Page 1 of Unruly Obsession
1
LILY
The sun kisses my skin, and my eyes close as I embrace the idea of momentary freedom. The ocean offers a refreshing scent, the sand and breeze prick my senses as I savor this moment along the Italian coastline, avoiding the chaos slowly creeping into my life back in Manhattan.
A heavy sigh gets trapped in my chest when I think about my father’s recent pressure for me to close down my floral business and focus on finding the ideal suitor to marry. I'm expected to fall in line to accommodate his unspoken agenda.
Don’t talk back.
Do as I’m told.
Be the good girl.
I’ve been conditioned to all of these things, but it’s becoming harder to oblige, even for the sake of upholding my family's name and reputation.
It didn’t go down well when I told my father I was spontaneously flying to Italy with Ara and her husband, Luca, leaving out the fact that I was crashing their "babymoon." It was Ara's suggestion, and I’m grateful for the temporary out so I canfigure out how to convince my father to change his unreasonable expectations.
He’d forbidden me from going and called me a brat for not taking his "request" to close my business and get married seriously. I walked out and was on the private jet within two hours.
I should be able to marry the person of my choosing, someone I truly love. I’m not spoiled goods just because I don’t have any prospects at twenty-eight years old.
I’ve done everything I can to stay out of my friends' way since we landed two days ago. But there's one person I haven't done much to avoid.
I crack open one eye and glance over at the larger-than-life Italian man sitting beside me, looking far too uncomfortable under the sun as he shifts ever so slightly in his black suit. Surely, he’s sweating under that. He’s been sitting at the edge of a fold-out chair that looks far too small for him for thirty minutes, staring at the beach with absolute disdain. Although I can’t see his eyes through the black shades he wears, it’s obvious in the way his lips tilt down, he’d rather not be here.
The few times I’ve encountered this man, I’ve never seen him smile.
He's beautiful, though, in a stoic, silent way.
He looks like he’s been carved from stone, and part of me wants to reach out and check for his pulse just to see if he has one.
“Didn’t your parents teach you it's rude to stare?” he says, and a chill runs down my spine from the gravel in his rough voice. It’s so intimidating that my gaze immediately redirects to the beautiful ocean.
Heat rises to my cheeks, but I ignore it as much as possible, trying to push away my embarrassment at being caught.
“I was just making sure you’re okay,” I bluff.
I’m not shy around men, but there’s always been something abouthimthat makes me tense and nervous. I'm curious about his past, present, and what type of man he truly is. Maybe it’s because he’s the biggest person I’ve ever seen, or perhaps, it’s because he has a dangerous vibe not often found among our inner circle of the wealthy, which makes it hard for me to look away.
There’s just something about him that’s different from anything I’ve known.
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” he scoffs, only making it more obvious he doesn’t want to be spending his time with me.
So, why are you?I want to complain. I didn’t ask him to join me.
The conversation he and my best friend's husband exchanged was short but loaded with so much tension, I thought better than to question why Luca had convinced him to join me on the beach. I don’t know either of the men too well, but my impression was that under no circumstances did Lorenzo want to leave the vacation villa. Though it would probably be more correct to say he didn't want to leave their side.
He’s been hanging around Ara a lot lately, and he definitely has the build of some kind of bodyguard, and he gives off that impression. It wouldn’t surprise me if Luca Armani is the protective type, especially with his wife being pregnant. It’s a little insulting, though, to know Lorenzo will only sit with me because he’s been told to do it.
Life can’t be that bad if we’re on a private beach that the Armanis own. He even grumbled his complaint about the ten-minute walk down to the beach from the villa because I didn’t want to take a car. He just shadowed me every step, his silence filled with enough tension to slice the air.
“Well, aren’t you hot in that suit?” I ask as I bring the piña colada to my lips and take a sip. He hasn’t so much as touched the bottled water the server offered him from the makeshift bar.
Trips like this are meant for winding down and taking it at a slower pace.
Lorenzo, however, seems to work on an entirely different level. I wouldn’t be surprised if the man runs on oil and diligence.
Lily, don’t be so rude.
