Chapter 3 03

03

Out of the corner of her eye, while she was still determined to pretend to ignore his morose fascination with her, she noticed him approaching her way, and panic seized her. Frenzy with anticipation clouded her mind, dizziness followed, and her hands closed firmly around her stemmed Collins glass in an attempt to overcome the overwhelming feelings engulfing her. Swallowing her drink in one gulp, she closed her eyes tightly to brace herself for the imminent meeting, feeling completely out of her depth, as though the ground beneath her feet might open and swallow her whole.

Seconds stretched into what felt like minutes.

When nothing happened, she opened one eye cautiously, then the other, and was surprised to discover that he was no longer in her line of vision. Acute disappointment filled her chest, an ache so swift and sharp it made her catch her breath. Her gaze automatically darted in every direction in search of him, scanning the milling crowd, the glossy bar, the dance floor that pulsed with low music, but he was nowhere to be found.

She sighed heavily, sagging back against the high stool she perched on. Her imagination was working overtime again, conjuring images that her reality failed to deliver. What she couldn't figure out was the reason she was so fixated on him when she had a veritable panoply of males accosting her at every turn.

It wasn't as if she was unobtrusive that night; far from it. But she was no extreme beauty either, despite the odds suggesting otherwise that evening. She didn't have the imposing presence or stunning features that usually turned heads. Back in Rochester, she was after all Anastasia Forrester-the mouse. Quiet, forgettable, overlooked.

She was not shy, not really. Sometimes-most of the time-she simply lacked the confidence to voice her feelings, so her acquaintances inexorably assumed she either did not have an opinion or that she was an introvert. Which suited her just fine. She was not interested in sharing her views with anyone; her half-sister Melissa was an expert at stealing the show anyway, leaving no space for Ana to even exist.

Ana gave herself a mental shake, wondering why she was wasting her precious time thinking about Melissa. She had made a point of putting as many miles as possible between her and her past, and here she was, dragging it along like luggage she couldn't discard. Melissa had already ruined her life back home; she would not allow her nemesis to spoil her hard-earned holiday too.

Paying for her Italian trip had not been a given. It was a dream she had scraped and saved for, a break she had fought tooth and nail to afford because her father hadn't thought she deserved one-or worse, he simply hadn't cared. It didn't matter anymore. She was here now, in beautiful, sun-drenched Italy, and this was supposed to be her time to breathe before real life snatched her away.

Sighing heavily, Ana smiled inwardly as she realized that thoughts of her family had driven the sexy stranger out of her mind. Which was a very good thing. She knew better than to fantasize about someone she didn't even know. Besides, she was not interested at all.

Guys were a waste of time.

She already had enough problems to deal with in her personal life as it was. Her trip to Italy wasn't some excuse for a torrid fling or romantic escapade-it had a purpose. She was here to unwind, to decompress, to remember who she was before she stepped into the professional world that loomed ominously ahead. A world she was dreading, knowing she would have to interact with many strangers, make conversation, network, navigate social scenes she barely understood-a prospect that terrified her more than she liked to admit.

Unlike others, friendship didn't come easily to her. Connections didn't sprout naturally in her life like wildflowers. She had to labor for them, cautiously, painfully, knowing that once she attached, she had a serious problem disentangling herself. Emotional entanglements were not a luxury she could afford, not when every tie she had ever formed had ultimately left her bleeding.

That was why she was very careful-scrupulously careful-before giving a piece of herself to anyone.

Having faced more than her share of difficulties in life, personal commitments and emotional attachments were alien to her. She derided herself now for even having allowed a single moment of weakness-the possibility, however fleeting, of love at first sight.

It might happen to others.

It would never happen to her.

She was frigid, emotionally unresponsive, hollowed out by years of disappointment and betrayal.

Most of the time, she preferred her own company to that of others. Being around people demanded performances she no longer had the energy to give. Pretending to be someone else-someone louder, more confident, more dazzling-was exhausting. Whether it was to live up to certain expectations or to compensate for her perceived shortcomings, she always found herself making excuses for who she was in the company of others.

And she was so tired of it.

She toyed with the empty Collins glass, turning it around and around between her fingers, watching the dim lights flicker and dance through the thin crystal.

She wondered, not for the first time, how the stranger would have treated her.

Would he expect her to be someone else too?

Would he want the polished version, the counterfeit Ana she carefully crafted to please others?

Or would he somehow, impossibly, like the real Ana-the one she hid from everyone else, the one too wounded and too wary to step into the light?

The thought was almost laughable. Men like him, with eyes that burned and smiles that promised, didn't look twice at girls like her.

Still, she wondered.

With another sigh, she pushed the thoughts away, sliding off her stool. She might as well head back to the hotel. Tomorrow was a new day, and maybe she would find a little more courage hidden in the Tuscan sunshine.

Maybe.