The Billionaire's Triplets Matchmakers (The Billionaire's Triplets 2)

Maybe, he should just go back to Italy and skip the wedding.

No, Julio Torres would be angry with him.

“Of course! Julio!” he said out loud.

Julio Torres was his defector Godfather, and he was a billionaire. Why hadn’t he thought of him before? Julio would help him out of this jam. He didn’t need to pinch pennies.

The cabbie drove up. “I go now, sir, good day,” said the cabby.

“No, I need a ride.”

“But, you’ve got a car,” he said, as he lifted two bushy eyebrows inquisitively.

“It’s got a wheel lock,” Antonio explained, pointing to the front wheels.

The driver shook his head, “Look again,” he said. “It’s not attached.”

“What?” Antonio walked over to the wheel and tugged at the clamp, expecting it to stay on tight, but, to his surprise, it came back in his hand and clattered to the ground.

Shit.

“That’ll be one hundred Euros,” said the cab driver holding out his hand.

“What? It was only thirty when I took the same ride before,” Antonio said, fudging the truth to suit his circumstances.

“Yes, I understand, but the other driver wasn’t promising to keep his mouth shut.” The cabby held out his hand.

Antonio looked at the car, then at the cabby, then back at the car again. “Fine,” he said, then he dug into his wallet and pulled out the rest of his cash, giving the cabby his one hundred Euro, which left him with under forty Euros to his name. The cabby drove away, and Antonio got back into his car. The engine started and her roared off towards the L’Eixample District where he hoped to find an understanding Julio Torres.

Despite being childhood friends he hadn’t spoken to Julio for over ten years. They had met because Julio’s father, Eduardo, had proclaimed himself to be a close friend Antonio’s father – some soldier who served in the Spanish Air Force with Eduardo, a brave man who’d died not long after Antonio was born.

Antonio hadn’t thought about how strange the relationship was when he was a young boy. He and his mother had lived in virtual poverty in their depressed Italian neighborhood, and yet twice a year he was invited to spend time with his godfather in a wealthy part of Spain. He had been very close with Julio, who was only a few years older and enjoyed sports like Antonio did. Mamacita Torres always treated him like family – they all treated him like family – but for some reason, his mother never came to the house on his visits.

After he’d started to show promise as a soccer player he’d been moved from the public school into a private boarding school, where he’d been placed on a competitive team. Antonio learned later that his Godfather Torres had pulled strings to get him into the better school and had even paid for it. As Antonio’s talents became known, he was picked up by the soccer farm leagues and eventually earned a spot as a professional soccer player.

On his first ever day playing as a professional he’d seen his Godfather Torres seated in the VIP section of the stadium along with many other important people, watching him play. His mother was also there and he’d made them all proud, getting a hat trick on his first day out and winning the game for his team.

After that, his Godfather Torres became ill, and Antonio was too busy becoming a superstar to take the time to go and see him. When he got word that Godfather had passed, Antonio was very sad.

He was surprised when he got a letter in the mail from his former childhood buddy, Julio Torres, who had grown up and was making a mint building large commercial centers around the world. They’d enjoyed each others company as children and young men, but they’d hardly been close. When he read the letter, he was even more surprised. Julio explained that it was a request in his father’s will that Antonio remain connected to the Torres family. He went on to further declare that he’d gone to his priest at the Catholic church in Passieg De Gracia and designated himself Antonio’s new godfather. Antonio had been touched, and he sent a response via post thanking his former soccer buddy for the kind gesture.

That was the last they’d connected, almost two years ago. Hopefully Julio’s letter wasn’t just a gesture, and he meant it when he said he’d be there for Antonio.

There was no parking immediately in front of his recently anointed godfather’s house, so he drove around the curve and parked at the first available spot. He double checked to make sure he was parked legally, then he locked his car and walked back.

Antonio looked up at the house. It hadn’t changed in all these years. He remembered trying to play soccer on the curved street and felt a strong pang of desire to see Mamacita Torres and Julio again, but as he climbed the steps he felt twinges of shame. If Julio knew what a screw up he’d become, would he want anything to do with him?

He girded his loins and rang the doorbell as a good excuse for showing up came into his head. He was in town a few days early for some business, but he had extra time on his hands, and was there anything he could do to assist with the wedding? “Yes, that might work,” he muttered to himself in Italian, but then he shut up as he heard the door opening. Mamacita Torres answered the door.

“Antonio? It is you!” she gushed as she rushed forward and smothered him with hugs and kisses. “Aunt Sophia, look who’s come home, it’s Antonio. Come in, come in.” Antonio’s chest squeezed with emotion at the heartfelt expression of love for him. Despite his shame and fears he couldn’t help but smile under the weight of all that love and affection.

He looked around the house. It was exactly as he’d remembered it.

Mamacita Torres ushered him to the kitchen where Aunt Sophia and several other ladies he didn’t recognize were engaged in making centerpieces, no doubt for the upcoming wedding.

“Can I help?” Antonio asked after they made introductions all around. Mamacita was making tapas and he was given a plate. All the ladies were eating tapas and drinking hot mulled wine. Antonio declined the wine, but accepted the offer of coffee. “I’m driving,” he explained. The truth was he still felt a little muddy and dehydrated from the two beers earlier in the day, and he wanted to have his wits about him for his discussion with Julio.

“Where’s my new Godfather?” he asked.

The women all tittered. Mamacita Torres explained to the other ladies about how Julio had gone to the priest to get assigned Godfather duty for his late father’s Godchildren. There were four in all, and Antonio was the only one that hadn’t stopped by to pay his respects.

“Oh,” said the old ladies wisely.

Aunt Sophia added. “You are a lucky boy, there is no better Godfather to guide you than Julio Torres.” Antonio winced at that. These people took their Catholicism seriously, and a Godfather’s job was to guide a younger person’s spirituality, not to bail them out of whatever jam they got themselves into – especially when it was based on a sin like gambling. He wondered again if Julio would want to help him.

Antonio put that negative thought out of his mind. “Yes, I’m sure I’m very lucky. So, when did you say he’d be back?”

“Not until tonight, or perhaps tomorrow. He’s in Milan for work,” said Mamacita Torres.

Antonio lifted an eyebrow as he thought about the irony. He’d come from Milan only to find that the man he wanted to see was currently in Milan.

“Fine, then I guess I can help you lovely ladies that much longer.”

They all giggled, and put him to work. Antonio found himself relaxing, almost forgetting the perils that awaited him out in the real world as he ate, sipped his coffee and worked on the assembly line preparing the f

our hundred wrapped flower arrangements which would be shipped out soon for the big wedding.

The doorbell rang, and a female voice from the other room, yelled through the house. “I’ll get it.”

A second later, something heavy crashed to the floor. Anthony instinctively ran into the hallway, fearful that he’d brought trouble to these fine people. When he saw the woman on the floor, her skin the color of milk chocolate, unconscious with an ashen face, he thought for a moment that he was hallucinating that it was Joan. Then he saw that it wasn’t Joan, the woman had different face – broader, larger boned, wider shoulders, bigger hips. He ran to her, whoever she was, and was relieved that she was coming around. He helped her sit up. “Who are you?” she asked, still a little dazed.

“Here, watch out for the glass,” he said as he helped her to her feet. She’d been carrying a large crystal glass filled with flowers and she’d obviously dropped it when she had her fainting spell. Then Antonio remembered that the doorbell had rung. So, who was the person at the door?

An anxious man stood on the steps, his face almost puce with concern. “Is she dead? Oh, God, please tell me she’s not dead.”

“Calm down, she just fainted, I’m sure you’ll be fine. What the hell happened?”

The Joan look-alike was standing in the doorway, pointing down to the car in the driveway, her face was streaming with tears. The man who’d been wringing his hands at the door turned and shouted to the people down by the limo. “Get up here you idiots, she’s come back ‘round. Get the shot!”