Page 164 of Remy

I give Ollie and Carlo the well-needed time together.

I reply to contractor emails concerning Smoke & Mirrors and sip the twenty-five-year-old Macallan whisky I asked the homeowner to procure, as if drinking expensive liquor will make the threat of Lorenzo finding out about this mini vacay any less of an issue.

Late afternoon a knock sounds at my door, raising my hackles. If Ollie tempts me again… But it’s the middle-aged male chef who pokes his bearded face into my room.

“Sorry for the interruption, Mr. Costa. I’m about to serve antipasti to your guests beside the pool. Would you like me to bring a plate in here?”

I withhold a cringe, knowing I can’t stay in here forever.

“No.” I push from the bed. “I’ll join them.”

The man nods and backtracks, disappearing while I slide my cell into my pocket and ponder my pathetic weakness.

Carlo will seek me out if I don’t show my face soon, and the truth is, I’m not as immune to his impending demise as I’d like to be. I want time with him too.

I leave the bedroom, Lucy’s laughter carrying from the pool deck, Carlo’s quickly following.

I walk outside, finding the two of them sitting side by side on cushioned loungers before I instinctively search for Ollie.

She breeches from beneath the pool’s surface with a gasp, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her skin glistens as she begins to climb the steps like some otherworldly goddess in a skimpy black bikini that could potentially see me greeting Carlo in the fucking afterlife.

I don’t know what I expected her to bathe in, but I wouldn’t have dared to rent a place with a pool if the heavenly sight before me had crossed my mind for even the slightest of seconds.

She’s a fantasy, the bikini bottom hugging the petite curves of her ass, the top molding to her tits to expose every inch of her cleavage and too fucking much of her side-boob.

I clear the tightness from my throat and turn away. My eyes catch on Carlo, whose gaze is narrowed on me with far too much scrutiny as he closes the paperback memoir in his hands.

Fuck.

“Did you decide to take a nanna nap, Costa?” he drawls.

I huff a laugh, pretending like his daughter isn’t making my dick hard. “No, I thought I’d reserved those for the old man of the crew.” I stroll toward him. “I’ve been working.”

He raises his brows in disbelief.

Thankfully the chef approaches and places a tray of food at the end of Carlo’s lounger.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you might be hungry.” The guy, who must’ve been a lumberjack in his past life, points to the delicacies displayed. “This is the prosciutto e melone. Then we have the arancini, bruschetta, olives and marinated mushrooms.”

Ollie joins us mid report, her skin covered in goose bumps as she wrings water from her hair, seeming completely oblivious to her appeal. “It looks amazing.”

He grins at her. “The mushrooms have been infused with balsamic vinegar, garlic, and parsley, but also have a dash of red peppers.” His focus dips momentarily to her tits before snapping upward. “So be prepared for a slight kick.”

The mushrooms won’t provide the only motherfucking kick if this piece of shit doesn’t mind his manners.

“I’m excited to see what you organize for dinner.” She grabs one of the arancini balls and takes a bite.

“I’m actually not sure if I’m in charge of dinner.” The fucker meets my glower, his eyes bugging slightly at my deathly expression. “Umm… have you decided if you’re staying in or going out?”

“Not yet.” I school my anger to address Carlo. “I made dinner reservations at Les Délices de Versailles. It’s French cuisine, but we can stay in if you prefer.”

“That sounds classy for Berkeley Springs,” Lucy chirps.

It’s not.

It’s a small family-owned restaurant that I called in advance to make a few requests Lucy is already aware of. “It’s black tie.”

“Black tie?” Ollie almost chokes on her arancini. “But I didn’t pack anything appropriate to wear.”

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