“Man, this is hard to hear. Thank you for your honesty, Soph. I think I need to have some time to think all this through.”
We end our phone call with me promising to call her soon to tell her how I’m feeling. Maybe I should have gone back to Michigan after the hospital? I wouldn’t be sitting here so confused if I didn’t know any of this happened in the first place. But that would be quitting, and I am not a quitter.
I don’t know why I’ve never looked at this situation from a business perspective. What would I tell one of my employees if they came into my office bitching about some gossip? I wouldn’t stand for that one bit.
I need to figure this out on my own—no friends, no help from anyone who can only confuse me more. Me, myself, and I. And if I don’t get my memories back, I’ll have a set of brand new ones. Also, no more little pity parties. I can’t feel bad that this happened to me; I can only look forward. I’m going to start fresh in Italy, except keep my fun job at Stella’s, and see what happens. A clean slate with everyone—including Leonardo.
Was Sophie calling him ‘Leo’? That sounds cute.
After my little self-help intervention I pulled on myself, I decided to hit the gym that Alessandra told me I belong to. If I’m paying for it, I might as well go. I quickly jump back into my regular StairMaster and weight lifting routine—this is something the pre-shooting version of me knows like the back of my hand. I love working out and it feels good to move my muscles after lying in a hospital bed for days! I don’t even want to think about how long I was in that bed for. I’m slower than I’d like but I can’t push my body like normal. I know I need to take it easy for awhile, according to doctor’s orders.
I get through my routine and then hit the showers. So far, so good. No overwhelming feelings of confusion, regret, or longing—everything I experienced before this morning. Before I felt like something was always missing, and since I have let go of the hope of getting my memories back, I don’t have that sense of loss, a loss for the Elena who first came to Italy.
I step outside the gym and take in my surroundings. Even though it’s a big city, I still feel it has a romantic and intimate vibe. I look next to the gym towards a small square—tables are setup, and at each one I see couples holding hands and looking at each other with adoring eyes. From the small cars always whipping around in a hurry to the historic ruins—I can’t help but to love this place.
I have no plans for the day and I don’t have to be at the caffé until the evening shift for our first poetry night—which Marco told me was an idea I was putting together before the shooting.
With time to kill, I hit the streets and just explore. I avoid the main tourist traps and instead stick to the neighborhoods near the gym. I walk up and down street after street, taking in the sights of the families going about their daily lives, the smells of homemade pasta and bread behind the colorful doors, and the rows of houses stacked on top of each other on cobblestone streets.
I feel like I’ve been walking for hours but it couldn’t have been that long, and I’m now at my apartment. I step up the winding stairs to see a ton of brown boxes cluttering the path to my floor. Spotting two guys carrying a huge couch up the stairs into the apartment directly across the hall from my own.
The guys have disappeared into the apartment with the couch now, giving me the perfect opportunity to slip into mine without disrupting them. I try to side step around all of the boxes and just when I’ve made it to my door, one of the guys comes flying out of his apartment and bumps right into me! I fall off balance but before I hit the ground, he grabs me, and I find myself staring up into a pair of chestnut eyes in the arms of a strange man.
“I am so sorry!” he says in an American accent. His friend, who is standing in the doorway, laughs at the sight of us.
“That’s an easy way to meet the neighbors I guess!” his friend says, still laughing and now picking up some of the boxes I tripped over.
I notice I’m still in his arms so I pull back and straighten myself out. “I’m Brian,” the guy who ran into me says as he extends his hand.
“Elena. It’s nice meeting you,” I say, shaking his hand and Troy’s, who I learn is his friend helping him move in.
“Are you American?” I ask, being a little bit nosy.
“Yep, we’re from Florida. I was just relocated here for work,” Brian says as I study him. He’s very good looking—a few inches taller than me, probably 5’9” with blond hair, brown eyes and a dazzling white Hollywood smile. His friend, Troy, is around the same height with blond hair and blue eyes.
I let them know that I’m from Michigan and working in a local coffee shop not too far from our apartment building. And unlike the former me, who kept my successful company in Michigan a secret, I tell Troy and Brian what I do back home. Surprisingly, Troy says he’s seen me on the cover of Forbes in their ‘30 under 30’ issue and has heard of Rock Star Media—he is in marketing too.
Brian lets me know that he’s a magazine photographer here on assignment. He’s appointed to Rome and many of the surrounding areas in Italy—so he’ll be traveling around the country a lot.
I decide to take the lead this time.
“I’m not sure if you guys would be into this but there’s a poetry night at the coffee shop I work at tonight. If you don’t care about poetry I can at least promise you some delicious desserts and coffee!”
They seem like good guys and the idea of making friends with people who know nothing about me before the shooting excites me. It’s a fresh start.
“We’d love to!” Brian says as Troy eyes him with a smirk.
“We don’t know shit about poetry, but we love to eat,” Troy adds.
I give them the address and excuse myself to get ready for work while they clean up the giant mess in the hallway and down the stairs.
Even though I have no memories of organizing poetry night, I’m still a little on edge hoping everything goes smoothly. It’s that obsessive CEO inside of me pushing her way to the surface. I arrive early to the caffé to help Marco setup and take some time to post on the caffé’s brand new social media accounts. I can’t believe this little gem tucked away in the heart of Rome doesn’t have any way to connect with its loyal customers and to make more.
With or without social media, the place is packed tonight! I’m thankful our loyal customers told all their friends to show up. We’ve even had to bring out more fold-up chairs from the back, and the espressos and biscotti are flying off the counter. All of the poets who signed up on our Facebook page have shown up and they’re ready go. I couldn’t be more proud of Stella’s!
While I’m behind the counter waiting on customers, I notice Leonardo walk into the caffé and grab a spot in line. Even with the place as packed as it is, there’s no way to miss his presence. It’s been a few days since we last saw each other, after the blow up in Zio Armando’s restaurant, and I think he’s managed to get better looking in our time apart. Damn him!
He stands taller than the others in line—a good 6’4”—it would be impossible to miss him in any room. I give him a weak smile, feel my cheeks heat up, and then quickly turn around to make the drink order I just took. When Leonardo strolls to the counter, I feel like my heart is in my throat. I have to remind myself that I am starting fresh here in Italy and that includes with him. I hope this isn’t hard for him to take, but he has to understand the confusion I’m going through.
“Ciao Elena, look around,” he says, turning his head to take in all the chaos, “this is all because of your hard work. I’m so proud of you!”
Hearing him say that puts a big smile on my face. In a crazy corporate world, it’s not often that you are complimented—I’m not used to this. Leonardo stands to the side, out of the way, to give more seats to the customers, and I notice him chatting with Marco. When the line shortens, I head to the stage and grab the microphone, tapping it a few times to double check if it’s on.
“Test, test,” I say, hearing my voice project throug
h the caffé and seeing all eyes turn to me. “I guess this thing really is on! I’d like to welcome you all to Stella’s Caffé’s first ever poetry night. You’re all part of this wonderful caffé’s history now. Marco and I are so excited to kick this off, and we hope to make poetry night a regular thing—so plan to come back! Let’s welcome to the stage our first poet, Sabrina Carmelo.”
I walk back to my spot behind the counter, in case anyone needs a last-minute espresso, and notice Brian and Troy walk into the caffé. I’m glad to see my new friends decide to show up! I give them a little wave and Troy grabs a table, while Brian heads towards me with a big smile. I’m sure he’s happy to have a new friend in this new country.
“Ciao,” Brian says in the most American accent you can imagine, making me bust out laughing!
“You’re definitely going to have to work on that if you want to impress the Italian ladies,” I say, winking.
“Who says I wanted to impress any Italian ladies?” he smirks back at me. Our flirting is light-hearted but I feel a pair of emerald eyes staring so intently at me from across the room that I feel like I’m doing something wrong—like I’m cheating on someone whom I have no memories of being with. But you aren’t cheating! Even with my own pep talk, it doesn’t feel right to flirt with Leonardo right here.
“So what can I get you?” I ask, trying to quickly change the subject from women to coffee, hoping that Brian doesn’t notice my complete awkwardness.
“I’m not big on coffee, you are going to have to recommend something here.”
“Not big on coffee? Are you serious? Next time you better whisper that sentence. In a place like this you could get seriously hurt.”
I turn around and whip up two mochas with extra whipped cream on top—hoping to trick these good ol’ American boys into loving coffee. Of course, the coffees are on the house. Brian takes his seat back with Troy and I have a minute to myself to enjoy the poems.
The woman on the stage, Sabrina, pours her heart and soul out, and listening to her makes me teary-eyed. Her poem reflects ending a terrible relationship and how it helped her grow into the woman she is today—strong, confident, and in love with someone else. I’m glad she’s found her happily-ever-after despite going through a whole bunch of crap. I think in the past that would have nauseated me—other people finding love—but I’m surprisingly happy for her.
When Sabrina finishes her poems, she gets a huge round of applause and Marco steps up to the microphone to announce the next poet. There’s no one at the register right now, but I remain behind it, wondering if I should go stand by Leonardo in the back or take a seat at the table with my new neighbor. Why am I worried about this? I’m a grown, single woman—I can sit wherever I damn well please!
But first Leonardo needs to know that I’m single. I feel like this isn’t going to be easy.
I look up from where I was pondering this whole stupid debacle and find Leonardo standing right in front of the counter.
“Elena, what has you so deep in thought?”
“I think we need to talk, Leo.”
“Are you okay, cara?”
“Let’s continue this conversation in the back room,” I say as I start to leave my post and walk into the back room where we make all the delicious baked goods—okay where Marco makes them because I have no memories of baking.
As we stand next to each other near the baking tables, I feel the room suddenly get smaller. I need to pull myself together and just do this. I don’t even really know this guy, but I feel like what I’m about to say is heartbreaking.
Leo doesn’t say a word; he’s just waiting for me to break the silence.
“I’m going to be honest with you, I took it really rough when I heard about the model, the cheating, us not being in a true relationship, and just everything that was dropped on me.
“I spoke to Sophie and she told me that I must have gotten over the whole cheating thing because I was madly in love with you and we were together the last she knew—after the scandalous birthday party.
“I spent a lot of time thinking about it, and even though she said that I must have forgiven you, I just can’t go back to that life. I’ve been with cheaters before and it’s devastating to feel like I’m not good enough.
“Also, without my memories, I don’t want to feel like I’m the one on the outside of some big inside joke. It’s causing me anxiety. I have to start fresh here in Italy and I have to be okay with my memories never coming back.”
I take a moment to breath, realizing Leo is now pacing back and forth in front of me. His hands shake and he’s perspiring. When I’m done speaking, he locks eyes with me and runs his fingers through his thick hair with a look of desperation.
“Elena, where do I fall into this ‘starting fresh’ plan?”
“I can’t be your girlfriend, or whatever it is we were trying to be to get my memories back. I’m not strong enough to do this.”
“Please,” he looks back at me like I kicked him, “please don’t do this.”
“Leo,” I say, pacing back and forth, “I can’t change my mind on this. I need to be strong or I’ll go crazy. I’m on the verge of having a panic attack every day, just waiting for someone else to drop a bomb on me.”
“You … the old you … would not want to end this,” he pleads.
“I’m not the old me anymore. We can’t change that. Let’s move past this, please.”
Just then Marco rushes into the back room shouting something about biscotti.
“Elena! I’ve been looking for you for 10 minutes. The poets are taking an intermission and we’ve got a grande line at the counter. I need your help.”
I dash out of the back room quicker than Usain Bolt in the Olympics. I need to get away from Leo before I change my mind and run back into his arms—his huge masculine arms.
The rest of the night is luckily chaotic between poets, customers, and Marco that I don’t have time to worry about continuing my conversation with Leo or worrying about being rude to Brian and Troy.
Saved by the customers!
6
Leonardo
Start fresh. What is this bullshit she’s talking about? How did I let this happen? I lose my mind waiting for her to gain consciousness in the hospital only for her to wake up and have no memories of me, and now after a stupid fight over old bullshit she wants to be single. Fuck that.
I can’t let this happen.
“Signor Forte, you have a call on line two, it’s your mother.”
If this day could get any worse, then it just did.
“Pronto?” I greet my mother, who I haven’t spoken to since Elena was rushed to the hospital. She frantically called me when she got wind of the shooting but didn’t have the correct information. Mama thought I was the one who was shot. When I told her it was Elena, she didn’t seem to care. I hung up after basically telling her to fuck off, something her mama’s boy has never done.
“Leonardo, pronto. I wanted to check on you. How are you doing my boy?”
“Mama, that’s not why you called. Can you get to the point? I have a meeting in 15 minutes.”
“Leonardo, how can you speak like that to me? This is that American girl’s doing. You have never been rude to your mama before.”
“Mama … get to the point or I’m hanging up,” I say, pushing around the files on my desk to find the folders I need for the meeting my mama is surely going to make me show up late to.
“Okay, okay. I’m calling because I need you to come to a foundation meeting tomorrow.”
“I don’t think I can, this is too short notice.”
“I knew you’d say that. I already cleared it with your assistant Natalia last week. You’ll be there.”
Before I can cut my mom off and give her a piece of my mind for going behind my back, she rushes off the phone claiming she has an incoming call.
Now it’s time to let Natalia know she made a grave mistake.
Elena
Brian stops by the caf
fé and sits in one of the cozy chairs near the window, waiting for my shift to end. He said he’d like to check out my gym tonight, and I figure it would be nice to have a buddy. Normally I like to work out alone, except for when I taught kickboxing classes, then the more the merrier. I hope Alessandra is working tonight; I’d like to introduce her to my new friend.
“Aren’t you going to be bored sitting here? I still have about an hour left on the clock,” I say, placing a hot chocolate down on his table. He still isn’t willing to give espresso a try. I don’t blame him; this stuff is strong!
He pulls his laptop out of his black gym bag.
“I’ll catch up on some emails and edit some photos while I wait. It’s no problem. I like it here, it’s comfortable, and there’s great people watching.”
“I agree! Some of these customers are a trip.”
I scan the caffé to see if I can point out my fun regulars, but I come up empty.
“And the owner is easy on the eyes too,” he says, smiling back at me.
“I’ll let Marco know you think that about him,” I say with a playful push on his arm. I notice a customer walking in and I get up from the table heading towards the counter.
“Elena, how are you? I’m so happy you are here!” a tall man with short, dirty blond hair and brown eyes says to me. He’s not one of my regulars and I haven’t met him since the shooting. Who is this guy? Don’t tell me this is another one of Leo’s exes trying to upset me again. I laugh at the idea!
“I’m great. Thanks for asking. But I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Ha ha, real funny. I’m sorry for how we ended things. I didn’t mean to be rude to you in the Milan nightclub. I was really drunk and let’s be honest, you were leading me on.”
Fighting For Mr. Beautiful: Eternal City Love, Book 2 Page 4
