Amore laughs again as I point over at Ian. “Hey, Lainey. I think your boy is looking for you. You better get going.”
She gives me an over-the-top wink before sashaying back to Ian.
“Your friend is funny,” Amore says.
I shake my head and say, “You have no idea.”
We both smile as I ask where she’s from.
“I’m from Torino.”
“Ah, Turin!” I say, nodding. “That’s close to Milan, right?”
“Sì.” Her eyes light up as she gives me an alluring smile. “Would you like to dance?”
“Sure,” I say.
Before I know it, I’m twirling Amore around the dance floor to a Shakira song.
When it finally ends, and Amore makes her way back to her friends, Lainey finds me and says, “I thought you hated to dance?”
“I do hate it,” I say.
“Could’ve fooled me. I wish I had a video of all that do-si-do stuff.” She snaps, then holds up her phone. “Oh, wait! I do have a video.”
“Lainey!” I say, grabbing for it. “Delete that right now!”
She pulls her phone out of my reach, then slides it back into her purse. “Nope! I may need it one day.”
I shake my head, pretending to be more bothered than I am, as Lainey motions toward Hannah, who is getting cozy in the corner with Archie. “They seem to be hitting it off.”
“Yep.” I nod, feeling happy for Hannah.
“What about Amore?” Lainey asks me. “You gonna do her?”
I blink, determined not to give her the reaction she wants. “You gonna do Ian?”
She grins. “Maybe. He’s cute. I like his beard.”
“You should go for it,” I say.
“Hey. What happened to ‘you’re going to wind up dead in the ocean’?” Lainey says.
“Well, I’d prefer that you come home with me—” I stop, realizing how that sounds.
She hears it, too, raising her eyebrows. “Oh, really?”
“Not like that!” I say, rolling my eyes. “What I meant is, I’d prefer that we all call it a night. But you’re gonna do what you’re gonna do.”
“Yes. I am,” she says, giving me a sultry look as she pulls her shoulders back and pushes her breasts out.
The maneuver isn’t unprecedented; Lainey flirts like she breathes. But it’s been a long time since she’s tried it with me.
I shake my head.
“What?” she asks, her voice turning coy.
“Nothing.” I smile, determined not to play her little games.
—
The five of us are now in a taxi van, heading back down the mountain toward our hotel. Lainey is sitting between me and a very eager Ian, who is busy firing off jokes and desperately trying to get her attention. Archie and Hannah are behind us, in the third row, whispering and giggling and, by the sound of it, kissing. As we approach our hotel, I wonder if Hannah will be getting out of the car or going back to Archie’s. I can’t tell what Lainey’s plan is, either, but at one point, she puts her hand on Ian’s thigh.
When the cab pulls up to the front door, I get out of the car, waiting to see what the girls do. When neither makes a move, I pull a twenty-euro note out of my wallet, reach across Lainey, and offer it to Ian.
“No way, mate,” he says, shaking his head. “You got more rounds.”
“Yeah. We still owe you,” Archie chimes in.
I thank them, then ask the girls if they have a room key.
“I have one,” Hannah says.
“Okay, then. Stay together. I don’t want to get out of bed to open the door.”
“Yes, sir!” Lainey says, giving me a salute.
I shut the door and head into the hotel, feeling an irrational dash of disappointment that the night is over. I tell myself it’s for the best. I’ve had a lot to drink and need to go to bed.
I pass Alessandro’s desk, his lamp turned off for the evening, then reach the elevator. As I push the button, I hear the clack of footsteps on the marble floor behind me, along with Lainey’s voice calling, “Wait up, dummy.”
I suppress a smile, then turn around to look at her. “What happened?” I ask her. “Did you change your mind?”
“Change my mind about what?” she asks, as we step into the elevator.
“About Ian,” I say, pushing the button for our floor.
“No, I didn’t change my mind about Ian,” she says as the doors close. “I changed my mind about something else.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, feeling a jolt of energy pass between us.
“You’ll see,” she says.
Chapter 20
Hannah
We leave the bar well after midnight, the five us getting in a cab together. Tyson tells the driver that we’ll be making multiple stops, then gives him our hotel first. It feels like a foregone conclusion that I will be going back to Archie’s hotel. The two of us pushed the envelope of good taste on the dance floor. PDA has never been my style—not even in college bars and frat houses, where such things were commonplace. But right now, in the far back of the taxi, as Archie kisses my neck and runs his hand over the bodice of my dress, it occurs to me that maybe it is my style. Maybe my mother just programmed me to be prudish, believing that owning your sexuality was shameful, something “nice girls” didn’t do.
