The Accidental Elopement Page 3

  Gretchen ignored that. Instead, she leaned toward Lucia, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Does this have anything to do with that guy who was asking about you at the after party last night?”

  Lucia froze. But she was overreacting, surely. No one was looking for her. No one even knew who she was. But still…. “What guy?”

  Gretchen shrugged. “He showed up after you left—why did you leave so early anyways?”

  Lucia resisted the urge to groan at her friend’s tendency to get sidetracked. “Gretchen,” she said. “Describe this guy.”

  Over the next few moments, one thing became clear. Gretchen was not terribly observant.

  “Tall with dark hair?” Lucia repeated after what felt like an eternity. “That’s all you remember?”

  Gretchen tucked a stray lock of blond hair behind her ear. “Sorry, I’d had a couple cocktails.”

  Which, Lucia knew from firsthand experience, was Gretchen’s code for quite a lot of cocktails. She should consider herself lucky her roommate remembered him at all. Lucia went through all of the possibilities. Who would be asking about her?

  “What did he say? Did he ask for me by name?” Her fingers tightened around the pillow she was holding. What if this stranger knew her secret? What if he knew who she was?

  Gretchen nodded. “He definitely asked if I knew where Lucia had gone.”

  Lucia’s breath caught in her throat. “Did he use a last name?”

  Gretchen’s face scrunched up in confusion, probably in response to Lucia’s admittedly intense tone more than anything. But she had gone to quite a bit of trouble to ensure that no one knew her last name. If she was going to avoid her mother’s mistakes, it was critical that no one knew who she really was. Or, rather, who her family was. After all, she couldn’t fall victim to a gold digger if no one knew she had gold, right? Gretchen was still looking at her as though she’d lost her mind because of course she had no idea that her new friend was a runaway heiress. Lucia did her best to relax and feign nonchalance. “I mean, do you happen to remember how he referred to me? I’m wondering how well he knows me….”

  Her roommate turned back to her task at hand, clearly losing interest in this game of twenty questions. “I don’t know, I think he said ‘Lucia’…or maybe ‘Lucy’? I don’t know, I can’t remember.”

  Lucy? Could it be Marco? He was the only one who ever called her Lucy. The thought of her ex-fiancé being nearby…of being on the same continent, was enough to send her into an emotional tailspin.

  They had been together so long—forever, it seemed. He was the boy next door, her partner for every dance, her first kiss, her first everything. He’d always been there. As much a part of her life as her grandfather and her cousins. Leaving him behind had been painful.

  But she didn’t regret her decision. She knew in her gut that she’d done what was best for both of them. They didn’t want the same things. He wanted a wife who would devote herself to him and their future family. Someone who would be content to stay in their little village in Tuscany and follow in their parents’ footsteps. Well, his parents’ footsteps. Certainly no one wanted her to follow her mother’s path, least of all her. In her defense, she’d tried to want all of that. She spent her entire life trying to want the future that Marco and her grandfather wanted for her. Lucia followed the rules, she played the part of the dutiful girlfriend and granddaughter…until she just couldn’t pretend any longer.

  Maybe she really was her mother’s daughter.

  Lucia shook that thought off with a flip of her hair. She was nothing like her mother. True, they’d both run away to America but she would never be so foolish as to fall for a loser playboy and get knocked up. She was here for one thing and one thing only – the one thing Marco could never support – the career of her dreams.

  Marco had made his objections to her dreams clear. The more he brushed off her dreams like they were nonsensical fluff that could be dismissed with a pat on the head, the more she pushed back, unable to let the topic drop. It had taken time before she realized that Marco – her Marco, who had been her constant companion – truly didn’t believe that she had what it took to make a career a reality. He couldn’t even understand why she would want to.

  She leaned back with a sigh. No, there was no doubt in her mind that she had made the right decision in calling off their wedding. Yet there was still a part of her that felt like a limb was missing. And if he was here in New York City? What would she say? What would she do? But how would he know how to find her? Holly and Jack had sworn that they wouldn’t tell anyone she was here—except her grandfather.

  Her heart rate started to return to a normal rate as she reasoned and rationalized her way to sanity. It was probably just some guy who she’d met through work. Maybe she did have a secret admirer after all.

  Gretchen had moved on from the mystery man conversation and was instead giving Lucia a play by play of all of the designers and stylists she’d be working alongside at the London show.

  Lucia smiled and laughed along with her friend and tried to ignore the jealousy that left a bitter taste in her mouth. She should be happy for her new friend—and she was. She just wished that she could go too.

  “Maybe you’ll save up enough to come join us,” Gretchen said. Her friend’s eyes were filled with sympathy.

  Maybe Lucia hadn’t done such a stellar job of disguising her jealousy after all.

  “Maybe,” Lucia said with what she hoped was an optimistic smile. Probably not. She’d never waited tables before but something told her whatever money she made would barely cover the full rent for the studio she was subletting, let alone add up to enough for airfare to England.

  “We could share a flat again if you can get enough money to come over,” Gretchen insisted.

  Lucia nodded. She wanted to speak but she was afraid if she tried, she would start to cry. It was so unfair. She’d given up everything to go chasing after her dreams. And six weeks later she had to call it quits…because she’d failed.

  Or maybe her grandfather and Marco had been right all along and she was just too naïve. Maybe believing that hard work and passion were enough to bring about success was childish. It’s time to grow up, Lucy. Marco’s parting words played in a loop in her head. Being an adult, for Marco, meant following the well-laid plans ahead of them. It meant following the color-by-number pattern formed by his parents and her grandparents’ expectations. She would get a cushy, well-paid job at her grandfather’s company, at least until she got pregnant, and Marco would pursue his dreams of being a doctor. Done and done.

  Except that Lucia had no say in any of it. All those years she’d blindly followed the rules and did as she was expected. She didn’t want to rock the boat, like her mother had done.

  But then she had. Calling off the engagement and running away to New York City was more than rocking the boat. She had shipwrecked the damn thing.

  Gretchen stood up from her mountain of clothes and shifted to sit beside Lucia on the bed. Throwing an arm around her shoulder, she gave Lucia a little side hug. “Cheer up, chica. You’ve got the talent and the drive….you just need a little money and you’ll blow them all away with your very own collection.”

  Lucia gave a little snort of disbelief at that understatement. “A little money?”

  Gretchen laughed. “Okay, maybe a big boatload of money. But it’ll happen. You’re the one who’s always saying, we just need to pay our dues and all of our dreams will come true.”

  Lucia tried not to wince at having her own words tossed back in her face. She was the first to admit sometimes her optimism walked the line between sweet and annoying.

  “It may take a while, but we’re both going to get there eventually.”

  Eventually. Five years and nine months, to be exact. Lucia summoned a smile for her friend. Gretchen, apparently heartened by the effect her little pep talk was having, continued on with vigor. “And just think, in ten years from now may
be you and I will have enough money saved up to put on a show of our own. We’ll start small, obviously…”

  As her roommate continued to plan out their budget-friendly first show a decade in the future, Lucia struggled to avoid a tidal wave of guilt.

  Marco had been right. During that awful last fight, he’d told her she was a spoiled, entitled princess. That was exactly what she was. Here she was crying to her friend about not having money to make her dreams come true—but at least she had the promise of a trust fund. Granted, she couldn’t touch it for years but at least she knew it was coming, along with all of the freedom and opportunities money provided. Gretchen, meanwhile, had no such fallback—no promise of a windfall coming down the road.

  Humbled by this realization, Lucia wrapped her arms around Gretchen and squeezed tight. “I really am happy for you, you know. You deserve this break. And you’re going to be a world-class, in-demand stylist in no time.”

  Gretchen laughed as Lucia pulled back and jumped up, pulling Gretchen to her feet alongside her. “Come on, let’s finish packing you up so we can send you off in style.”

  One hour and three suitcases later, Gretchen’s life was packed and sitting in wait by the front door. Their little farewell party consisted of a pan of brownies and the cheapest bottle of wine they could find at the liquor store, which thoroughly depleted the rest of Lucia’s life savings.

  Thank goodness she was starting a new job the next day.

  She lay in bed that night, too full of sugar and nerves over her first day of work to actually sleep. If her grandfather could see her now, he would be laughing his head off. The fact that she was grateful and excited about starting a waitressing job would have been inconceivable a mere month before.

  She grinned up at the ceiling as an image of bright blue eyes and unbelievably sexy dimples flashed before her. But then again…she hadn’t met the outrageously hot bartender back then either.

  Chapter 3

  Ryan’s barback tossed a twenty-dollar bill onto the bar. “Twenty bucks says the new waitress doesn’t show.”

  Ryan pushed the money back. “She’ll be here,” he said with more confidence than he felt. She was only ten minutes late.

  “Are we talking about the same girl?” Javier asked. He wiped down the ice bin and glanced back at Ryan over his shoulder. “That chick who showed up early yesterday was a hottie, and I’d swear on my life she comes from money.”

  Ryan stopped counting the money in the till and turned to his friend. Javier’s words were almost the exact repeat of his brother’s. “The girl didn’t have enough money to buy herself some lunch, Jav. Besides, how many people do you know apply for waiting gigs for the fun of it?”

  Javier shook his head, “She was wearing clothes my sister would drool over and had that look….” Javier stuck his nose up in the air and cocked his head to the side so he was looking down at Ryan. “You know the look.”

  Ryan had to laugh at Javier’s impersonation. “Trust me, she may hold herself like royalty but if you could have heard her talk or seen the look in her eyes….” Ryan shook his head. “The girl looked scared.”

  Javier straightened at that. “Scared? Of what?”

  Ryan shrugged. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Lucia from the moment she’d walked out of his bar. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about her and her situation made him uneasy. She’d been nervous and shady—two things that should have set off alarms. The last thing he needed was to get involved with a girl who had secrets of her own. But instead of alarms, he’d heard a goddamn siren song.

  The girl had gotten into his head and he had no idea how…or why. All he knew was, he wanted to help her. He wanted to swoop in and save the day. Ryan laughed at his own delusional thoughts. He was nothing more than a liar and a con man, not exactly the white knight to her damsel in distress.

  “What’s so funny, man?” Javier asked.

  Ryan shook his head. “Nothing. Just do me a favor, and be nice to Lucia when she shows up.”

  “If she shows up,” Javier added.

  Ryan rolled his eyes but let it slide. “I’m serious.”

  Javier leaned against the ice bin and started the slow and tedious process of wiping down the glassware. “Why? Do you like this girl or something? Does someone have a crush on the principessa?”

  Ryan ignored the teasing and made a show of counting the ones, even though he’d long since lost track of what number he was on. “I’m just saying, she’s in this country illegally and she needs a job.” He glanced up to see his friend studying the glass he was holding. “I think she’s afraid of getting deported, she was really skittish when it came to giving her personal info.”

  Ryan saw that his comment had struck a chord by his friend’s sudden silence. Only six months before, Javier had been in a similar position. Now he had his green card, but he’d been flying below the radar for years before he eventually got it. Javier cursed beneath his breath. “Yeah, all right, I’ll play nice.”

  They both turned as Lucia flew into the bar area, her long black waves pulled into a loose ponytail and wearing a simple, black T-shirt and pants. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t find my Metrocard and I didn’t have enough for a new one and—”

  Ryan held up a hand to stop the rush of words. “It’s fine. You’re only ten minutes late.”

  Lucia set her bag down with a loud exhale and flashed Ryan and Javier a brilliant smile. “So…where should I get started?”

  Ryan swiped the twenty from the bar while giving Javier a not-so-subtle “I told you so” look.

  Javier gave him the finger behind the bar, out of sight from Lucia, but then he turned to her with a warm smile and motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen. “Come with me, I’ll give you a tour of the back of house and then Ryan here can show you the ropes.”

  Showing Lucia the ropes was, in a word, painful. The girl was eager to learn but quite possibly the most inexperienced worker he’d ever met. He had his doubts about whether she’d ever stepped foot in an actual kitchen when he had to explain how a dishwasher worked but when he watched her cleaning the tables, it was obvious that she was not familiar with manual labor.

  “Have you even seen a dish rag before?”

  He was watching her wipe down a table by pushing the rag around with the tips of her fingers like she was afraid the dirty cloth would bite her. She looked over with a mock scowl before setting her jaw and attacking the table with vigor. Ryan resisted the urge to laugh.

  He shouldn’t tease her, not when she was so clearly making an effort to learn. At least she was trying, although he was fairly certain he was going to have to re-roll the silverware before the rest of the waitstaff arrived for their shift.

  When she finished scrubbing down the last table, she came back to the bar to find him looking more than a little pleased with herself. “What’s next, boss?”

  She cocked one hip against the bar and rested her fist against her hip, letting the dirty rag dangle from her belt loop like the barbacks who were already prepping the bar. Ryan didn’t know if he was going to laugh at her enthusiasm or excuse himself to go take a cold shower.

  The girl was hot. There was no denying it. She’d been sexy in a sweet, girl-next-door kind of way when she’d sat at his bar the day before with her prim and proper sundress and cardigan. But here, now, with her long, black wavy hair slipping out of the ponytail to frame her heart-shaped face and those almond-brown eyes blinking up with him with unbelievably long lashes….this was no girl next door. The black clothes clung to her curves in all the right places and the V-neck top revealed just enough cleavage to make breathing difficult.

  But it was those lips that nearly caused him to lose his mind. Luscious and pink and perfectly pouting, even now, when a small smile tilted up the corners. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away, even when she nudged him. “So, am I done with my training? Am I that good?”

  Her te
asing tone brought Ryan back to his sense and his gaze managed to tear itself away from temptation as he focused on the lime he was cutting. “Oh yeah, you’re a natural.”

  His sarcasm was not lost on Lucia. The pouting lips actually did pout then.

  He should never have glanced back at temptation. The moment he did, the knife in his hand slipped off the surface of the lime and nicked his thumb.

  “Dammit.” Grabbing a clean towel, he wrapped the minor lust-wound while he searched for the first-aid kit with its endless supply of Band-Aids.

  “Here, let me help you.” Lucia was on her hands and knees beside him, trying to find it in the cluttered shelves behind the bar.

  Ryan stopped breathing and instead of saying “I got it,” all he managed was a small choking sound.

  Her T-shirt was gaping open as she leaned over, giving him a glimpse of her cleavage and the top of her lacy bra. Her breasts were perfection. And he was instantly hard.

  “Are you all right?” Lucia was eyeing him with concern.

  Fixing his gaze on her forehead—her beautiful, but safe forehead—he decided then and there that hiring Lucia had been a mistake. He couldn’t concentrate on a piece of fruit when she was around, how the hell was he going to plot a revenge scheme?

  Lucia rose when he did and Ryan put a few feet of sanity-saving distance between them. Focusing on the act of finding the right bandage and fumbling with the wrapping, he studiously avoided eye contact with any part of Lucia. “Look, Lucia, you seem like a really nice girl but I’m not sure this waitressing position is going to work out.”

  He looked up at the sound of her gasp and immediately wished he’d stuck with his plan to avoid eye contact. Her eyes were wide and sad and, oh God, were those tears?

  “I’ll help you find another position in the hotel,” he quickly added. “I’m sure we can find you something that will be a better fit—maybe at the front desk or at the reservations line.”

  Lucia’s perfect lips twisted to the side a bit as she turned her attention to the bandage in his hand. Effortlessly peeling off the wrapping, she took his hand in hers and leaned in close. He caught one whiff of her citrus-flavored shampoo and the warm, sunny scent that seemed to radiate from her and promptly held his breath.