Through Her Eyes (5 page)

Twenty-nine days since I spoke to Parker

I
’M ABOARD MY PLANE
to Florence after a horrible attempt to wake from the dead this morning and make myself presentable for the nine a.m. flight. Despite spending my last day in London hungover and in bed all day ordering room service, I’m still not feeling any better this morning. I drank way too much two days ago. Being drunk is starting to become a coping mechanism I’m all too familiar with. I need to cut it out, but when the emotions begin to grip at me, I can’t help but reach for the bottle. It’s fine. I have it under control. I’ll never become her.

Never.

The flight is bumpy, and I pray to a higher power that we don’t crash and burn. I also have to fight off the feeling that I’m about to be sick, which is always unpleasant. When I arrive at the airport—happy to still be alive—my ride doesn’t show, and I’m forced to take a cab to my hotel. Check-in runs smoothly, thank God, and I hurry to my room, shut my eyes, and close out the hell of a morning I had.

I find myself hours later sitting down to have a yet another drink.
God, I really am no
better than Mom.
I want to curl up with the shame of it all. But a drink certainly held the possibility of brightening my mood.

Just when I finally think my day is turning up, I lock eyes with the most gorgeous man ever to cross my path. Normally this wouldn’t be a bad thing, but after my horrid morning, I’ve no desire to be social. Wow, he really is something else. Broad shoulders, unruly brown hair, eyes so blue they glisten as they squint narrowly at me. He’s the kind of man who depletes the oxygen from my lungs. A look of recognition registers in his perfect gaze, but it fades away quickly as he flashes me a wicked smile. I narrow my eyes and take him in. Hmm, his eyes do look vaguely familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve seen him. He tilts his head at me and his eyebrows rise.

Great, just what I need. Another drunk man hitting on me. Shaking my head, I turn back to what’s really important. My Bellini.

No matter what anyone says, you can’t get a Bellini like this anywhere outside of Italy. White peach nectar, prosecco . . .

Divine.

The glass glistens as streams of sunlight reflect off the condensation. One sip should take the edge off. I shuffle forward and reach my hand out to grab the cocktail. The crisp refreshing drink does nothing to calm the ache in my heart. It only numbs the pain as it makes its way down my throat. The aromatic bubbles are a comfort to me, a warm blanket covering my emotions. I want to drown in the oblivion it can provide. But then I would be a pathetic drunk.

So instead of behaving in an uncouth manner, I place the flute down and take in my surroundings. The high ceilings of the converted castle are the perfect location to live in my fantasy world. To forget the past. To forget the heartbreak waiting for me back home. This is my current sanctuary, and nestled amongst the flourishing olive groves and rolling hills, I can lose myself for days.

Stealing a glance across the bar that was once the kitchen at the Castello Del Nero, I take him in one more time.

Tall. Lean. Ruggedly handsome.

My eyes trail further down his face to find a perfectly scuffed five o’clock shadow obscuring a chiseled jaw.

He shifts in his seat to rise.
Oh dear God. Please don’t come over.
After the British man in the suit two nights ago, I can’t deal with another hot stranger right now.

I turn my head back so I’m not caught staring. My hand is heavy as I lift my glass once more to my mouth. From my peripheral vision, I see that his eyes are locked on me. Quickly I return my focus to the glass in my hand, losing myself within the confines of my mind is easy.

I hear a rustle and feel a presence beside me. Trying to appear uninterested in the company that has joined me, I take another swig of my drink just as he slides onto the old wooden bench and stretches out his long legs. He crosses his ankles as he reclines. G
reat, he’s getting comfy
.

“Come here often?” His American accent catches me off guard. It’s smooth and rich and evokes feelings of home,
comfort.
He smiles at me. Full lips.
How had I missed those in my earlier perusal?
He has the type of smile that makes butterflies take flight. His steel blue eyes linger over me, slowly, trailing over my long, toned legs, up my torso, and finally to my eyes. My body shivers involuntarily.

He smirks.
Shit.
That smirk could be deadly. It should come with a warning note.
Will cause recipient to be rendered useless.

Feeling uncomfortable from the attention, I gaze down at my glass and break the connection. Maybe if I ignore him he will leave me to my solitude.

“I’m Chase. Chase Porter.”
No such luck.
His tanned hand stretches out toward mine. Lifting my eyes, I meet his gaze. I sit useless, openly gawking at him. My fingers continue to rim the glass, not reaching up to his.

“And you are?” A grin curls up the side of his face.

“Leaving.” I push back, and the chair screeches across the floor. His head cocks to the side at my answer and then the most beautiful chuckle leaves his perfectly shaped mouth.

“Oh come on, I won’t bite . . . hard.” He winks. The son of a bitch winks. I roll my eyes at his lame pick-up line. As hot as he is, can’t he come up with something better?

“Does this ever work for you?” I force back my laughter.

“I don’t know. Is it working now?”

“Nope.” I turn my body slightly towards his.

“Okay, help a guy out. One name. You don’t even have to tell me your last name if you don’t want to.”

“It’s Aria.” I pause for a second. “Aria Bennett.”

His eyes light up like a kid in a candy store, and I know exactly what is coming. It’s only a matter of time before the jokes start. Maybe he would be smart enough to just let it go.

“Aria Bennett.” He tests the name on his tongue as his smile broadens. “So, you know your name is Aria Bennett?” Nope. He isn’t smart enough.

“Since I’ve been referred to by that name for the last twenty-two years, yeah . . . I’m quite aware of the fact that indeed is my name.” Contempt drips from my lips.

“And you’re aware that you are named after the game
Final Fantasy Three
, right? Were your parents’ gamers?”

If I had a dollar for every person who thought they were clever enough to figure this out, like they were the only video game geek to get the reference. If only that was the case, though. If only they had named me after her. If only they had named me out of love.

“No. Actually, they had no idea. They hated it once they found out. They even wanted me to legally change my name.”

I’ll never forget the day they found out. It was also the first day I met Parker. I came home from school so excited and ran into the house beaming with the news.

I went straight to my mom and jumped on her lap to hug her. I remember how she pulled away from me with disdain. My mother was not openly affectionate with me. To be honest, I was more like a thorn in her side than a daughter she loved. I’m able to see that now, but at six years old I was oblivious until that day.

“Mom, Mom! Thank you, thank you!” I beamed.

“What are you going on about, Aria?” she questioned as she tried to detangle herself from my tiny arms. “And make it fast.” She gave me a frosty look as she spoke.

“The kids told me at school. I’m from a video game! That’s so cool, Mom!”

“Aria, please don’t ramble. You know how much I despise that.”

“You named me after the video game Final Fantasy.” I beamed up at her proudly. Our eyes met, but hers weren’t smiling back at me. Wanting to show her how much I loved what she had done, I buried myself further into the nook of her neck and hugged her tightly. I felt her body tensing underneath me. I could feel her long, sun-kissed hair scratch at me as she pulled farther away.

“
I have no idea
what you’re going on about, Aria
.”
Her mouth was tight as she pronounced my name. A fine line formed in her brow. Her nose scrunched.

She rose and picked up a glass tumbler filled with clear liquid from the bar on the other side of the room. “I have more important things to do than understand that girl,” she mumbled to herself, just loudly enough for me to make out the words as she walked out of the room. My chest constricted, and I ran upstairs to hide in my closet. That was how at six years old my life was changed forever with one simple sentence.

I hid in my closet crying. My soft sobs could barely be heard, but I didn’t let it stop my emotions from flowing out of me like a rushing tide. There are moments that change your life. I had no idea this would be one of them. I had no clue that at six years old my life would forever be changed. That the moment the door opened, I would be changed. That three words would change my life.

“Please, don’t cry.” That’s all it took.

Three simple words had the power to make me breathe again. I knew there was something special about Parker. The boy standing in front of me looked down on me with a calming look as he spoke. “Please, don’t cry.” His words floated around me like the first rays of sunshine after a gloomy day. “I’m Parker,” he continued. He had the eyes of an angel, an angel who actually noticed me. His shaggy blond hair fell across his brow as his blue eyes twinkled at me. Soft whimpers continued to leave my tiny body.

“Shh. Please, don’t cry.” I nodded up at him as my lips trembled to fight back the sobs.

“How about a little smile then, so I know you’re feeling better? Okay?” And I did. I lifted my eyes to look into the crystal blue oceans that had saved me.

“Park? Who are you talking to?” Owen, my older brother, asked him as he looked around to make out who was here. “Is Ari in there? Ari are you okay?” His voice was laced with concern.

“She’s fine. She was just looking for something,” Parker said to Owen. He stepped out of the closet and intercepted Owen so I wouldn’t be seen. He turned back toward me. Our eyes locked one more time. He winked, and my heart melted.

Oh, the irony that she had unknowingly named me after a video game character. Joke was on me, though. I was devastated when she said she wanted to change my name. Completely destroyed. After Parker eventually told Owen what happened, he stepped in like the overprotective brother he always was. He let me believe the dream. He and Park let me pretend I was special.

The gravelly voice of the handsome stranger awakens me from my daydream, and I notice he’s still standing before me and speaking.

“Really? You’re shitting me? Princess Aria Bennett.” A smile tugs at his lips, and if it weren’t so perfect, I would want to smack it right off his smug face.

“She’s actually a priestess, and we spell it differently. Mine has two n’s,” I huff.

“Same difference.”

My breath quickens as my anger rises. “Well, on that note, I’d like to say it was a pleasure to meet you, but, well . . . not so much.” I shift from my spot, but as I’m about to stand, I feel the touch of his hand graze my arm. It stops me dead in my tracks. The heat that radiates from him sends a chill down my spine.

“Aw, come on. I was just playing. So, you live in New York City?” The muscles in my back become rigid.
How the hell did he know that?

“Accent,” he states obviously reading my confusion from my body language. “What brings you here to Italy, Aria?”

And there it is, the question I dread brings me out of my haze, but I can’t handle answering it. My stomach knots.
What brings you here?

I’m running away from my life, leaving it all behind, blind to where I’ll end up.

I’ve left everyone and everything I love to search for the meaning of it all.

My eyes move away from him so he won’t notice that I’m teetering on losing it. He must sense my change of mood as he hands me the drink menu. “You’re almost done with your drink. Let me get you another one. What are you having?”

I don’t know if I should humor him or just cut my losses and walk away. I could always drink alone in my room, but that would be pathetic, and I’m not pathetic.