his best friend. He’s also like a dear son to me.” The contessa’s green eyes were dancing with speculation.
She shivered. She was sure that even if she tried to avoid him later, the contessa would still find a way to push them together. It was the usual practice at weddings. Throw the best man and the maid of honor together.
Great.
She’d find an excuse to stay out of his way and fly out of Italy as soon as she was able.
After breakfast, she went back to her room and took a long, hot soak. It was almost noon when she got up from the tub. She still had a few more hours to prepare for the ceremony, which would start at four in the afternoon. Mel said the chapel was within the vast estate so there was no traffic to consider.
She was trying her best to relax, mulling things over before their inevitable meeting.
She surmised it would be best to ignore him and play it cool. Pretend to be an icicle around him. She was good with that. Walking on catwalks for a living did that to a person. She’d zone him out, pretend he never existed.
She won’t cower in the corner as what happened was partly her fault. Time for her to show the steel in her spine.
The small chapel was packed to the seams. Thankfully the weather cooperated and it was not as humid as the previous week. Or they would all be baking in their wedding finery.
Lonzo stood behind Rocco, who was glancing at his watch. The man had been continuously checking the time since they got here. With the bridal entourage ten minutes late, the groom was getting fidgety with every passing minute.
“Relax, man. Don’t dare faint on me. I’ll kick you in the balls if you do.”
“Chiudi il becco!” his friend retorted.
He sniggered, enjoying Rocco’s antsiness, which earned him another dark look.
The slow approach of the Bentley grabbed their attention until it halted in front of the chapel.
“Finally,” Lonzo muttered, his eyes instantly on the lookout for the mystery woman.
Zia Maria was the first to get out of the bridal car, looking very très chic in her old rose silk ensemble. She was quickly followed by Andrea, Rocco’s younger sister.
Where the hell is she?
Then she finally came into view, a vision in a champagne-colored, tiered gown, its sheer bodice and strategically placed flowery embroidery enhancing her sensual curves.
The bride came last, wearing a white strapless silk gown studded with crystals and pearls, her face hidden in a long, sheer veil which made her look like a princess.
From his peripheral vision, Rocco broke out into a wide smile, his eyes suspiciously shiny. His bestfriend had evolved into a full-blown wussy.
Everyone in the congregation was looking at the bride.
Save for him.
He was looking at his mystery woman.
She raised her head to survey the crowd and Lonzo’s breath got hitched in his throat as he openly stared at her.
Even in a land where beautiful women were in plentiful supply, she was a knockout. Her striking features—stunning sable eyes, high cheekbones and perfectly-glossed lips stood out even from a distance. Hers was the kind of beauty that inspired erotic poetry and wet dreams.
So achingly beautiful.
He also noted that most of the males had now switched their attention from the bride to her. He knew for a fact that women-watching, next to soccer, was a national past time of Italian males.
Something deep inside him flickered and came to life, something primal. He could almost hear the salacious thoughts of his paesanos. How did he know of this? Because he’s fucking Italian, that’s why!
He wanted to shout to every cazzo present to cease checking her out.
Fucking eye rapists!
His gaze followed her as she went on to fix the bride’s veil and train before handing over a bouquet of delicate-looking flowers.
Realization hit him hard in the gut.
The woman was Mel’s maid-of-honor.
Jordana Almueda.
The supermodel.
The one who was getting a lot of attention from the shutterbugs these past recent months. The catwalk queen who proclaimed that she didn’t believe in premarital sex.
Marital…marriage!
The word got him. It echoed inside his head like a freaking rollerball.
Lonzo could feel his anger rising in degrees as he finally realized her ploy.
Sonofabitch!
A honey trap.
He couldn’t believe he fell for the oldest trick in the book. She must’ve known he was financially loaded. So she gave up her cherry to butter him up. Since he was the one who plucked it, she thought he’d pay the bride price for his stupidity. How could he not recognize her last night?
But then, devoid of make-up, she was remarkably different.
What a clusterfuck!
Yet despite his fury, he still wanted her.
He wanted to hear her moans and her screams, feel her soft body give way to his hard thrusts, to bind her to him in the most elemental, carnal way. Fuck her raw until he got her out of his system.
He smiled slowly.
So she thought her cherry was enough to snare him?
He’d teach her a lesson. Oh, yes..he’d definitely teach her something she’d never forget.
Nobody fucked him over and got away with it.
No one.
He sauntered toward her.
Jordana felt his presence the minute she stepped out of the Bentley. His eyes roamed over her body and burned through her clothes, overheating her skin. It took a tremendous amount of effort to look calm and unaffected. Damn him.
She took time fussing over Mel, delaying the inevitable as much as she could, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
The bridal entourage began lining up. The cute dark haired flower girls and ring bearers were given last minute instructions by their adoring mothers as the bridesmaids partnered with their respective groomsmen.
Every muscle of her body felt taut.
She was the maid-of-honor. Her partner would be the best man.
Lonzo.
“I missed you this morning,” his deep mocking voice made her heart jump.
She turned and looked up to his handsome face and froze. He took advantage, placing her hand over his arm before leading her to where the rest of the bridal party were all lined up.
Instead of replying, she tuned him out. With great difficulty. He wasn’t the type of guy a woman could just dismiss, especially when he was standing so close—enough for her to smell his clean, masculine scent.
Stay focused. You can do this. Like walking on a catwalk. Piece of cake.
“Pretending you don’t know me, cara?” His steely voice sliced through the invisible walls she was trying to put up.
He said it with such contempt that she gave up any pretense of ignoring him.
“I have nothing to say to you!” she snapped, trying her best not to raise her voice.
“After pulling a stunt like that? Of course we have a lot to discuss.”
What was his problem? What stunt was he talking about?
“Are you implying that…”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hissed.
“Still planning to continue with the charade? Already saw through your gameplan so let’s cut the chase, shall we?” he replied, his tone sarcastic.
She was shocked. “What?!”
“The price.”
The initial shock was short-lived as cold fury swept through her, making her clench her hands tightly at her sides.
She should take a swing at his arrogant face for insulting her.
She opened her mouth to say something acerbic when she heard the murmur of the crowd. Then the first notes of the wedding march filled the air. The wedding processional was about to start.
With the attention of the attendees on them, Jordana forced herself to smile and contain her growing irritation.
He smiled mockingly at her before he walked back to the altar to stand beside the groom.
She was so mad that she almost faltered when it was her turn to walk. She never could remember another time that she was this angry at someone.
She couldn’t wait to set that hateful man straight and erase that smug look on his face. She cast him a long, withering look when she neared the altar.
He smirked, his green eyes challenging hers as she took her seat.
When the priest started the ceremony to unite their respective best friends in matrimony, battle lines were silently drawn between them.
Because she knew, this thing behind them were just getting started. Those olive eyes of his promised they’d be hell to pay.
For what? An imagined wrongdoing? Who the hell do he think he is?!
So be it. Bring it on.