City.
But could I convince her to go on a shopping spree without me?
Probably not.
Throughout the first years of our friendship,
Sylvie had always joked about how clingy she was. Turned out, it wasn’t really
that much of a joke. This left me with one other option: treat her to a spa
visit.
Sixty minutes of sighing under the expert
hands of a massage therapist should provide enough distraction so I could meet
with Jett. I had another problem: Alessandro was stationed at a private
hospital in a secluded area far away from the city center. According to
Clarkson, the bus station was a half hour walk away.
“So what now?” Sylvie asked as we stepped out
of the hospital. She sounded so bored already, and I hadn’t even shared my plan
with her. I scanned the area. The residential street was almost empty. Apart
from a busy café at the corner and some parked cars, there was nothing that
could possibly be of interest to Sylvie or help my quest. Until
my glance fell on a parked taxi on the other side of the road.
“Let’s drive back to the city,” I suggested,
interloping my arm with hers so I could use bodily force to push her in the
right direction, if need be.
She eyed me carefully. “Why? What’s there to
see?”
“I want to treat you to a spa visit. I’ve
heard nothing but amazing things about Italian spas, and I think you should try
one. Come on.”
Dashing for the taxi before she could object,
or the driver could decide to take off, I pulled her after me. Sylvie opened
the door and we both slumped onto the backseat. I instructed the driver to take
us to the hotel Jett booked me in during my first trip to Italy. As he drove
off I sat back in my seat.
“New city, new scene, and you’re already
forgetting Jett. My work’s almost done,” Sylvie said.
“Yeah.” I cringed inwardly at hearing his
name. She couldn’t be farther from the truth. If only she knew. It was
impossible to forget him, not least because he was here.
By taxi we reached the city in less than ten
minutes. As it turned out the driver would have made a great sightseeing guide.
Speaking half English and half Italian, he recalled everything he knew about
Bellagio’s history and ancient buildings. It wasn’t exactly Rome, but I
listened nonetheless and even Sylvie seemed fascinated. As we cruised down the
busy main street, the driver pointed out the designer shops and even
recommended the best places to get a bargain. Not that Sylvie needed to save
cash. She had always been loaded—courtesy of her rich family whom she
actually despised. But what woman is immune to the prospect of a mid-summer
sale?
Eventually the taxi stopped on a bus lane. I
paid quickly and we got out in front of the large sign advertising the spa
hotel I had stayed at on my first trip to Bellagio.
“Not bad,” Sylvie said, looking up at the
impressive building.
“Good choice, huh?” I beamed at her and
dragged her through the glass doors into the marble floor reception area. The
spa center took in the entire basement. I paid for a full body and facial treatment
package, and the receptionist handed Sylvie a white bathrobe and towel with
instructions where to get changed.
“Aren’t you coming?” Sylvie asked.
“Sorry, can’t.” Sylvie could always look right
through my lies so I averted my gaze, hoping she wouldn’t catch whatever gave
me away. “I’m supposed to do something for Alessandro. Can’t explain now
because I’m running late, but I’ll pick you up when you’re done, okay?”
I pecked her cheek and headed for the door
before she could start her interrogation.
“Don’t be late,” Sylvie called after me.
“Have fun,” I called back. My guilt at lying
to her flared up again. It was nasty, self-focused, and certainly not what real
friendship stands for. I hated doing it but she wouldn’t understand. I had to find out what Jett had to say.
Outside the hotel I glanced at my watch. It
was 12.30 p.m. I was running half an hour late. I
But could I convince her to go on a shopping spree without me?
Probably not.
Throughout the first years of our friendship,
Sylvie had always joked about how clingy she was. Turned out, it wasn’t really
that much of a joke. This left me with one other option: treat her to a spa
visit.
Sixty minutes of sighing under the expert
hands of a massage therapist should provide enough distraction so I could meet
with Jett. I had another problem: Alessandro was stationed at a private
hospital in a secluded area far away from the city center. According to
Clarkson, the bus station was a half hour walk away.
“So what now?” Sylvie asked as we stepped out
of the hospital. She sounded so bored already, and I hadn’t even shared my plan
with her. I scanned the area. The residential street was almost empty. Apart
from a busy café at the corner and some parked cars, there was nothing that
could possibly be of interest to Sylvie or help my quest. Until
my glance fell on a parked taxi on the other side of the road.
“Let’s drive back to the city,” I suggested,
interloping my arm with hers so I could use bodily force to push her in the
right direction, if need be.
She eyed me carefully. “Why? What’s there to
see?”
“I want to treat you to a spa visit. I’ve
heard nothing but amazing things about Italian spas, and I think you should try
one. Come on.”
Dashing for the taxi before she could object,
or the driver could decide to take off, I pulled her after me. Sylvie opened
the door and we both slumped onto the backseat. I instructed the driver to take
us to the hotel Jett booked me in during my first trip to Italy. As he drove
off I sat back in my seat.
“New city, new scene, and you’re already
forgetting Jett. My work’s almost done,” Sylvie said.
“Yeah.” I cringed inwardly at hearing his
name. She couldn’t be farther from the truth. If only she knew. It was
impossible to forget him, not least because he was here.
By taxi we reached the city in less than ten
minutes. As it turned out the driver would have made a great sightseeing guide.
Speaking half English and half Italian, he recalled everything he knew about
Bellagio’s history and ancient buildings. It wasn’t exactly Rome, but I
listened nonetheless and even Sylvie seemed fascinated. As we cruised down the
busy main street, the driver pointed out the designer shops and even
recommended the best places to get a bargain. Not that Sylvie needed to save
cash. She had always been loaded—courtesy of her rich family whom she
actually despised. But what woman is immune to the prospect of a mid-summer
sale?
Eventually the taxi stopped on a bus lane. I
paid quickly and we got out in front of the large sign advertising the spa
hotel I had stayed at on my first trip to Bellagio.
“Not bad,” Sylvie said, looking up at the
impressive building.
“Good choice, huh?” I beamed at her and
dragged her through the glass doors into the marble floor reception area. The
spa center took in the entire basement. I paid for a full body and facial treatment
package, and the receptionist handed Sylvie a white bathrobe and towel with
instructions where to get changed.
“Aren’t you coming?” Sylvie asked.
“Sorry, can’t.” Sylvie could always look right
through my lies so I averted my gaze, hoping she wouldn’t catch whatever gave
me away. “I’m supposed to do something for Alessandro. Can’t explain now
because I’m running late, but I’ll pick you up when you’re done, okay?”
I pecked her cheek and headed for the door
before she could start her interrogation.
“Don’t be late,” Sylvie called after me.
“Have fun,” I called back. My guilt at lying
to her flared up again. It was nasty, self-focused, and certainly not what real
friendship stands for. I hated doing it but she wouldn’t understand. I had to find out what Jett had to say.
Outside the hotel I glanced at my watch. It
was 12.30 p.m. I was running half an hour late. I
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