Make Me Bad - R.S. Grey Page 0,108
available.”
I nodded, though a part of me wanted to struggle, to insist on staying in the dark room. There was something wonderful about it, the history of its walls, the mysteries that filled the boxes stacked in the corner.
“Are you okay to walk?” Massimo asked with a worried expression.
Truthfully, I still felt terrible, but I didn’t want to take up any more of their time. I’d force my dizziness aside and let them lead me across the square. As soon as I made it to my room, I could crash.
With the promise of sleep on the horizon, I leaned forward and dropped my feet to the ground, testing the waters. I still felt ill, but not nearly as close to passing out as I had earlier. I put my weight into my feet and was about to stand from the bed when the man from the doorway stepped forward and gripped my forearm to steady me.
I stilled for the briefest of moments, shocked by his touch. It was warm and unwavering. He wasn’t worried that he’d overstepped his bounds, not like English blokes would have been, teetering in their boots with shaky, nervous voices. This man had rushed forward to help me with a pragmatism that showed he wasn’t just a gentleman when told to be.
“Steady,” he said, helping lead me through the doorway of the room. He reached for my backpack with his other hand and slung it over his shoulder like it was filled with cotton candy. Massimo reached for my suitcase, turned down my offer of help, and then the three of us headed back out the door toward the square. I glanced behind me one last time, saying goodbye to the old, abandoned bed and breakfast before Massimo locked the door behind us.
“I’m Georgie by the way,” I said, chancing a quick glance up to the man whose grip was still around my forearm.
He offered a curt nod and continued to lead me across the square.
When it was clear he wasn’t going to offer up his name on his own, I asked.
“And what are you called?”
“Gianluca.”
The name slipped off his tongue so beautifully, I nearly asked him to say it once more, just so I could listen to his accent.
“But his friends call him Luca,” Massimo filled in, rushing forward to catch up to us.
Luca. I rolled the name around my head, testing it on his tall frame. It fit perfectly.
The door to my room was barely locked before I lunged for the twin bed and collapsed on top of the sheets. I’d meant to rest there for only a moment before getting up to wash, but my body had other plans. A short nap turned into the longest, deepest sleep of my life. I didn’t wake until the following morning, disoriented and so hungry I was nearly delirious. It’d been over twenty-four hours since I’d had a meal.
I blinked my eyes open, rolled to sit up, and waited for the dizziness to overtake me again.
It didn’t.
Which meant it was time to show Vernazza my good side—that is, the one not covered in vomit.
I threw off my soiled clothes from the day before and hopped into the shower. My room was barely more than a broom cupboard, but it was cheap. Plus, the woman who’d checked me in the day before had promised I could stay as long as I wanted, though I suspected she’d have said anything to elicit a smile from Gianluca. I toweled off and inspected my surroundings. There was the small bed, the sheets still mostly in place despite my having collapsed right on top of them, and a small wicker chair resting in the corner of the room. The plaster walls were painted a light blue and a small painting of the choppy sea hung on the wall over the bed.
I turned to the door, where Massimo and Gianluca had dropped my luggage the day before. They’d ensured I made it to my room all right and then they’d nearly sprinted away, no promise of meeting up or seeing me again. Oh god, who’d blame them. I’d accused them of kidnapping me! It was all a bit depressing. Gianluca was one of the most handsome men I’d ever met and I hadn’t even properly seen him, not with the cap on. In all likelihood, I probably wouldn’t get another chance. He’d seen me at my absolute worst, bits of dried throw-up and all.
I sighed and dragged my suitcase across the floor,