Except for Gisella and Finn.
They were huddled together at the opposite end of the table from where I sat, Gisella speaking in hushed whispers, her expression sharp as she gestured with one hand. Finn’s head was slightly bowed as he listened, his fingers tapping the rim of his empty shot glass. Whatever she was saying, he wasn’t arguing back, but he didn’t look happy, either.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look away before I got caught staring again.
It doesn’t matter.
It’s none of my business.
But when Gisella let out an exasperated sigh and pulled back from Finn completely, shaking her head before reaching for her shot that I hadn’t realized she’d yet to take, my eyes floated to them once again.
She downed the shot in one go and smacked the glass on the table before turning to Bernard. “Tell me you ordered a bottle of wine.”
“Two bottles,” he corrected with a grin. “And an Aperol spritz, because we’re in Italy, and I respect the culture.”
Gisella hummed in approval, but as she picked up the menu to peruse it, Finn exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand down his face.
He flicked his gaze up, and for the briefest moment, our eyes met.
God, why did it always feel like a lightning bolt to the chest when he simplylookedat me? It was like being struck with a thousand memories of the past along with the zapping reality of where we were now.
Finn swallowed, his gaze holding mine for just that moment before Gisella leaned over and whispered something else inhis ear, her fingers trailing down his arm. She looked almost apologetic, or was it that she was expressing forgiveness to Finn?
What did he need to be forgiven for?
Whatever moment had been building shattered as I turned my attention back to my menu, gripping the edges a little too tight.
Eli leaned in close. “So, pasta or seafood, gorgeous?” he asked, voice low, lips just barely brushing my ear.
I forced a smirk and angled toward him slightly. “Why not both?”
His grin stretched wide as I reached for my wine glass.
I didn’t dare look across the table again.
Three hours later, I was gloriously drunk and not thinking about work.
It always took a while for me to get to this point. Even at dinner, I found myself ruminating with Bernard and Leah about what we could do better on this next charter. I was launching into a whole theory about our dinner service issues when Palmer had reached for me across the table. He’d squeezed my wrist with a look that saidsave this for another time, and I realized then that poor Leah was yawning and Bernard was anxiously tapping his foot under the table while doing his best to keep that winning smile in place.
Palmer was right. It wasn’t the time for corrections.
It was the time to blow off steam and reset.
So, I’d put my chief stew hat away for the night, and after copious amounts of wine at dinner followed by a round of shots as soon as we got to the club, and who knew what else I’d consumed since then… well…
I was drunk.
The bright lights of the camera crew surrounding us were like spotlights on the dance floor, and we weren’t the only ones eating it up. Locals and tourists alike flocked to where we were, curious about the show and the people on it. Cameron and Eli reveled in the attention, dancing with groups of beautiful women and blowing their first tip on round after round of shots. But they were buzzing, alive with laughter and joy, and that was what it was all about.
Leah and I took turns doing ridiculous dance moves in a battle against one another, her hitting me with the running man before I shot back with the shopping cart. Gisella eventually joined us, but the poor girl couldn’t dance awkwardly even if she wanted to. She was just inherently sexy, and eventually, the three of us were grinding in a sort of train, moving our hips to the heavy bass thumping through the club.
Somewhere between the limoncello shots and the second bottle of wine, Gisella got over whatever it was that had upset her. She was back to her bubbly self. Finn seemed to have relaxed with her shift in mood, too. He and Palmer were lounging in the VIP area the show had secured for us, which was a huge perk, because though I loved the high heels I was wearing, I couldn’t last long in them before I needed to sit and take a break.
It was a little after midnight when I decided I needed to not only get off my feet, but to also get away from the heavy, fog-filled air of the night club. The lights were making my head throb, and I shouted into Bernard’s ear over the music that I was going outside for a bit, but I’d be back. He smiled and nodded at me, though his attention immediately snapped back to the impressively tall and gorgeous Italian man whom he currently had one leg draped over, his hand toying with the buttons that ran down the man’s chest.
A couple of camera operators followed me as I zig-zagged my way through the crowd and out to the back patio. The club butted up to the water, separated only by a narrow cobblestone street where people meandered between bars, gelato stands, and late-night eateries. Some strolled hand in hand, others laughed loudly, their voices carrying over the hum of Vespas zipping by. A group of musicians had set up near the curb, strumming guitars and singing in deep, throaty Italian, their melodies weaving through the night like smoke.
As soon as I stepped outside, relief washed over me. A cool breeze rolled in from the bay, carrying the briny scent of the sea, cutting through the thick, heady mix of sweat, perfume, and alcohol clinging to my skin. I inhaled deep, letting the salt air fill my lungs, allowing the distant sound of water lapping against the docks to slow the rapid beat of my heart.