Amalfi Coast (That Wedding Girl Book 2) Read online

  That Wedding Girl

  -AMALFI COAST-

  Book 2

  Maggie Way

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE FIRST CHAPTER FROM BOOK THREE – BANGKOK!

  ARE YOU EXCITED FOR THE NEXT DESTINATION?

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  The right of Maggie Way to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000

  This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part maybe reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 Maggie Way

  Editing by: Tracy Vincent

  Cover design by: Shea Chevarie @ Addendum Cover Design

  CHAPTER ONE

  Pushing the heavy mahogany door open, I walk into the room breathless. Not because I'm sweating underneath my black Capri pants and t-shirt, not because the bus ride stopped half a mile shorter than expected, and not because Gabe and I had to walk up several flights of stairs with our heavy luggage in tow. No, I'm breathless because of this view in front of me.

  White walls from floor to ceiling. Blue embroidered carpet. Crystal blue skies outside the large white windows. I set the suitcase at the door and drop my black leather handbag on top of it to explore the room: the classic lined wallpaper, the antique circle dining table, the pure white starched sheets. I've been transported to interior design paradise.

  I'm. In. Italy.

  I have to pinch myself that I’m really here, on the Amalfi Coast. More specifically, I’m staying in the Grand Hotel Villa Galleria, one of the most luxurious hotels in all of Southern Italy. It looks more like a 14th century castle than a hotel.

  The location couldn’t be more secluded – tucked all the way up in a crescent-shaped cove, the hotel overlooks the vast ocean on one side and lush greenery on the other. There’s a jelly bean-shaped swimming pool outside my window, and guests lying on sun beds to its right. The best part is that I am able to secure a room on the first floor, and avoid the use of an elevator.

  I can hear Gabe babbling to himself in the room next to me. “Shit, this is classy!”

  A smile forms on my face. This is swanky, a lot swankier than I expected. And to think that Amelia Smith and her fiancé has paid for all of this, as well as all our meals and other expenses for our stay. Honestly, I would do it for free. It’s an honour to be asked to make that special day come true for my old university pal who I haven’t seen her for four years. She has done really well for herself since moving abroad. After she graduated, she packed up her bags and went on a gap year to the UK to try and start her art career, working various odd jobs to support herself. Then one day, like out of a Hollywood movie, she met her Prince Charming. Kieran Urquhart, a rising junior attorney and son of famed divorce attorney QC Barry Urquhart, stumbled into the bar where was she bartending. Just like that, they fell in love and he popped the question after a year. Not to mention she is now making a decent living as an artist, selling her oil paintings of inanimate objects like flowers, fruits, and vegetables.

  I’m happy for her. I really am, but truthfully I’m jealous. Jealous that she gets her perfect wedding with her perfect man and I have to make it all happen knowing my happy ending has been put on hold indefinitely. I know I can cast my personal feelings aside and be happy for her, but it’s not going to be easy seeing her get married a week after I was supposed to. Nevertheless, this is an amazing first client to have for my first major international wedding.

  Okay, stop gushing and get on with things. I need to shower and get changed. Putting my suitcase flat on the floor, I open it to reveal the horde that I’ve nicknamed my 70/30 kit. Seventy percent of the items I bring are work related, and they sit at the top: my templates in a bound folder, three packs of biro pens, sticky notes, scientific calculator, my black leather notebook with all my contacts, chargers and of course my laptop. The remaining thirty percent are my clothes, all black and grey in colour, and toiletries. But given how rushed I was with packing, this kit feels more like an 80/20.

  Stepping into the decadent marble bathroom with a pair of yoga pants and tank top in tow, I open the bathroom cabinet with delight; eager to see the free samples on offer. Like a kid in a candy store, I take out the miniature bottles of shampoo, body wash, and cream supplied.

  Turning the tap on, I pour the contents of the bottle of body wash. As the hot water steams the room, an inviting lavender scent greets me. Sliding down into the relaxing water, I let it block out the sounds around me. Made from tin and big enough to easily fit two people, I rest my feet on the edge and recline back. The distance is going to do me some good, and I am going to try and forget that men exist. No more cheating ex-fiancés, no more kisses-and-misses from men I’m definitely not supposed to kiss. Some R&R and time away is going to do me some good, and this bath is a good start.

  Forty minutes later, I emerge from the steaming room a rejuvenated, relaxed, and clean woman with pruned fingers. I should give Hansley a call and let him know I’m here. He’s been checking up on me constantly ever since the drama with Adam just days ago, texting me silly jokes and memes and I know he wants to make sure I’m okay. After I get dressed, I walk over to the antique bedside table, grab my phone, and sit on the bed. Pressing his name on the video call app, I wait as the phone dials. It’s around 4pm now which means it should be 7am back home, and he’s always an early riser.

  The call rings and rings, I just about give up when Hansley’s face emerges. He’s obviously still in bed and he looks bleary-eyed.

  “Hey,” he croaks. His five o’clock shadow makes him look scruffier than usual.

  “Crap, I thought you would be up by now, I’ll let you go back to sleep.” I scrutinize his face. “Did you go drinking last night?”

  He yawns loudly and rubs his eyes. “Yeah, with some clients. So, you’ve arrived, hey?”

  When doesn’t he have drinks with clients, colleagues, or in general?

  “Have a big mug of that green tea I bought you, okay? And stop drinking so much. Anyway, check out my room!” I move the phone away from me and scan it slowly. I walk up and go over to the window and pan outside. “Check out this view, too.”

  He pulls the blankets closer to him and turns to his side, moving the phone closer to his face. “Nice pad! God, I wish I was there instead of being stuck with this shitty cold weather. So, what are you going to get up to, besides working obviously?”

  I move the phone back to me, so he can see me again. “I’ll definitely try the restaurants and check out the local shops. Anything you want me to bring back?”

  “Maybe some booze?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’ll get you something nice, not alcohol.”

  He moves his phone up so I can see his face more clearly. “So how are you? Mum and dad say you’ve been really normal about everything…like nothing’s happened.”

  I nod my head and give him a tired smile. Maybe it’s the distance, maybe I’m tired of feeling
sorry for myself, but with every passing second the memory of Adam fades more and more.

  “I’m fine, really I am.”

  “Alright, well just so you know he’s packed up everything from your place. I told him it better be clean, because if there was one crumb on the floor I’ll be coming for him again,” he says, his voice suddenly stern.

  “Wow so it’s really happening, hey?” I’ll be going back to an empty apartment and living on my own.

  “Are you going to be okay? I can stay over some nights—”

  “No, it’s fine. Thanks, you’re the best,” I smile, reassuring him.

  “So, Tristan told me he saw you the other day.”

  My cheeks colour at hearing the name of his best friend who, up until a couple of days ago, was just my brother’s best friend. Now, he’s about to become my new boss and I’ve been trying to suppress the memories of the time I spent with him, not to mention that knee-crippling kiss we shared. And the fact that he said it will never happen again. I hate that the mention of his name jump starts my heart.

  “What did he say?”

  “He said you guys are going into business together? That’s pretty cool, if you ask me.”

  Not to mention I stayed over at his apartment, we had breakfast together, and we kissed. But my brother doesn’t need to know that. “I don’t know if he was serious or not, he’s still setting up—”

  “He’s already working on his first gig, some big launch event for a tech company at the Convention Centre. And he’s already hired a team to work exclusively on corporate events. So yeah, I think he’s pretty serious.”

  That was fast. “Whoa, he’s good.”

  “You have no idea. He knows what he is doing, trust me. So, are you going to do it with him?”

  I flush, but luckily the quality of the call is blurry so he can’t see me that well. “Do what with him?”

  “Work with him, you doofus.”

  Oh. How silly of me. “Oh, right. Yeah, why not. It can’t hurt, right?”

  “I told him to take it easy on you.”

  “Hanny!” I scold, frowning at him.

  “What? He’s going to be your boss.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s just Tristan, I can handle him. You don’t need to shelter me from everything.”

  He nods along. “Alright, I guess after what you’ve just gone through…”

  I give him a warm smile. “I appreciate it but I’ll be fine. Business is business, alright? So, I bet you’re glad to have him back in Sydney, huh?”

  Hansley sits up and props a pillow on the wall, resting his back. “Yeah, I’m glad to have my bro back. My roommate is pretty glad too. She is doing my head in; constantly yapping about him. Tristan this, Tristan that…” He mimics her by imitating a higher pitched voice and grimaces.

  I swallow hard at his comment. His roommate Ashley, as in the tanned blonde yoga instructor who always wears skimpy tank tops and shorts? “What do you mean?”

  “She keeps asking me to set her up with him. I don’t know why she would be interested in him when she lives with someone as good looking and cool like me right?” He chuckles.

  “Uh huh, in your dreams. I can’t believe she’s lived with you as long as she has. You snore like a tractor! I used to hear you through my wall.”

  He scoffs, “She gets to hear my beautiful voice 24/7. That’s a privilege, sis.”

  “Why don’t you make her pay more rent if you set her up with him,” I suggest without a second thought.

  He snaps his fingers. “Ooh good idea! You know what? She’s so keen on him I think she’ll do it.”

  My stomach twists. I was kidding. He really wants to set Tristan up with a hot blonde? Why does the idea make me seethe with anger and nauseous all at once?

  “Sis, you still there?”

  “Huh? Sorry, bad reception,” I fib, before quickly resuming my happy demeanour. “Yeah why not, you’re a talented haggler aren’t you?”

  “Hey, I’m good with money that’s why I’m in finance! Also, I’ll get her to set me up with her friend Jess. Not too hardball, right?”

  I swallow hard. “Do what you want. Anyway, I have to go. Just wanted to call you and let you know I’m okay. I texted mum and dad, but I’ll call them tomorrow.”

  Hansley yawns again. “Okay, thanks for the idea! Let me know if you need anything okay?”

  Don’t set Tristan up with that Yoga bunny! I give a quick wave to my phone, eager to press the hang up button. Note to self, must start doing yoga.

  Throwing the phone down on the bed, I shake off any newfound thoughts I had about Tristan. To think I thought there was something there, something special. The way his whiskey coloured eyes blazed at me the whole time we were together, I’m going to have to forget all about it. And I’m going to have to forget that kiss. Albeit brief, that was different in every way that was good for me.

  It was powerful.

  It was rough.

  It was sweet.

  It shook me to the core how much I liked it, and to him it was a mistake. This can never happen again. His words ring in my ear, something I need to remind myself of every time I think about him – which is often. He's my brother’s best friend for god's sake. I don’t like him that way. It’s probably some weird rebound thing. I bet the first guy I kiss next is going to make me feel the same way, I'm sure of it.

  What is Gabe up to I wonder? I open my door and make a sharp right to the next room. I knock on the door in a way that Gabe knows it’s me.

  “Come in!”

  I turn the golden knob and walk into another gorgeous room. Unlike the cool blue ocean theme my room had, Gabe’s is like a warm, rustic Spanish villa with mustard yellow walls and green furniture, green bed sheets, velvet green curtains, and a faded green dining table.

  Gabe has changed from his usual ensemble of a neat cardigan, shirt, and jeans into a linen shirt and white shorts. As usual he keeps his white scarf on, because that’s what Gabe does best – look stylish 24/7. From the looks of it, he has already started unpacking most of his things, including his large toiletry bag, filled with his hair products and creams. Unlike me, he packs 30/70 so he will be looking a lot more stylish than me.

  “I just wanted to see how you were doing. Looks like you’re settling in pretty well.” I walk in and take a seat on the firm double bed. Gabe continues to take some more clothes out of the suitcase, arranging them into planned outfits.

  “Girl, you have no idea how much I’m loving this right now. Once I get my clothes sorted, we have to make our way down to the pool and get some cocktails.”

  “I won’t have any. I’m meeting Amelia tonight for dinner. I want to be prepared in case she wants to go through our plans for her wedding; any questions she might have,” I stress, trying to sound calm.

  “Geez she said to worry about that tomorrow, tonight is just dinner. And knowing you, you are twice as prepared as anyone I know. Enjoy your first day here!” he insists, focused on his garments.

  He’s got a point. I haven’t even been in Italy for four hours and all I can think about is getting my laptop and finishing my third run sheet - and starting the dark peppermint crunch block.

  I heave a sigh. “I guess you're right.”

  “Of course I'm right. Relax, girl! Let's go down to the pool and get some cocktails. Which board shorts should I put on: the gay pair or the really gay pair?” He points to two pairs of barely-there briefs, a white one and a baby pink one. I'm guessing the pink one is the 'really gay' pair.

  “Go with the white one, you want to make people guess about your sexuality…for an extra minute at least.”

  Gabe lets out a quick chuckle, "Why would I want to do such a thing? Fine, only because you said so. Go get changed! I'll get you in ten minutes."

  He grabs the white speedos and saunters to the bathroom, leaving the door wide open. I know he'll be more than ten minutes, so I’m not going to hold my breath and wait here. For someone with short hair, he spends an awful
ly long amount of time styling it with his endless amounts of creams, mousses and gels.

  I force myself off this ridiculously comfortable bed and open the door, walking with my head sticking out without looking. Without warning, the sudden impact hits me. Just like a speeding car heading out of a drive way, I've crashed into someone.

  The mystery victim stumbles back. I look downwards and I see a toned chest beneath a tight grey t-shirt. The sleeves gripping tanned, lean arms.

  “Mi scusi, non ho fatto vedere a voi …”

  That voice. It’s deep, hypnotic and lush.

  “I’m so sorry—” I keep my eyes glued to the floor, trying to avoid looking at him. Given the way his voice sounded, I don’t even want to imagine how his face looks.

  I sense him looking at me, and I’m all too aware that I don’t have a bra on. To think I slammed into his chest with my breasts covered in only my thin shirt. Hesitantly, I look up at this mystery man with the unbelievably suggestive voice.

  He’s gorgeous; his face is even more pleasant than his voice. Olive skin, wide and hypnotic jade eyes, tousled honey coloured hair are the first things I noticed. The perfect scattering of blond stubble on his square jawline set off his full, bee-stung lips. This is the face of an angel, a Botticelli angel. If he was a half a foot taller he could easily be a model, but he only stands a few inches taller than me. Okay, why am I checking out a complete stranger? This is wrong!

  “Don’t be sorry, bella.” His English is as fluent as his Italian.

  Words are not coming out of my mouth right now.

  “Qual è il tuo nome? Your name?”

  My mind draws a blank. My name, my name… How can I not know the answer to this?

  “Lacey.” I smile weakly at him thankful my brain hasn’t suddenly dissolved to the mental capacity of a two-year-old.

  He takes a lingering glance at me, stopping short of my décolletage once again making me conscious that I’m not wearing a bra. What a sleaze! With an impish grin on his face, he starts to move backwards and turns towards the hall.

  “Ciao, signorina Lacey”, is all he says as he walks down the corridor without looking back at me. The way he says my name, the way it rolls off his tongue and pronounces it is sexy.