Seduced by the Italian Billionaire (4 page)

            I sat back in my chair, just as shocked as Tasha had thought I might be. I couldn't even speak. Music played from speakers near the front of the coffeehouse, a song with lyrics that repeated the phrase "big spender" over and over again.

            After several moments, I found my voice. "Wait. Let me get this perfectly straight. Did you just say Benito's a -- a billionaire?"

            "Now, c'mon. I know ya ain't got hearin' problems."

            I sat silently for a long moment, just as mind-blown as Tasha had been. "So,

Like   -- computers?"

            She nodded, her pink sequined drop earrings bobbing. "Yeah. Computers something-or-other. Tech junk. A big internet company. And he's the one who started the whole thing, and he's the one who still runs it, and he's the majority owner dude or whatever. But that wasn't even what the news article was about. The article was mostly about how the company stock just went public or whatever, and how everyone's just all fallin' all over themselves to buy it and stuff. Had a picture of homeboy right up at the top of the article, along with his full name,
Benito Fabriccio
. Kind of a cool-sounding name, ain't it?"

            I sat speechless.

            Tasha took an enormous bite of a blueberry muffin. "Oh, this is hella good."

            She offered me a bite, but I declined, my mouth suddenly dry.

            "Tasha, do you understand what this means?"

            "You about to get bought your own pony?"

            She laughed and took another big bite of her muffin. I took a sip of my cappuccino just to moisten my dry mouth, not even tasting it.

            Tasha swallowed her bite and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. "Sorry, 'Lecia. What do it mean?"

"It means  -- " I sighed, a sudden ache in my chest, having difficulty even getting the words out. "It means Benito's not going to call me. It means – ’’
 
I sighed.

"Basically, it means all hope is lost. It means I'll never see him again."

            "How do ya figure?"

            I briefly rubbed the ache around my upper chest, thinking of when Benito had trailed a line of kisses from my collarbone to my ear, his mouth exquisitely careful and slow. Thinking about how special and cared-for he'd made me feel.

            I sighed so forcefully it sent a paper napkin skittering across the table.

            "Oh, I really, really liked him. What I get for getting my hopes up, I guess."

            "But how do ya figure he ain't gonna call ya?"

            I snorted. "Are you serious? If he's really a billionaire-"

            "He is. You think I can't read a news article or somethin'?"

            "Well, then, he'll never want anything more to do with me."

            "Why?"

            "Because billionaires can have anyone. Especially a very attractive one like him. Especially one with his confidence and charm. He could have any actress, or any singer, or any entertainer at all. He could have a supermodel. So why would he want
me
in the long-term? Why would he want a boring ol' teacher? A teacher who lives in a dinky little apartment in the Bronx. I guess I must have just been a night of fun."

            A lump suddenly rose in my throat, and I swallowed it down with difficulty.

            "I guess I just feel kind of stupid right now. Just like -- a little embarrassed. I actually let myself believe that he really might call me. I actually let myself believe that he – ’’

            The lump in my throat returned, and I swallowed it down again.

            "That he might genuinely be interested in me in the long-term, and that he might even already care about me a little. But he must have been just being polite."

            "Hey."  Tasha set her muffin down and reached for my hand across the table. "Hey. That might all still be true. And why wouldn't it be? What's a supermodel got that you don't?"

            I bit back a laugh. "Well, just for starters, most supermodels are sophisticated, and glamorous, and well-traveled. They're cultured and elegant. They never get to work and realize they're wearing two different colored socks. And let's not even pretend that my looks are anywhere near a supermodel's. Like, it won't even hurt my feelings at all if you agree. I'm aware that I'm not a total knockout."

            Tasha squeezed my hand. "Look. Neither of us is perfect-lookin', but that don't even matter. To some men, that ain't even the most important thing. Some men, they don't even want all that flawless, and perfect, and don't-touch-her-or-she'll-break kinda crap. Some men, it's more important to them that their lady be kind, and real, and cool, above all else. And when he starts seein' her like that, then she's beautiful in his eyes, and then that's all he can see. And maybe that's the way homeboy was lookin' at you Saturday night."

            I shrugged, not convinced.

            Tasha squeezed my hand again. "He
was
probably lookin' at you like that. And you
is
beautiful on the outside, no matter what you think, and he
was
lookin' at all that, but he was probably also lookin' at all that combined with the whole total package you got
...
the beauty on the outside
and
the inside. And he was just thinkin' like,
damn
. Supermodels ain't got nothin' on this girl. So don't count this dude out just yet. He probably be callin' you sometime tomorrow. And by the way, you know his phone is just a straight-up monster-size diamond. He don't even gotta punch any numbers on it; he just aim it at the sun, and it just call up whoever the hell he want."

            I cracked a smile, but despite Tasha's encouraging words, by the next day, I'd fully convinced myself that I would never be hearing from Benito again. Which made it all the more surprising when my phone rang at half past two. And it was him.

Chapter5

Benito and I went out that weekend, and then again the next, and then we started seeing each other every single day. And then we spent the whole summer together, traveling. He told me he loved me in the Florida Keys; he told me he loved me at the top of the Eiffel Tower. He told me he loved me while we walked alongside the Thames River in London, hand in hand. And when he said it on the steps of a piazza in Rome, the city of his ancestors and the city where his parents were born, I finally believed it with certainty. Benito didn't want a supermodel, even though he could have one. He wanted me. Me, with my too-flat nose and my too-close eyes. Me, with my maybe fifteen extra pounds on my five-foot-five-inch frame. He wanted me. Wanted to share his life with me, travel the world with me, and hold me in his arms every night. Truly knowing this in my heart launched me into a level of joy I'd never known before.

            One day, while we enjoyed a picnic for two in a Parisian park, he snapped a picture of me in mid-laugh, holding a sandwich, my head thrown back just a few degrees.

            He examined the picture on his phone, his eyes intent. "Just look at it. Absolutely beautiful. No high-fashion photograph could even hold a candle to this."

            I giggled. "I think you might be exaggerating just a bit. It's just a picture of me holding a sandwich."

            He shook his head, still studying the picture. "No, I'm not exaggerating at all. Just look at your smile, the way it reaches all the way up to your eyes. How your eyes sparkle -- not as if light were hitting them, but more like coming from
behind
them. Your soft, glowing skin -- the fullness of your cheeks." He suddenly looked up from the picture, his eyes meeting mine. "God -- you're not just beautiful; you're gorgeous."

            I looked at him, smiling,  my  heart feeling as if it could soar right out of my chest. "You really mean that, don't you?"

            He set his phone down on the blanket we were sitting on, scooted closer to me, and gave me a kiss so sweet and tender that I actually curled my toes.

            "I mean that from the very bottom of my heart. You're absolutely gorgeous; you're stunning. And I can't imagine spending this beautiful day in Paris with anyone else but you. I can't imagine feeling this way with anyone else but you. From the very first day I met you, I knew we could find true happiness with each other. I love you more than I can even say."

            I brushed a soft kiss on his mouth, my hand on his back, pulling him closer to me, not even caring that we were in full view of a group of other people playing soccer and enjoying a picnic nearby.

            "I feel the exact same way. I don't ever want to be with anyone but you, Benito."

            Our picnic was a little cut short that day, because we soon decided we needed to get back to our hotel room, and fast, to enjoy a bit of privacy.

            On our flight back to the U.S in late August, I told him that I'd never in my life been so happy. And it was the truth. He gave me a lingering kiss, his fingers entwining with mine, and said he felt the same. A flight attendant asked if we were returning from our honeymoon.

            About a week after our return, after school had started back up and I'd gotten back into the swing of teaching, Benito and I made plans for a mid-week dinner out. He and his brother were playing golf at a club all day, so I arranged to meet him there around seven. When I arrived, I found him at the bar, Enzo sitting next to him.

            Benito rose and greeted me with a hug and a kiss, his hands framing my face. "I've been looking forward to this moment all day."

            I covered his hands with my own, grinning. "Me, too."

            Enzo rose as well, but did a little stumble off his bar stool, clearly a little tipsy. He steadied himself, grinning, and wrapped me in a hug.

            "Welcome back from your travels. It's wonderful to see you, Felicia." He pulled away and gave me a kiss on each cheek. "And wonderful to know that my brother has finally settled down with a good woman."

            I smiled, glancing at Benito. "Thank you. We're very happy."

            Enzo suddenly grabbed his glass, a little liquid spilling over the rim and splattering his ample stomach. "A toast! A toast to Benito and Felicia, and to their happiness, and to the one who is responsible for their happiness -- which is me!"

            He drained his glass, seemingly unaware that Benito wasn't drinking with him, and that I didn't even have a drink.

            He set the glass on the bar. "Yes, it was me and my idea for the bet! I should get all the credit."

            Benito's dark brows drew together like storm clouds.

            "Enzo, you've had too much to drink, and I think-"

            "It was me! Don't you remember? If I hadn't made that silly bet with you, then you and Felicia would've never even gotten together!"

            I turned to Benito. "What bet? What is he talking about?"

            Enzo clapped Benito on the back. "You both have me to thank for your happiness!"

            I folded my arms across my chest, my gaze on Benito. "What is he talking about?"

            Benito ignored me and took Enzo by the shoulders. "Your ride is waiting, and you are leaving. Now. Felicia, dear, please excuse us."

            He began steering Enzo out of the bar, several curious patrons looking on. Feeling a little self-conscious standing in the bar all by myself, I left as well and went to wait for Benito on a bench just outside the bar area, my stomach in knots. I couldn't even fathom what Enzo's talk about a bet could have been about, but just based on Benito's reaction, I could tell it was something maybe he didn't want me to know about.

            Soon he returned, raking a hand through his dark hair. "I hope you can forgive Enzo's display. He drinks too much sometimes, and he gets a little too boisterous."

            I stood up from the bench, my arms hugged around my ribs. "I get people drinking too much, and  it's fine. But what did he mean about a bet? What did he mean when he said that without him making it, you and I would've never even gotten together?"

            Benito raked a hand through his hair again, avoiding my eyes. "I don't even think he knew what he was saying. When he drinks, ninety-nine percent of it is pure nonsense."

            I stared at Benito, daring him to meet my gaze. "And the other one percent? What's that?"

            His gaze flicked from the floor to the walls to a spot just above my head. But it didn't connect with my eyes.

            I took a step closer to him. "The other one percent of things Enzo says when he's drinking -- is that truth? Could it be that his talk about a bet
wasn't
just some alcohol-fueled rambling? Benito?"

            He finally looked at me, his expression pained. "Felicia, some things are better left in the past. Some things are better
unexplained."

            "I disagree. If this bet concerns me and you, and how we got together, then I want to hear it. I deserve to hear it. And I'm not going to back down and settle for leaving whatever it's about in the past."

            Benito didn't speak right away, and when he did, his voice was low and filled with emotion.

            "I can't lose you."

            The knots in my stomach became even tighter than they already were.

            "So this bet is something so serious that you're afraid of losing me if the truth about it comes out? You better tell me everything about this bet, before you lose me anyway. You mean everything to me, and I love you with all my heart and then some, but I'm certainly not the kind of person who will stay in a relationship where people keep secrets from each other."

            Benito sighed, his broad shoulders slumping. "You're right. Keeping secrets is no way to continue building a relationship. I feel the same, and you deserve better. You're completely right. I'll tell you everything."

            Just then, a couple breezed by us on their way to the bar, and Benito waited until they were well out of earshot to continue.

            "Here's the truth, Felicia, and I apologize in advance. I apologize sincerely, and I hope you can forgive me." He took a deep breath. "The night we met at the club, Enzo and I had already had a few drinks before even arriving. We got to joking. He bet me that I couldn't get a girl into bed that night without saying that I'm a billionaire."

            The room seemed to spin.

            "He  -- what?"

            "It was a stupid bet, on so many levels. The first and not the least being that I'm not an ugly man, and I've never had a problem getting women into bed even without saying I'm a billionaire, which, I've never even used that to get a woman into bed anyway. Like I said, a stupid bet on so many levels. But a little intoxicated as we were, it seemed funny to us at the time, as many stupid, ordinarily unfunny things can seem when people are drinking,   and  Enzo knows I'm a sucker for taking a bet, and he gets a kick out of it. So  I --’’  Benito ran his hands over his face, choking back a groan. "I'm so sorry, Felicia. Please believe me. I know this is terrible."

            My words came through gritted teeth.

            "Please continue. From 'So I.' So you
what
, Benito?"

            He winced, taking a deep breath before continuing. "
So I -- I noticed how you were looking at me when I helped you and Tasha into the club. You had a little smile in your eyes, like maybe you were interested in me. And then I noticed you looking at me again from the dance floor. And as I already found you attractive anyway, and thought you might be quite nice to sleep with, I --"

            "You what? Decided I'd be your first target?"

            Benito didn't answer, his gaze on the ground. My hands balled into fists.

            "This is amazing. Our relationship is based on some stupid, lame bet. It's based on me being your first target. It's based on you tricking me. This is just great. What a romantic way to begin things."

            "I'm so sorry, Felicia. I couldn't feel like any more of an absolute ass right now."

            Scenes of that night in the club flashed through my mind, and I gasped, having a sudden revelation.

            "Oh, my gosh. This all makes perfect sense now. All the gorgeous girls in the club. Me not being a supermodel. And yet you choosing me to dance with that night. Oh, my  gosh, this all makes perfect sense."

            Tears began prickling my eyes, and I blinked them back.

            "You chose me because you thought I'd be easy to get into bed. Because I wasn't as good-looking as all the other girls. You chose me so you'd easily win the bet."

            "No, you're wrong about that."

            "Our whole relationship has been built on a lie."

            "No, that's not true. Not at all. The moment Enzo left the club and I began talking to you, I forgot all about the stupid bet. I thought you were sweet, and kind, and beautiful, and I saw myself having a future with you from our very first conversation. I slept with you that night because I was already falling for you. Not because of some childish bet that was made by two intoxicated idiots earlier in the evening. Please believe me, Felicia. Our whole relationship has
not
been built on a lie. If it were, I don't think we'd have made it these past three months. I don't think either of us would've felt as happy as we have. Neither of us would be able to feel deep down how genuine our feelings for each other are. I love you, Felicia, and please believe me. That feeling has nothing to do with some stupid bet."

            He looked into my eyes, his own eyes soft and pleading. I hugged my arms around my ribs even tighter, blinking back a couple tears, studying Benito. I couldn't deny that he made some good points. I couldn't deny that if our whole relationship was actually based on some dumb bet, we probably wouldn't have spent the previous three months as blissfully happy as we had.

            After several moments, he pulled me into his arms, and I didn't resist. And in fact, I buried my face in his strong shoulder, sniffling.

            "Just promise me that our relationship is a hundred percent real, and that you truly love me for me. I just need to hear you say it."

            He stroked my hair, his touch slow and gentle. "I promise. Our relationship
is
a hundred percent real, and I
do
truly love you for you, just the way you are. I love you more than anything. And even before all this, I was planning on proving that to you this weekend."

            I lifted my face. "What do you mean?"

            "I'd like to have you over to my family home for dinner this Saturday night. I'd like you to meet my mother and father."

            "Really?"

            "Of course. And this should tell you just how special you are to me, and just how very much I love you. See, Italian men don't just bring anyone home to meet their mothers. Only women they truly love." Benito gave me a little smile. "In our culture, it’s somewhat of a big deal."