Violet Addiction (8 page)

Sometimes you have to fall so you can learn to stand back up. Falling is hard though; it’s scary and it’s painful. Standing back up is somehow worse. For weeks I did nothing more than go through the motions. I accepted the tumultuous feelings that wracked my heart and soul, not having the energy to fight with them—anger, fear, despair. Each sentiment took its turn at destroying me from the inside out, then I slowly, ever so freaking slowly, built myself back up. One small piece at a time, with the help of therapists and other ‘guests’ at the Hope Built Rehabilitation Facility in Las Vegas, I rebuilt myself into something I just might one day be proud of. Not today though, today I was brooding and pissed off. I didn’t understand why, but some days are like that. After many months of rehabilitation and more counseling sessions than one could poke a stick at, I knew better than most that some days were just more difficult than others. Today shouldn’t have been difficult, not here, not now, in this lap of luxury. I shouldn’t have had a damn thing to be brooding over. Atrani was an exotic slice of heaven on the southwestern coast of Italy. A small town of cobblestone alleyways, picturesque gardens, and traditional buildings, nestled against a gorgeous coastline. Atrani was like an antique getaway with the modern luxuries I still demanded. I was no diva, but I liked to be comfortable, and after the months I had spent in a rehabilitation facility with shared accommodations, I wanted the quiet peacefulness of my own room. And it had to be pretty! I had no idea Harry owned a house in Italy, sneaky bastard! But the moment he had walked me out of Hope Built, I had asked him to find me somewhere to vacation; I needed a break. I needed time to recoup. While my body and mind had mostly healed under the watchful eyes of doctors and therapists, my heart was still in pieces. Harry had suggested his vacation house without hesitation. It was a small two bedroom villa with tiled floors and a peaked ceiling. It was modern and glamorous, with an air of romance about it. And it was only a short walk to the beach. As I lolled lazily on a deck chair on that said beach—though I’m sure in Italy they have a much more fanciful name for a deck chair—my eyes settled on the pristine water before me.

My red bikini showed off my new, fuller figure. I wasn’t a large woman, but during my recovery I had been under the strict guidance of a nutritionist who made it her lifelong goal to see me gain no less than twenty pounds before I left. My breasts were fuller, which I liked, my hips were curvier, and my tummy was no longer sunken in. I guess you could say I had a pot. Some women might take offense to such a body, but I took none. I knew I had been underweight and unhealthy when I entered the Hope Built program; now I was healthy, well, at least my body was anyway. My mind was a work in progress, but it was definitely better. My heart…it was broken. I’m not sure if it would ever be whole again. Not a single day passed where Cain wasn’t in my thoughts, and that frustrated me to no end. How were you meant to move on from someone when you simply couldn’t let them go? When your thoughts refused to give them up? Cain knew I had been in the hospital, and he had contacted Harry soon after I settled into Hope Built. He didn’t want specifics; he just wanted to know if I was alright. Harry had told him I wasn’t alright, but I would be. He had kept his promise and never told Cain the extent of my fall from grace. Cain had obviously been satisfied with Harry’s vague interpretation of my stability and health, as there hadn’t been a peep from him since. I wasn’t angry at Cain for leaving; I had pushed him to leave and had no one to blame but myself. His moving on to the life he deserved was a good thing, but it still hurt. Human emotions were tricky like that.

Feminine laughter to my right caught my attention, and I tactfully eyed the three women who sat drinking pretty colored drinks from swanky glasses. Alcohol was on my no-go list. My addiction to cocaine seemed to go hand in hand with alcohol, and there was no way I was going to tempt that fate for the want of a pretty, sweet drink. I unscrewed the lid off my water bottle and took a ‘take that’ gulp of water, before roughly screwing the lid back on and tossing it to the sand at my side. Deep masculine laughter accompanied the cocktail swarming women. I cast another inconspicuous look and took in the form of a tall, muscular man in a pair of cargo shorts and tight fitting shirt. He was laughing with the women in an almost cordial manner as he briskly walked by. He raised his head, and my heart skipped a beat as steady dark brown eyes settled on mine. He had the classic features of an Italian. His skin was touched with an almost golden-like hue, a dark stubble dusted his jaw line, his dark hair finger combed off his forehead. He was definitely a few years older than me, perhaps even as many as ten, but he was far too handsome to warrant an age-gap protest. Oh yeah, he was easy on the eyes, and unlike the almost casual pleasantries he had exchanged with the women beside me, his gaze turned intense, his smile seductive as he approached my deck chair. I really needed to find out the Italian term for that.

“Buon giorno, signorina,” he purred as he slowed his pace. He was quite obviously Italian, his accent falling in a beautiful cadence from his lips.

“Buon giorno,” I replied in a calm voice that did not betray my racing heart.

“E 'una bella giornata per la spiaggia.” He had me now; my Italian was reserved to hello, goodbye, and how fast I could pull up Google Translate on my phone.

“English?” I shrugged helplessly.

“Americana?” His eyes lit up.

“Si,” I replied, realizing that I did, in fact, know more than two words in Italian. Did bruschetta count? Because that would make it four, I thought proudly.

“Beautiful day for the beach,” the stunning stranger said with a thick Italian accent.

“It is. It’s been like this for three weeks now. I assume this is normal and you locals are used to it though; you probably take it for granted after all these years.” To my surprise, Mr. Tall, Dark, And Handsome squatted down beside me.

“I’ve learned not to take anything for granted in this life, Tesoro,” he crooned, holding out his hand. “Peiro Marchiano.”

I took his much larger hand in my small one, but rather than shake it, Peiro took the back of my hand to his lips and gave my skin a gentle kiss, his eyes never leaving mine. I almost sighed out loud. He was quite the charmer. He didn’t hold a flame to Cain, but he was certainly a nice distraction.

“Violet,” I said with a sigh.

Peiro reluctantly let go of my hand. “So different,” he whispered, his eyes taking in my appearance.

I barely managed not to squirm under his scrutiny. I would have found his inspection almost rude if there hadn’t been a reverence to his gaze. My hand instinctively went to my hair. Everyone found the striking shade of purple a little bedazzling, and I had to remind myself that it was no longer purple. I had the color stripped out during my rehabilitation period. It was now my own shade of pale blonde. Boring, plain Violet now owned this body; fun, daring Violet was nothing more than a distant memory. My smile fell a little at the thought. Dying my hair back to its original color was the last step in the program. Accepting me for who I was rather than some onstage persona was the last thing I did before checking out of Hope Built and stepping onto a plane to Europe.

“Ahhh, mi scuso, Tesoro. I apologize; that was rude of me.” He actually looked ashamed. “Italian women are darker; you are very fair, like il angelo.” I had no idea who Angelo was, but I hoped it was a woman. “Angel,” Peiro confessed. He smiled when he saw the surprise on my face. Another man approached Peiro from behind. He looked stressed as hell.

“Mi scusi, signorina,” he offered me from over Peiro’s shoulder before carrying on to say something way too fast and way too foreign for me to have a hope in hell of understanding.

“Scusi, Tesoro,” Peiro said politely before standing to face the little balding man who seemed to be in the middle of a nervous breakdown. As they exchanged words, Peiro’s composed yet commanding voice seemed to calm the man, and before long, he smiled enthusiastically and gave me a quick murmured goodbye before scampering off the way he had come. “I apologize again, business has a habit of following me.” Business? I looked Peiro over. He looked too casual and playful to be a businessman.

“What do you do?” I brazenly asked, figuring it wasn’t rude because he had brought it up.

“Hotels, Tesoro,” he said simply.

Hotels? Before I had a chance to inquire further, Peiro knelt at my side once more.

“Would you have a drink with me this evening?”

My heart thudded uncomfortably in my chest. This was the first time anyone had invited me to drink with them since leaving rehab. This is why Harry had wanted to come with me, but this is exactly why I hadn’t allowed him to. I needed to handle these situations on my own, without panicking.

“I don’t drink,” I quickly said, getting the words out before they became locked inside. Peiro cast a glance at my water bottle.

“Is that just for show?” he asked, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

“I don’t drink alcohol,” I clarified.

“Buono, Tesoro. That’s good. Perhaps I won’t be ridiculed for being the only Italian in Italy who does not enjoy wine.” I found myself unable to respond, still in a mild panic attack. Peiro’s eyes softened. “How about breakfast, tomorrow? I could meet you somewhere.” He was giving me the option to set the terms which gave me a small amount of relief. A part of me was intrigued by the man before me and viewed the chance encounter as a possibility to allow another part of myself to heal. I told him of a small café in town I had visited several times over the past week. Peiro knew it well. “Eight?” Eight was kind of early for me, but I found myself ignoring the thousands of reasons why I shouldn’t be doing this, and nodding instead. “Meraviglioso,” he beamed with a thoroughly pleased smile. “Until then, Tesoro.” He took my hand and kissed it once more before taking his leave.

What the hell had I just done? I’d never been on a date before, ever! Cain didn’t count because I never considered eating out with Cain a date. Casual sexual conquests were just that, casual. No dinner, certainly no breakfast. And furthermore, I didn’t even know this man. Peiro, who did hotels for a living. What the hell did that mean anyway? I rubbed my head.

“Yesh,” I whispered. “Maybe I should have brought Harry.” As my eyes found the ocean once more, I noticed my brooding mood before meeting Peiro was now absent. My heart still ached at even the scarcest thought of Cain, but I felt a little more at peace than I had before. Perhaps breakfast with Peiro wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Perhaps an Italian distraction was just what I needed.

I had never had trouble dressing before. Old Violet either wore glamorous gowns and seductive heels for the stage, or jeans and a shirt. Atrani, at this time of the year, was too warm for jeans, and breakfast at a local café didn’t warrant a fancy gown. And the thought of meeting Peiro had me nervously channeling my inner girl. I wanted to impress him. Finally I opted for a strapless blue dress that fell to my knees and a pair of sandals. My hair was brushed into a ponytail, and I finished the ensemble by adorning the necklace Cain had given me last Christmas. I wore it everywhere; it felt wrong not to. It was as if I could take a small piece of Cain Everett everywhere with me. As I stepped from the house onto the cobblestone path before it, the sunlight and warm air seemed to carry away my woes. It made me forget, for a short time, that I had another life in another place, that one day I would have to return to. Once in town—and what consisted as town was a short walk, lined with small businesses; no shopping malls or burger joints here—I nodded a polite hello to the few familiar faces I passed and some of the not so familiar faces. Everyone was so nice here, so cordial and open. When I rounded a corner, my body came to a shuddering halt when I took in Peiro’s tall, dark form waiting out front the agreed café. He was dressed casual again but still managed to command an air of importance. Most likely, the two men in suits who laughed easily with him and shook his hand before moving away helped give him an aura of someone significant and powerful. As I strolled forward, his gaze centered on me, and his smile almost stopped me in my tracks.