Sixteen years later....
*Olivia*
My shoes squeaked against the vinyl floors of the airport as my heart hamred in my chest. It finally occurred to that Dahlia and I were really doing this. We were in fucking Italy, planning to start school in just a few short weeks.
We’d been talking about it for years. Dahlia and I grew up as best friends, mostly due to proximity. My mom cleaned for her parents, and we were always at her family’s mansion. It also helped that Dahlia and I were the sa age, so we went through everything together–learning to ride a bike, puberty, prom, everything.
Now, we were embarking on our dream of starting school in Italy, but taking the sumr to enjoy it first. After all, what fun would it be living in Italy if we had to be in school all the ti? Thankfully, Dahlia’s father spoke fluent Italian, and she had taken the ti to start teaching in elentary school. We’d basically been preparing for this our whole lives.
“Can you believe that plane ride?” she asked excitedly as she straightened her shirt.
We were both a little rumpled from the ride.
“I know!” I sighed happily. “I’ll never be able to thank your parents enough for upgrading us to first class. My mom could never have been able to afford it in a million years.”
She waved off. “You know they love you like you’re their own daughter. It’s not like they would stick you in coach for twelve hours.”
She grabbed my arm, pulling close to her body as we approached an escalator going down toward customs. In a few short minutes, we’d be stamping our passports and officially walking out of the airport and onto Italian soil.
It was crazy how everything had worked out so well. Dahlia and I didn’t really know what her dad did for work, but he was rich as hell and clearly powerful. Not only did he set us both up in first class, but he’d arranged for us to stay on a compound owned by his family.
I’d known Jas since I was a little girl, but he was always a bit of an enigma to , and I preferred to keep it that way. He was a nice enough man, and more of a dad to than my own deadbeat dad, but there was sothing about him that always intimidated .
I wondered briefly as we moved easily through customs if I’d learn more about Dahlia’s enigmatic family while we were here. Even more, though, I wondered if I wanted to know more. There were so secrets that should just stay buried.
Dahlia and I squealed over our matching passport stamps. It was official–we were Italian students now. While she had several stamps in her own passport, this was the first for . I ran my finger over the fresh ink, awed that we’d actually done it.
“Can you believe we’re actually here?” I asked her out loud. “I can’t believe this is really happening.”
“I know,” she sighed. “You dream about sothing for so long, thinking it’ll never get here, but now it is here! So we have to live it up, girl. This is where our life starts!”
We both giggled at her dramatic declaration as we walked into the arrivals section to find a man in all black waiting for us. He held a sign with our nas and looked very serious.
“That must be our driver,” she chirped happily. “Let’s go!”
I couldn’t believe we actually had our own driver. Dahlia was probably used to such a luxury, but I’d never been driven around without having to pay for it. I knew imdiately that I was living in a different world, and it was about ti.
The man helped us grab our bags and walked us out to a shiny, black car that was waiting outside the airport. He opened the door for us, and we slid in while he put our suitcases in the back. We easily slid across the slick leather into the cold air conditioning. It was going to be a hot sumr, but at least, for now, we were cool.
The man walked back over to the driver’s side and slid in, not saying a word to either of us, just swiftly pulling out into traffic and navigating us out of the airport. As we pulled away, the scenery began to change. While the airport was modern and indistinguishable from one back ho, the scenery just a mile down the road was breathtaking.
There were rows and rows of vineyards, with stone farmhouses set far back off the road. It was like looking at a painting or watching a movie. The sun shone down brightly on the countryside as we quickly navigated the winding roads.
I could see the city of Florence as we approached it, rising up over a hillside, and my stomach clenched in excitent. I couldn’t wait to get there and start exploring.
“It’s beautiful,” Dahlia whispered, grabbing my hand and squeezing tight.
We took pictures of ourselves and of the scenery as we drew ever closer, and planned what we would do during the sumr. My first order of business was to find the most authentic pasta in Italy. She laughed at , telling I was silly.
“All pasta in Italy is superior,” she told dramatically. “We’re so deprived in the states.”
We giggled as we both looked out the window, taking in the sights of the city. I couldn’t wait to go out later and walk the streets. This city had so many secrets to be explored, and I wanted to uncover all of them.
I saw street vendors selling food and gelato, tourists crowding them for a taste of the real Italy. The excitent pulsed through my veins to the point that I could almost hear it.
“Let’s not be like the turistas,” Dahlia told seriously. “They stick out like a sore thumb. We’ve co to Italy to be part of the culture. Don’t ever let see you wearing white shoes!”
I laughed and looked down at my sandal-clad feet. They were a little paler than usual, but a few days under the Italian sun would get them back to their usual sumr tan. At the very least, we wouldn’t stick out like the rest of the turistas.
We weren’t here for that. When university began in a few weeks, we’d be like proper Italians, ex-patriots. We’d be those fabulous girls who went to the University of Florence and began incredible lives in Italy.
“What’s your family’s compound like?” I asked her excitedly as we drove through busy streets. I was so anxious to finally arrive and unwind.
“It’s fine,” she shrugged. “Nothing too exciting.”
Of course, this was Dahlia. She downplayed everything in her life, which was so annoying for since I ca from much less opulent circumstances. When we pulled up to a closed gate, and the driver honked, my jaw dropped. As I suspected, Dahlia and I had very different ideas of what was exciting.
Behind the tall, chro gate was a large set of houses. That was an understatent–they were legitimate mansions. There were at least three distinct structures surrounded by stunning green gardens and fountains. I’d grown up around Dahlia’s wealth, but this was an even higher level of money.
The hos were clearly old, but in a way that showed they were ant to look like that. They’d been perfectly preserved to maintain their charm while still having modern anities. The car pulled around the driveway and stopped. The driver opened the door for us, and we stepped out into the warm sun.
A staff mber ca down to greet us, and Dahlia greeted her with a double kiss on each cheek. She introduced to the woman, who told us in Italian that our rooms were set up, and we could go grab a snack in the kitchen while the staff unloaded our bags.
I smiled shyly, still not used to this kind of treatnt. I whispered to Dahlia, asking if we should tip these people, but she waved off, telling they were well compensated for their service. She pulled into the dark entryway, lit only by the sunlight streaming through the huge windows.
The house was warm, but there were large fans spinning against the ceiling to keep the place cooled down. There was greenery everywhere and tasteful furniture with minimal decoration. There was fancy art on the wall that was clearly ant to show wealth rather than any artistic value. I felt like I was in a castle.
We walked through a series of long hallways until we entered into a large, open room with several couches and a huge TV with a soccer ga on. Dahlia called out, “Buongiorno,” to the figure on the couch, who stood up and turned to us.
My heart stopped when he looked at us. The man was sex on a stick. His dark curly hair sat untad on his head, with a few curls spilling over his face. He had large hands and big strong arms that I could imdiately picture wrapped around . A brilliant smile broke over his face, and I could swear the room got brighter.
Despite the warmth of the house, a cold chill went through . I didn’t just find him attractive, I wanted to be possessed by him. I wanted to feel his smooth, thick lips running down every inch of my body and see his dark olive skin pressed against my paler skin.
“Giovani,” Dahlia said casually, as if the world hadn’t just tilted on its axis. “Questa è la mia amica, Olivia.”
“Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Dahlia,” he answered in a smooth, heavy accent.
I imagined hearing his low, deep voice whispering in my ear as he ca undone in my hands.
Another shiver went through .
Giovani walked across the living room in quick, smooth strides and pulled Dahlia into a familiar embrace. She hugged him back as he told us how excited he was to have her there. It was clear that he loved his younger cousin.
When they pulled away, he looked at with a tentative smile. Rather than pulling into an embrace, he held out his large hand. It enveloped my smaller one perfectly, and I got lost in the warmth of it.
“I don’t know if you’re a hugger,” he said sheepishly.
I felt my whole body blushing and knew that if I touched him any more than this, I would probably combust. Up close, I could see the lines around his eyes and mouth and a small smattering of grey peppered through his thick curls.
I knew he was older than us, more than twice our age, but I couldn’t care less in that mont. If Dahlia weren’t standing two feet away, I’d have torn off his clothes and pushed him back against the couch. Thank god she was there, then.
I absolutely could not fall for my best friend’s much older cousin.
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