which makes me homesick for him.
I call Cameron after that, then Hazel, and finally Lucy to arrange a coffee date. Mark, my work partner at the clinic, has left several messages, so I note to call him back later on, then I make an appointment with my doctor to get another prescription of painkillers for my fractured wrist. The supply I got from the hospital in Tuscany is running low.
I’m going to call my mum this afternoon, but for that I need lots of strength and courage as just the thought of it exhausts me. Momentarily, I close my eyes on the lounger with my journal and phone hugged into my chest. The hazy Scottish summer sun shines through the glass wall on my face.
Sleep.
I dream of Tuscan sun, Florence and olives, dining alfresco and blue orchid flowers, the opera and Giovanni Costanzo taking photographs …
I’m choking, coughing, and struggling to breathe.
“Lexi, wake up. Please breathe,” Lucca panics. He scoops me up and cradles me into his chest, hushing me until I’m calmer. He then walks through the house and up the stairs until we reach the bedroom. He pulls the bedsheet back, then climbs in, pulling me to his chest.
“Are you okay? Do you want to tell me what that was about?” he asks.
“No, it’s nothing. I must have been dreaming.”
“It is not doing any good keeping it to yourself. You need to talk to me,” he pleads.
“Honestly, it was nothing, not even a deep sleep. I just dozed off.”
“But—”
I place my fingers on his lips to shush him. Normally, my bad dreams relate to my past, but strangely, this dream relates to my present and then provoked awful memories from my past.
Fuck!
File P for photography. Photography is the devil.
Lucca wraps his arms around me while I drift off again. I’m so tired, but this time I don’t have bad dreams because I’m wrapped in Lucca’s arms. I’m safe.
“Have I got time for a bath?” I ask as I stroll into the dressing room to pick something out to wear. Lucca is taking me out to dinner with Marco and some of his closest work colleagues tonight, so I need to dress appropriately. Hanging in the dressing room is a new dress in a suit bag.
“Lucca, what’s this?” I yell.
“Your clothes from Tuscany will not be here until Friday or Saturday, so I picked this for you today when I was out.”
I unzip a knee length, one shoulder, midnight-blue crepe dress with a satin bow at the shoulder. It’s draped in perfect crepe silk with an elegant shape to it. I look at the tag—it’s a Lanvin dress.
“Lucca, how did you manage to get this? It’s beautiful.”
“I had Marco go to Edinburgh and pick it up from Harvey Nicholls,” he replies, walking in behind me. “Do you like it?” he asks.
“Yes, I love it, but it’s a Wednesday night, and it’s very fancy,” I add, running my hand over the material. I also wonder why he bought something new. I have garments hanging up which would have been suitable.
“Baby, it is perfect and you will look stunning in it. Hurry and get dressed because the sooner we get dinner over with, the sooner I can slide my hands under that dress and strip it off you.”
“No more clothes, Lucca. I’m serious. This is your fetish, not mine. You have given me enough,” I firmly declare, furrowing my eyebrows with my hand on my hip.
There’s his “you are sexy and I am having you” look.
“Now we are never getting out of here because you have got me so horned up with that sexy fiery shit.” He presses into me, moving my hair away so he can kiss my neck.
Folded, crumbled, and melted.
Turning around, I kiss his cheek and smile, running my fingers over his dimple then down to his lips. He has me. I walk backwards, dragging him along with me, and then it’s hot, raunchy sex on that mirrored glass island top.
After our heated lovemaking, I watch the glint from the chandelier twinkle above me, reflecting sharp bright bursts of jewelled colour over my skin. Lucca brushes his
I call Cameron after that, then Hazel, and finally Lucy to arrange a coffee date. Mark, my work partner at the clinic, has left several messages, so I note to call him back later on, then I make an appointment with my doctor to get another prescription of painkillers for my fractured wrist. The supply I got from the hospital in Tuscany is running low.
I’m going to call my mum this afternoon, but for that I need lots of strength and courage as just the thought of it exhausts me. Momentarily, I close my eyes on the lounger with my journal and phone hugged into my chest. The hazy Scottish summer sun shines through the glass wall on my face.
Sleep.
I dream of Tuscan sun, Florence and olives, dining alfresco and blue orchid flowers, the opera and Giovanni Costanzo taking photographs …
I’m choking, coughing, and struggling to breathe.
“Lexi, wake up. Please breathe,” Lucca panics. He scoops me up and cradles me into his chest, hushing me until I’m calmer. He then walks through the house and up the stairs until we reach the bedroom. He pulls the bedsheet back, then climbs in, pulling me to his chest.
“Are you okay? Do you want to tell me what that was about?” he asks.
“No, it’s nothing. I must have been dreaming.”
“It is not doing any good keeping it to yourself. You need to talk to me,” he pleads.
“Honestly, it was nothing, not even a deep sleep. I just dozed off.”
“But—”
I place my fingers on his lips to shush him. Normally, my bad dreams relate to my past, but strangely, this dream relates to my present and then provoked awful memories from my past.
Fuck!
File P for photography. Photography is the devil.
Lucca wraps his arms around me while I drift off again. I’m so tired, but this time I don’t have bad dreams because I’m wrapped in Lucca’s arms. I’m safe.
“Have I got time for a bath?” I ask as I stroll into the dressing room to pick something out to wear. Lucca is taking me out to dinner with Marco and some of his closest work colleagues tonight, so I need to dress appropriately. Hanging in the dressing room is a new dress in a suit bag.
“Lucca, what’s this?” I yell.
“Your clothes from Tuscany will not be here until Friday or Saturday, so I picked this for you today when I was out.”
I unzip a knee length, one shoulder, midnight-blue crepe dress with a satin bow at the shoulder. It’s draped in perfect crepe silk with an elegant shape to it. I look at the tag—it’s a Lanvin dress.
“Lucca, how did you manage to get this? It’s beautiful.”
“I had Marco go to Edinburgh and pick it up from Harvey Nicholls,” he replies, walking in behind me. “Do you like it?” he asks.
“Yes, I love it, but it’s a Wednesday night, and it’s very fancy,” I add, running my hand over the material. I also wonder why he bought something new. I have garments hanging up which would have been suitable.
“Baby, it is perfect and you will look stunning in it. Hurry and get dressed because the sooner we get dinner over with, the sooner I can slide my hands under that dress and strip it off you.”
“No more clothes, Lucca. I’m serious. This is your fetish, not mine. You have given me enough,” I firmly declare, furrowing my eyebrows with my hand on my hip.
There’s his “you are sexy and I am having you” look.
“Now we are never getting out of here because you have got me so horned up with that sexy fiery shit.” He presses into me, moving my hair away so he can kiss my neck.
Folded, crumbled, and melted.
Turning around, I kiss his cheek and smile, running my fingers over his dimple then down to his lips. He has me. I walk backwards, dragging him along with me, and then it’s hot, raunchy sex on that mirrored glass island top.
After our heated lovemaking, I watch the glint from the chandelier twinkle above me, reflecting sharp bright bursts of jewelled colour over my skin. Lucca brushes his
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