This Day, page 34
“There are a few things you need to remember,” he said when we reached the water.
There wasn’t much theory, as the activity we were about to embark on wasn’t too complicated.
The ocean was calm, but Nacho explained that waves could come without warning and vanish equally unexpectedly. Just like the wind. The water around the Canary Islands was predictable enough, and I was sure I’d quickly tame it. Unlike Nacho himself.
Anyway, after a couple of accidental falls into the salty ocean, I finally got the hang of paddleboarding. My eyes stung and I felt like throwing up after gulping down a mouthful of water, but I was proud of myself and felt happy. Nacho didn’t rush me, paddling right next to me, and I watched the play of his muscles under his skin.
“Bend your knees and try not to position your board parallel to the waves.” He just managed to say that when an unexpected wave washed over the side of my board and I landed in the water again.
This time, I panicked. I fell in pretty deep and lost my bearings. Which way was up? I tried swimming, but another wave rolled over me and I spun.
Suddenly, I felt a pair of strong hands slide around my chest and pull me toward the surface. I coughed as Nacho threw me over my board.
“You all right?” he asked with real worry in his voice, and I nodded faintly. “We’re going back to the beach.”
“No, no. Let’s stay,” I managed between coughs. “I like it, and I’ve wanted to try it for a long time.”
I crawled over the board and sat astride it, looking at the Spaniard as he floated next to me with uncertainty in his eyes. The sun was shining warmly, and the beautiful sight of the long, black-sand beaches made me feel so carefree.
“Please.” I made the cutest face I could muster, but it didn’t seem to work. “You owe me for that vile lie!”
I got up and smacked him with the paddle.
Nacho laughed and jumped on his own board, pulling away.
“Are you sure it was a lie?” he asked when he was far enough that I couldn’t reach him with my paddle. “You have a small scar on you right butt cheek. Looks like a burn. How did you get it?”
I wobbled on my board, nearly falling off again. How the hell did he know about that? I definitely hadn’t shown it to him, and I only wore those cotton boxers all the time. He didn’t have anything else in his drawer. I started paddling furiously, trying to catch up to Nacho, but he quickly escaped me. We played like that for some time, happy like children, chasing each other, until I felt just how exerting this sport really was. I decided to swim back to the beach.
I unbuckled the board from my ankle and left it in the water as I stepped out of the sea. I unzipped the wet suit and pulled it halfway down, and when I reached the veranda I got rid of it altogether, hanging it on a peg on the wall.
Nacho followed me, lugging both boards. He stopped by the house, leaning them against the railing. He lifted his head, and I saw his smirk vanish from his face, replaced with an expression I hadn’t seen yet. I took a look around, wondering what shocked him so much, finally looking down and realizing my mistake. I’d had only that white sleeveless shirt under the wet suit. When it got wet, it became completely translucent.
“Start running,” Nacho said coldly, his wild green eyes fixed on my erect nipples.
I took a step back and he followed me at a run. I rounded a corner and started running. His hand clamped around my wrist as he pulled me to him. Then his tongue slipped past my lips before I could react. He released my hand and instead put his hands on my cheeks, kissing me deeply and passionately. Why wasn’t I trying to defend myself? I didn’t want to. I couldn’t. Maybe I just wanted it as much as he did. My hands dangled along my sides, and I found that my tongue returned the kiss, as did my lips. Seconds passed, and I didn’t retreat, standing with my head raised, allowing myself to be kissed and feeling a wave of lust rising inside me. That finally sobered me up. I clenched my teeth. Nacho stopped, our foreheads touching. He screwed his eyes shut.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself,” he breathed, his voice drowned out by a gust of wind.
“I can see that,” I replied, exasperated. “Let me go.”
He took his hands away, and I turned my back on him, heading to the door. My knees were shaking, and the pangs of guilt that appeared immediately took my breath away. What was I doing? I was alone with a murderer in the middle of nowhere, cheating on my loving husband, who was probably mad with worry by now.
I took my clothes off in the bedroom, closing the door first, and putting on a pair of boxers and a shirt I found in the closet. Then I got into bed, covering myself with the sheets, head included. I felt the salty water trickling from my hair to my face. The sound of the doorknob being turned made my breath catch. I listened.
“Everything all right?” Nacho asked, staying in the doorway.
I murmured something in assent and heard the door close again. I fell asleep.
It was sunset when I woke up again. I wrapped myself in a blanket and left the room. The house was empty, but I thought I could hear quiet sounds of a guitar playing outside. I passed the threshold and saw Nacho, standing by a grill, sipping a beer. He was wearing loose, torn denim trousers. They kept slipping off his butt, displaying the white Calvin Klein boxers underneath. A small bonfire was dancing next to him, and a Bluetooth speaker was playing “I See Fire” by Ed Sheeran.
“I was just about to wake you up,” the Spaniard said, putting down the bottle. “I made dinner.”
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to talk to him right now, but my growling stomach told me I had no other choice. I took a seat on a sofa chair nearby and pulled up my knees, covering myself with my blanket.
Nacho moved a small table and another chair so that we sat facing each other. I looked around and nodded. This was beginning to look like a proper romantic dinner. There was bread seared over the fire, olives, tomatoes, and pickled onions. The table was illuminated by candles. Nacho placed a plate before me, and grabbed another for himself.
“Bon appétit,” he said.
The smell of grilled fish, squid, and other delicacies brought out the demon in me. I cared nothing for savoir vivre and devoured my dinner, tearing myself great chunks of the delicious bread and following each bite with olives.
“This is my private retreat,” Nacho said, glancing about. “This is where I go when I want to escape the world. I’d live here if I could.” He paused. “With someone…”
I lifted my eyes and observed as the Spaniard’s eyes changed under my scrutiny.
“He’d never know,” Nacho added. His smiled had vanished as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s only you and me.”
I raised a hand to cut him off.
“I’m not interested,” I said, which was a lie, but I managed to sound convincing, I think. “I love Massimo. He’s the love of my life and nobody will ever replace him. I can’t wait for Luca to be born. Massimo will kill you all if you try to take me away from him.” I nodded vigorously, but it only seemed to amuse him.
“Tell me, where is he now?” He raised his brows, waiting for an answer. With none forthcoming, he continued, “I’ll tell you where your beloved husband is. He’s off making money. Because, you see, what Massimo Torricelli loves the most is money. Not you, you poor, naive girl. He came up with that ridiculous vision and embroiled you in his fucked-up life out of sheer egoism. Were you ever kidnapped before you met him?” He leaned in closer and waited for a reaction. “I thought not,” he said, hearing nothing in reply. “What’s more, he couldn’t even properly care for what he took responsibility for. But if you’d like, I can dispel your doubts.”
He narrowed his eyes. “The decision is yours. I can show you materials that will show your husband in a different light. You are not going to lie to yourself any longer. Your life with him is one big lie. I can show it all to you. If you just ask.”
“Listening to you makes me want to throw up,” I growled and got up. “You don’t have anything that would make me love Massimo any less.”
I spun around and stormed off, heading to the door. Before I went inside, I turned my head and called out, scowling, “And you’re not better than him! You’ve kidnapped me, blackmailed me, and now you think that what? I’ll fall in love with you?”
He watched me for a long while, saying nothing, but then his expression changed abruptly, and that familiar smile crept across his face. He clasped his hands behind his head.
“Me? No. I just wanted to fuck you.”
He wiggled his eyebrows.
I stretched out a hand and gave him the finger, passing through the door.
“You’re a fucking bastard,” I told him in Polish. “A piece of trash.”
I muttered some more obscenities and finally calmed down enough to take a shower and go to my bedroom, locking the door behind me.
CHAPTER
twenty
The next day, we ate breakfast and headed back to town. Nacho took dozens of calls but didn’t speak to me at all, not counting the bark of “Let’s go” when he was ready to leave. We drove into the underground garage of the apartment block, and I recalled the night I was attacked.
“What about Rocco?” I asked, staying in the car.
“You didn’t think I just left him there, did you?”
He slammed the door and went to the elevator.
I felt sick as he was turning the key in the lock and passing the threshold. It was getting difficult to breathe, and I couldn’t follow him inside. Nacho snapped his head back and saw me standing in the doorway. He grabbed my arm.
“The house is safe. My people cleaned up.” He pulled me inside.
“I need to change. Then we’ll go to my father. I advise you to change clothes, too.” He disappeared upstairs.
I followed him, but slowly, taking the steps one at a time, afraid of what I’d see on the upper floor. Nacho wouldn’t be so cruel as to leave a dead body in my room. Would he?
I grabbed the handle, feeling my stomach cramp. The door opened a fraction, and I peeked inside. Everything was in perfect order, and the strangled Sicilian was gone. I went to the closet and rummaged through it to find something more appropriate. After almost a week, I was about to see my beloved. I wanted to look dignified, like the wife of don Torricelli instead of a tattooed surfer’s girlfriend. It wasn’t easy. My choices were shorts or… shorts. Eventually, I managed to fish out something less gaudy. It was a pair of faded gray jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt. I also pulled on a pair of loafers and styled—though that wasn’t saying much—my hair. There was some mascara in the bathroom. I was also happy to see that my skin had gained some color in the sun, as there was no foundation to see anywhere.
“Let’s go. Get your ass moving!” I heard from downstairs.
I took a last glance at the room, checking if I had left anything. I know—that was totally irrational. I hadn’t brought anything, because this wasn’t a vacation. I had been kidnapped. I went to the lower floor and froze on the penultimate step. In the middle of the living room stood Nacho. In a suit. His tanned skin and clean-shaven head looked perfect with the white shirt and black suit jacket. He kept one hand in his pocket and the other by his ear, holding a phone. He turned to me and looked me up and down. That outfit looked strange on him, but it was a nice change, and—it had to be said—it made that arrogant prick look handsome as hell.
“You look nice,” he said, trying to keep himself from smiling. He failed.
“Well, right back at you,” I replied, returning the smile.
“Let’s go already. I need you out of my life,” he said, forcing himself to adopt a more impassive expression.
I crumpled my face. I knew he was just pretending, but those words still reverberated in my head, ruining my mood.
He didn’t think that, but he wanted me to think that it was just business for him.
Something dawned on me then—I had grown to like this man. Despite all his flaws, mainly the most jarring one—that he was a murderer—I did like him.
On the one hand, I was glad Massimo would take me away, but on the other I couldn’t bear the thought that I’d never see Nacho again. If I was to overlook one little detail—that he had kidnapped me—I was losing a friend. A man that impressed me and who I had very much in common with. A man that could make me smile or rage in fury, but most important, a man I liked to spend time with. It had only been a week, but I had grown close to him. That happens when you spend all your time with someone.
The Corvette sped down the highway and I thanked God the Spaniard had closed the roof. Otherwise, my hair would have already been in complete disarray. We climber higher and higher up the slope of the mountain, and the road became narrower and more curvy. Suddenly, the car stopped.
“Come on, I’ll show you something,” Nacho said, stepping out of the car. He grabbed my hand and led me to the edge. “Los Gigantes,” he said. “The name of the town comes from those tall cliffs. They’re almost two thousand feet high in some places. When you swim up to them, you really see how enormous they are.”
I watched and listened, enchanted.
“There are whales and dolphins in those waters. I also wanted to show you the volcano. Teide. But—”
“I’ll miss you,” I whispered, cutting in. He froze. “It’s just so unfair that I met you in those circumstances. We could have been friends,” I said without any regrets. He pulled in closer. I felt his heart racing.
“You could stay,” he breathed.
He lifted my chin, making me look at him. I closed my eyes.
“Look at me, baby girl.” His words ripped me apart. That was what Massimo used to call me. My eyes welled up with tears that streaked down my cheeks. I pushed my hand into Nacho’s pocket and pulled out his sunglasses. I put them on, hiding behind the mirrored lenses, and went back to the car, saying nothing more.
The house of Fernando Matos was a fortress. It was perched on a rock, overlooking the ocean. Unconquered. There was an expansive garden hidden behind a tall wall. It was more a park than a garden, though. Colorful, squawking parrots sat on tree branches, and there was a lake filled with fish. I had no idea how large the whole thing was, but if I had thought the mansion in Taormina was big, now I knew better.
Nacho parked the car by the entrance, passing several armed men stationed along the driveway. I stepped out hesitantly, unsure of how I should behave, before walking up to the Spaniard. Two goons appeared in the door. They took positions behind me. Nacho told them something in an irritated voice, and then started shouting. The two men dropped their heads but didn’t relent. Nacho grabbed my elbow and pulled me toward the monumental mansion.
“What’s going on?” I asked, disoriented.
“They want to take you. My work is finished.”
He was serious. And angry. “I won’t let them take you away from me.” My stomach cramped. “I’ll take you to my father personally.”
We walked into the mansion and across an enormous hall, which ended in a great door. The room behind it was massive, too, with tall windows overlooking the ocean. Nothing obstructed the view. This part of the fortress floated in the air, situated on an overhang of the cliff. The view was breathtaking and terrifying at the same time. I didn’t even notice the rest of the room until I heard a voice behind me. It was heavily accented.
“So it’s you!”
I spun on my heel and saw an older, long-haired man standing by Nacho. He looked a lot more Spanish, or Canarian, as the locals liked to be referred to, than Nacho. His skin was dark, and so were his eyes. The man was elderly, but it was apparent that years back he had been very handsome. He wore cream-colored pants and a shirt of the same hue.
“Fernando Matos,” he said, placing a kiss on the back of my palm. “Laura Torricelli, the woman who tamed the beast. Please, have a seat.”
He gestured me to an armchair, taking a seat in another one. Nacho nervously poured himself a glass of some colorless beverage from a carafe on the desktop, before taking off his jacket, unveiling the harness and two guns. He downed the glass and poured another one. He then sat on the couch and started turning the glass between his fingers.
“I’m very grateful for your hospitality, sir, but I’d like to go home now,” I said in a calm and cultured voice. “Nacho has been a wonderful host, but if you’re finished with your games, I would like to—”
“I heard you were loudmouthed,” Fernando interrupted me, pushing himself back to his feet. “Unfortunately, my dear, your husband didn’t grace us with his presence. I heard his plane didn’t take off.” He spread his arms and turned to his son. “Leave us, Marcelo.”
Nacho got up and downed his drink, placing the glass on the desktop, grabbed his jacket, and left the cavernous room obediently. He didn’t look at me. I was alone and afraid. The man facing me now was an enigma. The one that had left had at least given me an illusion of safety.
“Your husband treated me like a nobody!” the old man roared when the door closed. He propped his arms on both sides of my shoulders. “And one of you is going to pay for that!”
Suddenly, the door to the room opened again, but I wasn’t able to turn my head. I was rooted to the spot, terrified. Fernando left my field of view and greeted somebody. Their conversation was in Spanish. I only understood one word. “Torricelli.” Then the voices died down and I heard the clank of the lock. I was alone. I sighed with relief.
“You stupid bitch!”
A large, meaty hand landed on my head, grabbing my hair and pulling me to my feet before thrusting me onto the floor.
I fell and hit my head on the edge of the coffee table. Blood streaked down my face. I touched my temple and raised my eyes.
A man the age of Nacho was standing above me. His glare was full of disgust. With a strangely stiff hand he patted down his hair, before taking a step toward me. I kicked out with my legs, trying to scamper away, but didn’t manage to escape his own powerful kick.
His foot pistoned into my side.
I wrapped my hands around my belly, desperately trying to protect my baby from the maniac attacking me. My head swam, and my ears rang, but I knew I couldn’t black out. What had I done to this man? I was clueless.
