Vincent

Sand and Shots

I woke up when I felt my strands of hair softly brushing over my face. My brows furrowed, opening my eyes, altered.

"Buongiorno, Lex," he mumbled, brushing the hair that was in my face.

I gave a soft, closed-mouth smile, not in the mood to talk, closing my eyes, and snuggling back into him. It felt so nice: the warm blankets covering us, our legs wrapped together, his arms around me. It felt like a relationship that I never had before. A security that I never felt before.

Vincent's hand slipped under my shirt, moving up to cup my chest.

"You want to go to the beach today?" he asked, "you could use a tan."

I looked up at him, glaring yet amused at his joke.

"You could hit the gym," I joked back, although I liked his body very much.

He laughed a deep chuckle that made me warm.

"I'll go get dressed," he sat up, removing himself from the bed, "I'll be back," he pecked my lips.

Once he left, I hauled myself out of my bed, going to my clothes. I didn't pack anything beach-related. I put on my sports bra and a tank top, throwing on a black pair of shorties.

As I was brushing my hair, Vincent came in, leaning on the door frame, wearing a white tank top and some navy blue trunks.

"Is that what you're wearing?" he asked me and I nodded, putting away my brush. "You don't have a swimsuit?"

"Not with me, no," I shrugged, "do you have any sunscreen?"

"Yeah," he said, grabbing my hand, "why do you need it?"

"So my face and shoulders don't burn and peel," I explained, "wait-" I paused, sliding on a pair of sneakers. I didn't even remember the last time I tied the laces, they just chilled there, easy to slip on and off.

"How are you supposed to get tan, babe, if you put on sunscreen?" he asked, walking down the stairs with me.

"I tan naturally. I get a nice tan in the summer and then a little paler in the winter," I explained, "and it helps to protect against skin cancer."

"I heard," he said, pulling his phone out from the pockets of his trunks, dialing a number, and holding it up to his ear.

He grabbed a pair of keys when we got into his garage and as he helped me up, Vincent started talking to the person on the other line.

"Hai finito al pub?" he asked and my head tilted, trying to piece together things. He had said 'Did you finish at the pub?' and I was wondering if Vincent would tell me about his business. Dad didn't, maybe he would?

"Sì... certo, me ne andrò con lei... Lex... la spiaggia, vicino al parcheggio," he spoke and his Italian was so attractive I almost forgot I was supposed to be eavesdropping.

He said my name and mentioned the beach. He spoke too fast for me to pick up the last phrase.

"Dillo a Tito, lo voglio anche lì... non metterlo in dubbio, lo sai che c'è sempre." My eyes widened. I didn't know what the other person said to piss him off but he was mad.

I remembered Tito was that huge ass guy but Vincent said 'tell Tito' so I figured he wasn't talking to him. He also said 'he's always there' was Tito his personal bodyguard? I remembered back when we were at dinner when those people got shot, Vincent didn't shoot anyone, he had someone to tell him when it was safe. Yet, when we went to breakfast, he said he was armed.

Why carry a firearm if he didn't use it himself.

He ended the call, giving me a helmet.

I kept the groan to myself, looking up at him, "thanks."