Page 37 of Bound to You

He sets my plate down in front of me.

“Grazie.” I dig in, twirling my fork in the noodles. Rafael stands at the bar across from me and raises his brows at me before turning his attention to his own meal.

He’s right though. I haven’t paid it any mind, but I have been spending more time away from the hotel. I just didn’t connect it to wanting to spend more time around Isla. Even though every time I leave my apartment, I hope that my eyes will connect with hers. I feel a tinge of guilt in my gut that I’m more focused on a woman than I am on Hotel Dolce. It’s everything I’ve worked for; I can’t let things get out from under me because I’m distracted.

“Just ask her,” he says before shoveling pasta into his mouth. It’s not that easy. I don’t know why but it’s just not.

“How are you getting on with everything here?” I change the subject.

“Hm,” he shrugs noncommittally, avoiding the subject. Rafael has had the restaurant since his nonna passed, leaving it in his capable hands. It’s been a few years now, but I know his passion for this place has faded. He’ll never give it up, his nonna’s legacy means too much to him, but I don’t know how to help him. That’s why I always get him to cater my events, not that I’d use anyone else anyway, but it gives him something fresh to focus on.

“It’s not important right now. Do you think we’ll have a good turnout at the fundraiser?”

I let him off by avoiding the talk about the restaurant; we can shelve that for another day. “I went as far as Rome and met withas many from the list we made that agreed to meet with me,” I say. “Is Marisol going to make it?”

“She’s got a shoot that day and won’t be able to make it on time.”

Marisol is Raf’s younger sister, she’s a well-known model, and by well-known I mean she’s featured in magazines all around the country. Rafael can’t go a week without seeing a photo of his little sister in lingerie, and he fucking hates it. He’s begged her to stop if only so he doesn’t have to witness it, but she loves what she does. She’s also dating one of the top photographers in the business, which Rafael also hates, and for good reason. The guy is a cocky bastard, and he treats Marisol like a trophy to have on his arm adding to his image. I don’t know why she puts up with a guy like that, she knows she could do ten times better, but she’s in love with him. God knows why, I don’t see the appeal, but Rafael and I have had one too many phone calls that ended with Marisol in tears over that topic to bring it up with her again.

“She’s sending a donation for the cause though,” he adds, rolling his eyes. I know he misses his sister. She started taking her modeling seriously after their nonna died, throwing herself into the work and hasn’t been home since. But Marina has been there for Rafael like a sister just as she has been for me throughout the years, she’s the glue that holds us all together. Honestly, I’m surprised she doesn’t lose it at us more than she does. We are like her naughty little brothers, even though she is years younger than both of us.

She’s had to put up with so much shit from all of us. From Heath intimidating every guy she’s ever tried to date in the last few years just by sending them a look, to Rafael and I sneaking into the bar years ago when she first opened it to scare her. When she first bought the building, she thought it was haunted. She used to think she heard ghosts downstairs in the bar atnight when she was staying upstairs. She never found out that it was Rafael and me cracking open a beer or two and occasionally moving the furniture out of place. It’s our best kept secret to date, considering that nothing much gets past Marina.

She’s always looked out for us though, always put as much love into our businesses as she has her own, she’s everyone’s biggest supporter, and like I said, she’s the glue that holds our little family together.

“It doesn’t matter though. Her donation will help.”

“Yeah,” I say, it’s not quite the same as having her here, but I don’t say that.

“Now stop being an idiot and just ask Isla to come, what’s got you so rattled about asking? If she says no, no big deal.”

“If she says no…” big deal. I don’t know why, but I’m nervous. I’ve only caught glimpses of her over the last two weeks, a swish of her long hair as the elevator doors close. Or a whiff of that vanilla and campfires smell lingering in the lobby like I’ve just missed her. I can’t help but feel like she’s been avoiding me, and I don’t like it.

“I’ll ask her,” I say. I just need to find her first.

chapter fourteen

ISLA

The sun is teasingthe edge of the horizon out my bedroom window, sending sparkles across the water’s surface, like little fairies of pure light dancing along the waves.

I never really went to the beach much in New York. I spent more time in the college pool than in the ocean. I have no idea why, because since being here I feel like being near the water is where I’m meant to be. There’s something about the way that the waves continue to crash, and the tides continue to rise and fall that makes me feel steady, like everything will be okay as long as those waves keep tumbling into the golden sand below.

The sky has been showing off for the last few nights, different hues appear every night.

Just while I’ve been sitting here, the sky has gone from bright blue to tangerine, and was swept with crimson clouds that have disappeared now as if they were never there. It looked as if the sky was burning, and I couldn’t help but open up the bedside drawer where I had stashed Nora’s sketch pad and flick the cover page back.

On my way home from my shift at Marina’s yesterday I stopped at an arts and crafts supply store. I wasn’t planning onit, but the sunlight caught my eye in the store window, reflecting off the seashell chimes hanging over the doorway. My heart tugged as I admired the paintings scattered around the store, in between the macrame weavings and plants hanging on the walls. But I couldn’t bring myself to buy a set of paints, not yet. I don’t fully understand why, I just couldn’t. So I settled for a set of pastels instead.

I started with pastels. My parents didn’t trust me with paint when I was younger, so for my thirteenth birthday they got me a set of pastels and a sketchpad. I’d spend hours outside, painting the day as it went by. The seasons. The years. I filled that sketchbook and two more before I got my first set of oil paints. I never went back after that, falling in love with the feeling of a brush in my hand. So coming back to pastels now…it feels right.

I run the crayon across the page, adding shadows to the ocean I’m trying to recreate as it shimmers in front of me, the sun nearly disappearing from view.

My door pushes open before May comes barreling in, landing in a heap on my bed before looking up at me in the chair by the window with her head in her hands.

She’s wearing one of her new shirts. She took it upon herself to go down to the eclectic souvenir shop in town last week and buy cheesy t-shirts, all of which she’s cropped with scissors and hemmed with the old sewing machine that’s in our living room. This one has Robert Pattison on the front, he’s got a mustache and dark eyebrows with a speech bubble extending from his mouth that speaks: “Ciao, Bella.” I can’t help but snort, that’s a good one actually.

“Yes?” I ask.

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