Billionaire Triplets Matchmakers Read online

  Antonio shook his head. He couldn’t sit in that car all day, reminiscing, he needed to do something with his time.

  He realized he’d been hanging out in the Torres neighborhood on the off chance that he might go back for another shot at talking to Joan. Considering what he’d just recalled about Joan it was entirely possible that she’d made up some story.

  Maybe the reason her sister thought that he’d gotten her drunk was because that’s what Joan had said.

  What if she’d gone further said something that could get him into more trouble – possibly with the police?

  Given that Annabel Edwards was back in town, that kind of behavior would be entirely likely.

  He started his engine and drove out of the neighborhood, heading back to the hotel.

  He’d catch up on sleep, and then maybe hit the casino and work on his poker skills so he could take another shot at the private poker game later that night. Clearly, the date he’d envisioned with Joan was off the table, so why not? He had a bag full of money and time to kill before the wedding, so why not double or even triple his winnings?

  “Yeah,” he said out loud as he drove back into the parking garage at the hotel. “Why the fuck not?”

  Chapter Eleven

  JOAN WISHED SHE HAD her sunglasses as she walked to the cathedral for the noon AA meeting, her headache intensified as soon as she stepped out into the hot Mediterranean sun. Despite the continuing tightness in her head and the way it slowed down her usual speed-walking pace, she still arrived at the church with plenty of time before the meeting was due to start. The man who’d annoyed her so much the previous day was at the meeting, but thankfully he didn’t make her feel ill at ease. While she was pouring herself some coffee he stepped nearby, said hello in a pleasant and non-threatening way and offered her creamer to put in her coffee.

  “No, thanks,” Joan said politely.

  They ended up sitting next to each other in the front row, but he sat quietly and minded his own business. When the meeting started a few of the participants who’d been at the meeting the day before recognized her. A few even shared in English, citing the American in the room.

  The man, who’s name was Raul, didn’t press her to speak, or press others to share in English, or generally act like a controlling dork. Perhaps she’d misjudged him. He’d been the leader before, so it was his job to help move things along in the meeting. She settled into her seat and listened as the other members shared. She’d already decided not to mention her relapse – she didn’t want all the after-meeting comments and the outpourings of concern.

  One of the members who chose to share in English for her benefit spoke about how her drinking had ruined her family’s trust, but the commitment to the steps and time spent working on her own faults had improved her relationships.

  “Today I can honestly say I’m much closer to my two older brothers than I ever was, thanks to this program.”

  The woman, probably not more than five or six years older than Joan, sat down to polite applause while Joan reflected. Would she be able to get back her sister’s trust? Was all she had to do take her recovery program seriously this time?

  Raul didn’t share either, but after the meeting, he stuck close to Joan as she chatted with a few other members. When she started to leave, Raul continued to stay close. “Oh, Joan, there was something I was dying to tell you back in the meeting, but I didn’t want to be rude and talk while others were sharing.”

  Curious, Joan indicated for him to continue.

  Raul puffed up his sunken chest, rubbed at his scraggly excuse for a beard and smiled wickedly as if he was about to share some juicy gossip.

  “Remember the drunk bum from yesterday, the dude at the back that fell out of his chair?”

  Joan stiffened, immediately recalling some of her feelings of dislike for this man. To refer to a fellow sufferer with such strong words seemed inappropriate at best and down right inexcusable at worst.

  Or, maybe she particularly sensitive because she knew he was talking about Antonio.

  She gave Raul a tight-lipped smile, “Yes, I remember our fellow member. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I don’t think he’s a drunk. I think he’s a fraud.”

  “What? Why?” Joan said.

  “Because today he’s in another meeting down the hall.”

  “What other meeting?”

  “The Gambler’s Anonymous meeting – they meet down around at the other end of the hall, by the bathrooms. While the others were sharing, I went to the restrooms. That’s when I saw him. Don’t believe me, come see for yourself.”

  Joan didn’t like the idea of spying on someone in a different 12-step program, but if it was Antonio she could confront him about the missing money and not have to make the potentially futile trip to his hotel.

  She followed Raul as he chattered on about something she wasn’t paying attention to, and thought instead of Antonio.

  She’d realized that after hooking up the previous night, the topic of the AA meeting and why he was there had not come up. Nor had they discussed their difficult past, and all the baggage and heartache that came with those memories.

  She tried to recall how he’d looked in the meeting the day before. His clothing had ragged, but that didn’t mean he was drunk.

  “That’s it, over there,” Raul whispered in a low hiss. He was pointing down the hallway to a room on the far left.

  “I don’t want to interfere,” she said.

  “You don’t have to, you and I are just walking to the restrooms.”

  He was right. The men’s and women’s restrooms were at the end of the hall, just past the room where a door was ajar and a meeting was underway.

  She walked by, darting her eyes into the room and scanning the bodies, but from her angle, she couldn’t see anyone that looked like Antonio.

  “I don’t see him,” she whispered, after they’d gotten out of range of the door.

  “Well, maybe he’s in the kitchen. You can’t see people when they’re in there.”

  Joan stared at Raul, wondering if this was some ploy to get her to hang out with him.

  He picked up on her doubt.

  “Look, I’m not making it up. I swear, it was him.”

  Joan wanted to go. “Well, thanks for sharing, Raul. I’ll see you later.” She indicated that she was going to use the restroom.

  “I know you will, I’ll be right here when you get out.”

  Joan sighed. She wished Raul would get the hint and take off, but clearly he wanted to hang out with her some more. What she wanted to do was wait around for Antonio’s meeting to end so she could confront him, but she didn’t want Raul to be a part of it.

  It was none of his business.

  She stayed in the bathroom longer than necessary, adding mascara to her lashes and an extra coat of gloss to her lips, hoping that Raul would get the hint and leave.

  While she delayed she thought about what it meant if Antonio was in the Gamblers’ Anonymous meeting. Why would he be there, if not to deal with a gambling problem?

  It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps he’d been the mastermind to the theft of her cash. Maybe he’d set up the friend showing up in the middle of the night to cover his part in the crime.

  The thought made her feel sick and angry.

  She went back out into the hallway, irritated to see Raul still hanging about.

  “What took you so long?” he asked.

  Shit. She needed to get rid of him.

  “Raul, I don’t feel so good. I’m going home,” she lied.

  She’d ditch him and double back to wait for Antonio to get out of the meeting, but first, she had to verify that he was even in there.

  “Did you drive?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, automatically.

  “Then let me give you a ride home,” he said.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “No, I think the walk will do me good. Fresh air, and all that.”

  “Le
t me walk you home, then,” he persisted.

  “No, please. I’ll be fine.”

  “Can, I at least walk you out of the church?”

  Joan sighed. This dude was nothing, but persistent. “Sure,” she said.

  They began walking back down the hall, and this time, Joan craned her neck to see inside the room. Her breathing stopped at the sign of him. He had his back to her, and he was flipping a coin in his fingers, but there was no doubt about it. It was Antonio.

  That bastard.

  She wanted to march straight into the room and slap his face, demand her money back or she’d call the police, but she had too much respect for the sanctity of 12-step programs to do anything that disruptive.

  If she could just ditch Raul she could wait somewhere nearby and chase Antonio down when he came out.

  “What’s up with you? Do you know that guy or something?” Raul asked.

  “Of course not,” she said, covering herself. “I just had an itch,” she said, leaning over and scratching her ankle to prove herself. She walked towards the doors of the church. “So, Raul, tell me about yourself.”

  That worked. He smiled and started talking as they walked. His name was Raul, and he told her how he created a big cleaning company and how he hoped to branch out into other parts of Europe, soon.

  “That’s very impressive,” Joan said, but these financial successes didn’t impress her. Mostly, he sounded like a blowhard and she was tired of listening to him, but, if he picked up on her true lack of enthusiasm he didn’t show it. He went on, and on, moving into his personal life.

  “My wife divorced me last year, which was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he added. He looked at Joan longingly, and Joan felt herself cringe. Yuck. “It was the best thing from, shall I say a personal standpoint, but she did take me to the cleaners a bit, so that part wasn’t so good.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it,” Joan said.

  “But, that’s all going to change soon. I’m launching a commercial cleaning business, and I’m hoping to get in on that huge commercial contract in Milan.”

  This piqued Joan’s interest and, more to get a word in edgewise then for any other reason, she said, “How interesting. My sister and my brother in law are currently in charge of development for a huge project in Milan. A business center? Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

  Raul stopped in his tracks. “I don’t believe it. You know Julio Torres? You’re related to him?”

  “I am,” Joan admitted. “Or I will be, after the wedding.”

  “No way! That’s amazing. Hey, Joan. Could you do me a huge favor?”

  Joan wished she’d kept her mouth shut, but what could she say? “Maybe.”

  “Listen, I’ve been trying hard to get an in, you know with the right people to put in my proposal. If you could help me talk to Julio Torres, that would be huge. Do you think you could help me? All I’d need was five minutes of his time...”

  He looked so intent and needy, Joan felt boxed in.

  “Well, I don’t know. I mean, he is getting married on Saturday, and then he’ll be on his honeymoon. This isn’t a good time.”

  “Oh my God, that’s right. The wedding of the century, it’s all over the news. Could you get me an invitation?”

  “Well, I don’t know...” Joan said, again, trying to come up with a good reason to put him off. “I need to go,” she added, lamely.

  He looked so crestfallen that she felt guilty. He wasn’t a bad guy, just kind of a dufus.

  They’d made it to the outside of the church by then, and stopped at the top of the stairs.

  “I can try...” she said, trailing off.

  Joan remembered, hadn’t her mother said that Antonio was Julio’s godson? Oh, shit. That meant he might be at the wedding. How would she deal with that? Perhaps having a guy like Raul on her arm might deter Antonio from trying to make up some bullshit lies about what had happened.

  What if she fell for his BS and ended up in bed with him again, and then ended up in another drunk tank? She couldn’t risk that happening, not on Lissa’s big day—not with the triplets depending on her to be sober.

  Having a guy like Raul at her side could be a real help. He could be her sober buddy, and keep her away from the champagne. That’s what she would tell Lissa, but Antonio didn’t need to know. He deserved to fret.

  Yes, having Raul around would give Antonio pause. It would show him that she was no easy mark, ready to take more of his abuse just because he was amazing in bed!

  Even if he had some lame excuse or tried to worm his way out of what he’d done, and even if he gave her back all the money whether he’d stolen it or not, she was done with Antonio and his fickle attempts at a relationship.

  Yes. That made sense. “Raul, would you like to come as my plus one to the wedding?”

  Raul almost tripped on the next step in his surprise. “You mean it? Jee, thanks, Joan. I’ll owe you forever.”

  Joan, felt relieved. Maybe now he would leave her alone, so she could get back to stalking Antonio. She took out her cell phone. “Give me your number, I’ll text you the details.”

  They exchanged contact details and Joan was just about to say goodbye when Raul let out a yelp of excitement.

  “Hot damn! Is that what I think it is?”

  He was staring at a car parked at the curb several meters away. “You know what that is?”

  Joan stared at the sports car.

  “A car?” she asked dryly.

  He laughed. “That’s a Maserati GranTurismo Convertible Sport with an eight cylinder four point seven-liter engine. With extras that car’s worth, hell, close to two hundred thousand euros! It’s not just a car, that’s my dream car!”

  “Well, I hope your dreams come true,” Joan said, wryly. “But, right now, I need to get going. See you at the wedding.”

  Raul waved her off and went to stare at the car. Joan laughed, grateful that something else was finally distracting him.

  She headed down the street and looked back before rounding the next corner to make sure Raul hadn’t decided to chase her down and ask for another favor. Raul was out in the street, waving down a policeman and pointing at the car. Joan watched, confused and curious. What was he doing now?

  The policeman got out and called on his radio. She continued to watch and a few minutes later two more police cars showed up. The policemen looked inside the car and checked the license plate while Raul pointed towards the inside of the church. What the hell was going on?

  She remembered Antonio drove a car much like that one. She’d seen Antonio inside the church and apparently, the police were interested in his car, or maybe Antonio himself.

  Had he stolen from someone besides her? Were he and his friend Vince in trouble?

  She felt torn.

  She wanted to warn him, but at the same time she didn’t want to interfere with the police. For all she knew her own troubles with the police might not be over. What if her mother’s date with the police officer had not gone well?

  But if she didn’t warn him and the police took him away, how would she get her money back?

  She debated, trying to find a side entrance, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk.

  She blew out a breath, then remembered that she had a spa date and headed back to the hotel, hoping for the best.

  ANTONIO HAD WOKEN UP from his nap with a different attitude than when he’d gone to bed, and the idea of going to a casino and risking money he needed to keep his limbs intact seemed beyond absurd. In fact, his mind was so clear on the complete stupidity of such a plan that he decided to try again to go to a GA meeting. There wasn’t a lot of time, so he got his car and drove to the cathedral. He parked at the curb and hurried inside, careful to find the correct room with a few minutes to spare before the meeting was to start.

  As with the last time, he’d made sure to wear his incognito clothes. The anonymity was a comfort – he had no desire to be outed as a soccer player with a gambling problem. Th
e door to the room was wide open so he stepped hesitantly inside.

  A man wearing a cardigan with elbow patches came up to him, and said in Spanish. “Looking for AA? It’s back in the direction you came from, turn right at the end of the hall.”

  Antonio muttered as he spoke in English, keeping his head down. “No, I want to stop gambling.”

  The man’s face broke into a huge smile. “Si, Si! Fantastico, you’ve come to the right place. Is this your premiere – I mean, first GA meeting?”

  “Yes,” Antonio said. The less he spoke, the better.

  “Have a seat. No, have some coffee, there in the kitchen. Welcome. What’s your name? I mean, just your first name?”

  “Tony,” Antonio said, not in the mood to lie to this welcoming man. He didn’t feel ready to talk to anyone yet, either. The rest of the small group of attendees were all in the small kitchen, chattering away as they helped themselves to coffee and biscuits.

  Elbow Patches picked up on his reluctance to talk and handed him one of the yellow booklets he was placing on everyone’s chair. “There’s a small version of our combo book in there, plus a phone list of members in the area and a list of all our meetings. That’s for you to keep. Welcome again, Tony – I’m glad you’re here.”

  Tony opened his packet. The materials were all in Spanish. His Spanish was tolerable, but hopefully when he got back to Milan, he’d find a meeting with Italian literature.

  “Hey, everyone, let’s get this meeting started,” said Elbow Patches in Spanish. “We have a newcomer tonight, Tony. This is his first meeting. He prefers English, so if any of you want to do your share in English you are welcome to do so. I not, who would like to volunteer to sit next to Tony and translate for him?”

  The group had a lively chat, then voted on having the entire meeting in English – to support their newcomer.

  Since the book was written in Spanish they went around the room reading it aloud in Spanish and then attempting to translate the meaning to English. Antonio insisted that he understood more of the Spanish then he actually did and soon they only read the book in Spanish, with Antonio’s translator, a sweet middle-aged woman sitting to his left, offering to provide the English word translation whenever his face showed confusion.