Venice Nights (His Submissive #4.5)(17)
Author: Ava Claire

I pushed back my hood, attempting to smooth my wild curls as I followed Allegra’s lead.

“If I would have known we were going somewhere nice, I would have dressed differently.”

“You look fine,” she assured me, patting my shoulder.

I did not remotely believe her. She looked amazing. Her short, salt and pepper locks were held back by a golden headband that matched her blouse. Her glossy top was tucked into denim jeans and the ankle boots on her feet turned up the chic factor. I looked like I was headed to the gym in a sweatshirt and t-shirt beneath, too lazy to swap my jeans for sweatpants. My curly locks stood on end, disobeying efforts to curtail the just-stuck-my-finger-in-an-electric-socket look I was rocking. My oversized shades were not nearly oversized enough.

Allegra ordered two cafes, glanced at my blanched expression, and changed it to two doubles. She shepherded me to a table away from the bustle and smiling conversations.

I dropped onto the bench, forcing my eyes forward and not around, finding every dark corner. I focused on Allegra.

“Thanks for meeting me,” I said. “I know it’s kind of last minute.”

“You sounded like you could use a friend,” she said, her eyes still warm with concern. “I’m glad you called me.”

Her face was the first that popped into my head when I left the villa. It took me an hour in a taxi, a water bus ride, and another taxi ride to get to the small town Allegra lived in, but it was enough time to get a hold of myself. To squash the overwhelming urge to cry every time I opened my mouth.

My best friend was usually the person I called after an argument with a boyfriend; when I was so angry and hurt that I could not see straight. But my best friend was a million miles away in the States—and she had barely digested the fact that Jacob and I were a couple in the first place. There was only one person that I trusted that was local, and knew firsthand how frustrating Jacob could be.

“I don’t even know where to begin.” I wrung my hands, not meeting her eye. I knew she would not pressure me for details, or ask me leading questions. Just like the last catastrophe we faced when Jacob and I broke up, she waited patiently for me to open up and spill my guts.

The barista brought our drinks and I wasted no time digging in.

“So Jacob and I are a couple,” I said, after my hearty gulp. “Officially.”

“That’s great news,” Allegra said brightly. She took a sip and added, “You’re good for him.”

I felt a rash of pride at her words and took another swig. “The paparazzi seem to think he’s going through some sort of quarter-life crisis.”

“Your career is one thing, but since when do you give an audience to the things those people say when it comes to your personal life?”

“Since I no longer have a personal life,” I sighed. “The last time I had the balls to actually go online, they had tracked down someone I knew in high school.” I glared into my mug, remembering how I’d almost hurled my iPad across the room when I saw who they found to shine a light on what I was like.

Marissa Scott could hardly be called a friend. When she came back from summer break twenty pounds lighter, she had forgotten every friendship bracelet, every secret exchanged.

You would not know it from her gushing answers. She told them my favorite color was purple (not even close), and made up some story about how we used to drive out to the country and talk about being famous someday.

The blog ended with a tease—their next feature was with someone that knew me from college, who preferred to remain anonymous.

“I’m not even the same person I was a month ago,” I grumbled, pushing a sugar packet around the table with my pointer. “But all these people are coming out of the woodwork, trying to say who I am.”

“And who are you, Leila?”

I pondered that for a minute. “I’m…me?” I said with a shrug. “I usually say what’s on my mind and it usually gets me in trouble. I don’t give up on things easy and I’ll do just about anything not to admit defeat. I jump in headfirst and think about consequences later.” I trailed off, even though it had been a complete statement. A complete truth. Still, my last sentence echoed in my ears. I did not look before I leaped—was that why I was in over my head with Jacob? With the press?

“Everything is happening so fast.” I gripped my cup, ignoring the discomfort as the scalding porcelain branded my palm. “I was just his assistant before. Don’t get me wrong—I love him, but there are all these things expected of me now. To smile even though I know the pictures are going to be used to dig even deeper into my past and find out every secret I’ve buried. I’m supposed to stand aside and look away if something happens at the villa that I disagree with—”

“What’s going on at the villa?” Allegra interrupted, surprising me. Her whole demeanor changed, something indiscernible flashing in her eyes before she gulped down her coffee.

Still watching her, I answered, “Not what. Who. Isabella Moretti.”

Allegra coughed, nearly dropping her cup. She put it aside and covered her mouth, her coughs rattling my lungs.

“Are you okay?” I handed her some napkins and she took them, dabbing her reddening face.

“I’m fine,” she answered tightly, reminding me of my response when we met outside. My lie.

“Do you know Isabella?” I probed.

Allegra’s eyes avoided mine as she blotted a coffee stain on her blouse. “Yes. Well…I did. A long time ago.”

I leaned forward, my mind jetting back to how weird things were when I brought up how cold Isabella was to Jacob. My joke that he should hire Allegra.

How did Allegra know her? And what did she mean she did, as in past tense?

My phone vibrated in my purse and I was set to ignore it, until Allegra looked up and I saw she had no intention of discussing Isabella any further.

“One second,” I said softly, glancing down at the phone. I did not recognize the strange number. “It’s coming from (+39) 041—”

“That’s a local number,” Allegra interrupted. “Probably Jacob.”

I rolled my eyes, but accepted the call anyway. “Look, I really don’t want to—”

“Is this Miss Leila Montgomery?”

I shifted my eyes to Allegra, confusion pulling my mouth into a frown. “Yes, this is Leila. Who is this?”

“This is regarding Mr. Whitmore,” the caller said, ignoring my question. “I’m outside the cafe.”