Page 2 of Bound to You

After the humiliating dinner party at my parents’ house, it took me approximately seven minutes of pacing in my childhood bedroom before I called May to take her up on her offer. The next day, we were at the airport with two one-way tickets out of New York City and now, here we are. So no, I didn’t give my brother much warning that we were coming to stay.

Miles lives in Sorrento. He’s an international pilot, and he spends his time off out here at his Italian villa. I use the term “villa” loosely because it’s more like a mansion. So free accommodation with him was a given until he broke the news that he is actually out of town for a while and is having the place renovated while he’s gone.

So that leaves May and I in limbo land for where we are shacking up for the summer. Including tonight, but we’ve handled worse.

I met May in college; we were roommates. Floor three, room twenty-four, right at the end of the hall. We clicked from day one, and that girl has dragged me into way too many situations I would’ve otherwise never experienced. I should’ve known I’d end up on the other side of the world with her—stalled on the side of the road, no less.

We’ve moved about a meter towards the curb—great progress.

“Okay, let me help you. Surely two asses are better than one, we just need to push it in the right direction.” I open the door and round the car to help her push. I quickly regret buying matching silk scarves from the airport shop as the warmafternoon breeze blows the fabric into my face. Admittedly we only bought them so we’d look cute. And we do—they offer a very seventies-esque vibe. But cuteness is not pushing this car very far.

“Did you leave the handbrake on or something? I feel like it shouldn’t be this hard,” May complains.

“No, May,” I sigh, “I didn’t leave the handbrake on.”

We both stop to catch our breath. How the hell is this rickety little thing so damn heavy? It looks like a decent gust of wind would blow it all the way to fucking Switzerland.

It’s been nearly an hour since the car first broke down. I hear the faint sound of tires on the road and turn around just in time to see a silver car drive up to us. The car slows as if deliberating whether to stop or not, but eventually speeds up, leaving us in their rearview mirror.

Great. We’re stuck here. I should’ve expected something like this to happen.

“I give up,” I say, sliding down the car until I’m sitting on the hot road. I can't believe this happened already. We aren’t even a day into our holiday, and we are already failing at it. Failing just like my parents predicted, and my asshole ex, for that matter. Not that they thought I’d fail at being on holiday. Just pursuing my heart’s desire, that’s all.

The sound of a rumbling engine floats towards us.

“Oh shit,” May curses.

“What?”

“It's Fernando.”

I whip my head around to see what she’s referencing. And sure enough, a sleek, inky black Ferrari is rolling up towards us. It looks so out of place against our lush green surroundings. I quickly get up from my position on the ground.

Surely whoever this is will just ignore us and drive on by like the last one, right? People don’t stop to help others anymore.Last week on my way home, I tripped on a crack in the pavement, and everything but the kitchen sink came spilling out of my bag. Everyone just walked on by, like they didn’t see me embarrassingly collecting my tampons up off the sidewalk.

Chivalry is dead. Not even chivalry, just general politeness.

My hope dwindles when the car slows to a stop about ten meters from us.

You’ve got to be joking.Thisis the person that stops for us? The one driving a Ferrari?

I’m aware of how cliché we look like right now—two American girls broken down on the side of the road. Poor, helpless damsels in distress.

“What do we do?” May frantically looks around as if trying to find something that will help her in this situation.

“Stop it,” I say, smacking her arm to stop her fussing. “Act casual.” The door to the Ferrari shuts and the driver slowly saunters up to us.

The guy is dressed up to the nines. He’s wearing fitted charcoal suit pants paired with a crisp white dress shirt that is tight in all the right places, showing off hints of crafted arms underneath.

Wellhello.

He’s got his suit jacket casually thrown over his shoulder, and what are probably thousand-dollar shades cover his eyes. He comes to a stop in front of us, running a hand through his dark hair. It has a casual wave through it, as if he does that often. Of course this guy drives a fuckingFerrari.

“Ciao.” The greeting rolls off his tongue in a gorgeous accent.

“Uh...ciao.” The words barely squeak out of my mouth.

“Well, that was confident,” May whispers under her breath, which turns into a cough as I jab her in the ribs with my elbow.

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