Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 95013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“You think so?”
“Yeah. They’ve liked you since the day they met you at the beach. And if they didn’t like you, I’d punch them in the face until they changed their minds.” He gave me that handsome smirk, like maybe that was a joke . . . or maybe not.
We turned left and headed down the stairs, the white sign with the black writing visible, with the name Daiquiri printed. We’d been there before, and they had a cute stone courtyard with bright blue and yellow chairs with decorative pillows, music over the speakers, people enjoying their vacations with big mixed drinks with colored straws and umbrellas hanging over the rim.
He found the guys seated in the corner, and when they all spotted Constantine, they gave a shout in unison. They all stood to greet him, and a round of hugs and hand claps was exchanged. I recognized his cousin Antonio and his friends from the beach, like Aldo, Francesco, and Gianni. They all greeted me just as warmly, hugs all around.
We took our seats, and without taking his eyes off his friends, Constantine moved his enormous hand to the area just below my knee, his forearm the length of my thigh, being his normal possessive self. “It’s good to be back in town. What have you boys been up to?”
They talked about work. They all seemed to be in the service industry, working in family-owned restaurants, with the exception of Aldo, who was an assistant manager at one of the nicer hotels. They shared some gossip about people in town, a couple who’d recently broken up, famous people who’d come into their restaurants recently, stuff like that.
“So, I hear you’re in town for good?” Antonio asked.
“Yeah, I heard the same,” Francesco said.
“Damn, word travels fast,” Constantine said with a slight laugh.
“Well, your ma told mine,” Antonio said. “And she blew up my phone with texts right away.”
“So, is it true?” Aldo asked.
There was a flicker in Constantine’s eyes, a momentary lapse in his happiness, a sting in his gaze. But it passed as quickly as it came. “It is.”
“Man, that’s awesome,” Francesco said. “Now we can hang out all the time. Beach club every Saturday.”
“You haven’t been to a Sunday-night dinner in a while,” Antonio said. “They’ve gotten bigger, if you can believe it.”
“I can absolutely believe it,” Constantine said with a chuckle.
“So, what changed?” Antonio asked. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
Me. He had to give up everything he loved . . . for me. And that made me feel horrible every day. I wanted to live a quiet life in Taormina close to his family and see a beautiful sunset every night, but I knew Constantine was destined for something greater. The blood of emperors ran in his veins, and he should be in Rome serving his country and his people—not letting it be destroyed by the psychopath who’d killed his brother.
Constantine paused for a heavy moment, like he actually considered telling them the truth. But instead, he issued a vague answer that was true but also empty. “It was time to move on.” He glanced at his hand on my thigh before he gave me a gentle pat. “There are more important things in life than work.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.” We walked down the street and turned slightly to the right, moving uphill as we ventured deeper into town. “I’ve thought about this granita every single day since we were here. I can’t believe they don’t have it in Rome.”
He smirked. “If I’d known you wanted it that bad, I would have asked my chef to make it.”
“Yeah, but it wouldn’t be the same.”
“He’s from Sicily, so I’m sure it would be.”
“You tell me this now . . .”
His hand moved to my ass, and he gave me a playful smack. “Well, now we can come here every morning to make up for your losses.”
“Works for me. Can’t wait until we can bring Medusa with us.”
“She’ll love it here.”
We walked up to the restaurant and stood in line underneath the sign, and just like the last time we’d come here, the waiter knew who Constantine was and got us a table outside. They made small talk about family, and Constantine told him he was back in town for the foreseeable future. The waiter left the menus for us to decide what we wanted.
“God, I have anxiety.” I looked at the flavors on the menu, then saw what they had written on the sign next to the kitchen.
“Over granita?” Constantine asked with a smirk.
“I’ve wanted this so long, I don’t know what to do.”
He turned to see what the flavors were for the day. “Their special is mulberry. I would get two scoops of that. It’s pretty good, and they don’t make it often. Probably because it’s in season.”