Enzo adjusted the lapel of his blazer, smoothing the fabric with care. It wasn't just any blazer—it was a tailored piece he'd rented for a staggering sum. It fit like a dream.
Who knew pretending to be rich was so expensive?
With a shaky breath, he strode toward the front desk, plastering on his most confident smile. The receptionist greeted him with a dazzling grin that seemed surgically attached to his face.
"Good afternoon! Welcome to Hotel Belmond Splendido. How can I assist you today?"
Enzo feigned a casual ease that he did not feel.
"Ah, hello! I… I believe you have a reservation for me. The name's… uh, Giovanni Rinaldi." He stumbled over the name slightly but recovered quickly, his accent giving it a touch of flair.
Giovanni Rinaldi, he thought to himself. That name drips with money. Perfect.
The receptionist, still smiling, began typing into his computer. "Good afternoon, Mr. Rinaldi. May I see your ID, please?"
Double shit with extra shit on top.
"Oh, yes, yes… about that," Enzo said with a sheepish chuckle, waving his hand in the air. "My assistant was supposed to handle this—mamma mia, you know how they are sometimes! They sent me straight here, said everything was sorted. But, eh, I have the confirmation number right here!"
He patted down the pockets of his coat, suddenly cursing its many folds and linings. Expensive as it was, it wasn't made for quick access. Or rather not made for any kind of work. His fingers finally found the crumpled slip of paper tucked inside. Thank God.
He pulled it out and squinted at the barely legible scribbles.
"A34—uh… let me just..." he mumbled, clearing his throat as he handed the paper to the receptionist.
The man accepted it with a slight raise of his brow, his eyes darting between the paper and the screen. The silence that followed was excruciating. Enzo stood there, hands clasped behind his back, trying to appear casual. The seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity, punctuated only by the faint tapping of keys.
Finally, the receptionist nodded, his smile widening. "Hmm… Mr. Rinaldi, it seems we have your booking for the Dolce Vita Suite."
Enzo let out a slow, deliberate breath, his shoulders relaxing as relief washed over him. "Of course, nothing but the best. A man must treat himself, right? Oh, and I'll need someone to handle my luggage. Heavy bags, you know? Business trips—molto stress!" He chuckled, running a hand through his hair.
The receptionist's eyes lingered on him for a beat too long, his smile still unfaltering. "Absolutely, sir. One moment while I finalize everything for you."
Enzo leaned on the counter, though his palms were sweating. "Grazie… Take your time!" His heart pounded as he watched the receptionist pick up the phone, speaking softly into the receiver.
Within moments, a young man appeared, dressed impeccably and sporting the same unnervingly perfect smile. Enzo followed him through the lavish lobby, his eyes darting around at the glistening chandeliers and polished marble floors.
But despite his nerves, he couldn't help but smirk. Dolce Vita Suite, he thought, his chest puffing out a little. Not bad for a guy who doesn't even own this coat.