With All My Love And More

With all this suspense, you better tell me you're the Prince of Italy

© 2024 [CCBubs]

All night I fought off the urge to google this Giovanni. This of course led to no sleep at all. I groaned rolling to my side fumbling around for the ringing apartment phone. "Oh for fuck sakes," I shouted jumping forward onto the feet. I stomped around the bed and looked around for the phone. "Where the fuck is it?" If anyone had come into my room they would have seen a woman in only panties and a hand cut crop top with Britney Spears circa 2000 and hair that could only match a wildebeest. My eyes locked on the black telephone. I jumped for it pulling it from the hook. "Yes, yes, yes, hello," I breathed away the strands of hair in my face as my free hand carelessly tried to move the mass of hair covering my face.

"Buongiorno, Miss Chance?"

"Si, si, si," I nodded my head. The only Italian I could remember.

"Eh, his maje-...oh scusi, Mr. Giovanni wishes to know if you are-"

"Oh my god," I shouted, "Is he here? What time is it?" I spun around looking at the clock just when his very distinct voice came over the line.

"9...on the dot, scaredy-cat," he teased over the phone. I paused before running to the window only to be yanked back by the cord. For fuck sakes, why do phones still have cords! I threw the phone behind me and ran to the window slamming open the shutter looking down to find him now standing there with that boyish, crooked smile. Oh god, to wake up to that smile every day...now that is a lucky lady. "Good morning." That voice. Fucking hell, God really did take a sweet long time on him. "I do recall you saying 'we'll see' last night with great confidence, and yet I'd argue you look quite upset over waking up late for someone you didn't care to see again."

"Don't make fun of me, Gio."

His smile, I dare say, grew even brighter at the mention of my nickname for him. "I like when you call me that," he spoke with such a carefree attitude. A trait I'm sure many Italians have adopted over the years. Who wouldn't, when you live in such a beautiful place. "Come down, you need breakfast."

"I don't like breakfast," I leaned out the window even more, making his eyes drop down to what I was wearing. He looked around rubbing his hand over his facial hair, he looked almost bothered. I dropped my eyes down to where he was looking only to be brutally reminded of the lack of clothes. "I'm getting dressed," I screamed, jumping away from the window.

Jesus, he's going to think I'm easy, after I explicitly denied I wasn't last night. I riffled through my clothes finding only loose jeans and oversized dress shirts. What the fuck was I thinking when I packed. Past the seven pairs of jeans and oversized tops I found the peace de resistance of my attire. Thank god I splurged. I had a lucky break at a consignment store and found all 10 of these beautiful self-portrait dresses in different patterns and materials. I knew these dresses were a great investment. An investment in my nether regions, if you know what I mean. I pulled all ten out by their hangers and placed them on the bed eyeing every single one. They are my weapons, I need to use them wisely.

Do I go full out with my kamikaze, the lace dress with fabric only covering the essential areas? No, that is too much on the first day.

First day? Who the hell do you think you are? Who is to say there will be a second Chance? Maybe you need to bring out the big guns to ensure a second day.

Okay! Okay, relax. You're overthinking. Go simple, go classic.

Polka dots. If there was one thing I remember from my mom about men is that they love polka-dots on women. I think she heard that on some NPR sessions. If I am going to get this man's attention, I need to show him what I'm working with, in a classy way.

I pulled the first challenger, a sheer chiffon and with a fitted bodice. Just what I'm looking for. I quickly threw it on before brushing my teeth and hair. I tossed my apartment key, phone, cash and I.D. into a small cross body bag before running off in some leather slide sandals.

Take deep breaths. Lots and lots of deep breath. The last thing you need to do is say another embarrassing thing to him. Think before you talk...or maybe don't think so much before you talk in your case.

When the elevator doors opened, my eyes immediately found him. He was standing at the iron railing where the Venice waters traveled along. I already found my legs having a mind of its own heading straight for him. Even from behind anyone with eyes could tell he is a handsome man. As if he could feel my presence, he turned around and locked eyes with me. "Ciao, bella."

"Ciao," I whispered. God, I'm getting so shy now. It's so much easier to talk to this man from up at my window than so close. I glanced up at him finding amusement shining in the caramels of his eyes.

"How quickly your demeanor changes, scaredy cat." He raised his arms motioning for me to take it, "Don't worry, I feel the same as you do."

I highly doubt that. This man exudes confidence. He doesn't have a clue just how inexperienced I am. If he did, he'd act just like every guy I've met. He'd treat me like some fresh meat. There's no way in hell I'm ever going to tell him I'm a virgin who has never been kissed.

I took his arm following beside him, taking notice of just how many eyes were on us. "First things first," he sighed. My eyes watched as men dressed in all black, if I didn't know better I would assume they were some kind of Italian secret service, bodyguards perhaps? They were even acting like bodyguards, keeping the people who were looking at us away. What the heck is going on? Suddenly a large hat was placed on my hat. I moved my eyes up to find a straw sun hat. I stopped walking as Giovanni looked down at me with a raised brow, "I was correct in thinking you would forget a hat." He then pulled the sunglasses hanging from his button up shirt and slid it over my eyes. They had some weight on it. I could only imagine the price tag to both the sunhat and sunglasses. One look at me, and anyone would think I was some well off individual. "This will help keep your identity private for as long as possible."

"Why? Afraid that your enemies will kidnap me and hold me hostage," I teased.

He smirked, tapping the tip of my nose, "Again, I am not a mafioso." He slid on his own sunglasses, much to my dismay.

"You promised me you would tell me," I reminded him, "That's the whole reason I am even with you right now."

"Oh? The only reason," his tone playful, "Not because you think I'm, what did you say last night, ah, yes, 'too handsome to be running around with a gun'." I rolled my eyes looking away about to pull my hand away from his arm when his hand quickly took hold of it. He was holding my hand. I was holding his hand.

I cleared my throat hoping to God I was not blushing, "With all this suspense, you better tell me you're the Prince of Italy."

"Not exactly," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"What do you mean not exactly?" My eyes training on the men in black again, I'm pretty sure I'm seeing more of them in speed boats on the waters radioing each other.

"I am the King of Italy."

Well shit.

© 2024 [CCBubs]

Fun fact: I will never, ever wear polka-dots.