by Gina Azzi
I turn to face him, my eyes widening in surprise when I see how much he’s aged. My papa’s brother was always a handsome man, a natural charmer. Otherwise, how can one explain his years of gambling, cheating, and whoring? But now he looks old, tired, and frail. “What are you doing here?”
He raises his eyebrows, his cold eyes shrewd. “I think the question you should be answering is what are you doing here? This is no longer your home, Enzo; surely Rafaello passed along that bit of knowledge when you met with him, hmm?” He raises his eyebrows in question.
How the fuck does he know I met with Rafaello? I keep my face smooth, giving nothing away. He could be bluffing.
“Is that why that beautiful girl left here in tears?” he asks. “Did she find out that you’re not actually worth all of this?” He holds his arms out widely, looking around the massive room.
When the fuck did he see Mia? And how did he connect her to me? No, he knows nothing. Don’t give him anything to use against you, Enzo.
I ignore him. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, Benito, but you’re not going to win. I don’t know how you managed to change Papa’s mind and sneak your way into his will, but I will not let you destroy what took him a lifetime to build. I will not let you destroy his legacy.”
He laughs quietly, the sound cold and calculating. “Ah, Enzo, but there is nothing you can do about it. It’s all quite clear. Please, tell Elenora to stop avoiding my calls. The sooner we sort out Salvatore’s will, his last wishes, the easier it will be for her in the long term. Financially and in other areas.”
“What does that mean?” Damn it, don’t take the bait!
Benito looks at me and shakes his head sadly. “You really know nothing, Enzo. Such a shame.” He clucks his tongue. “Salvatore’s son. You could have been something.” He gestures to my frame. “Instead, he spoiled you, indulged you too much. Let you grow up into nothing but a shadow of the man he was at your age.”
I grit my teeth, biting down on my tongue so hard that I taste blood. Metallic like rust. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, coming back to Rome, meeting up with Gianni Costenzo, avoiding all the people you owe money to. But whatever it is, it’s on you. Don’t you dare think about dragging my papa’s reputation through the mud, tainting his name with yours. Don’t for one second think that I will let you hurt Mama and Claudia.”
“Is that all?”
I remain silent.
Benito smiles. “Well, at least Salvatore taught you how to hold your tongue, eh?” Before he turns away he calls out, “Good morning, sleeping beauty. I know you’re here so you may as well come out and kiss your uncle hello.”
Claudia wears a guilty expression as she saunters into the doorway. “Uncle.”
He turns to her, warmly kissing her forehead. “As beautiful and radiant as ever, cara.”
She looks at me over his shoulder, her face blank.
“Now, I really must be going, since it seems you aren’t even going to invite me for an espresso.”
Neither Claudia nor I say a word.
“So be it. Until next time.” Benito waves his hand and places a hat securely on his head.
“And, Enzo, it really is chilly this morning. Next time you have a girlfriend leave you, the least you can do is make sure she is properly dressed.”
Claudia’s eyes widen. I glare at Benito.
He laughs cheerily, clapping his hands together as he strolls out of the house, closing the door behind him.
Then I put my fist through another wall.
* * *
“Where did she go? What happened?” Claudia asks me quietly on the way back to Rome. She looks at me but I can’t read her expression with her dark sunglasses hiding her eyes.
I shrug. “Don’t want to talk about.”
“Oh, come on, Enzo. Maybe I can help.”
“Doubt it.”
Claudia huffs. She crosses her arms across her chest, her brightly polished fingernails tapping her arm in frustration. She looks out the window.
The car becomes deafeningly quiet, and I cringe, not liking this icy space between Claudia and me, even though it was here for years before slowly melting over the past few months.
“Fine.” I slam the heel of my hand against the steering wheel. I breathe out slowly. How much to reveal? I don’t want to betray Mia, even though she did leave my house without as much as a goodbye. Do I even owe her anything? I mean, who does that? Well, besides me with annoying women who expect fucking cuddles and an espresso in the morning.
Claudia waits me out.
“I saw her.” I pause. “She did something and I got angry, yelled at her a bit. She took off.” I look over at Claudia.
Thick, perfectly shaped eyebrows raise above her Versace frames. “Hence the hole in the bathroom.”
I narrow my eyes at her and turn my attention back to the road.
Claudia sighs heavily. “I’m sorry, Enzo. I really did like her. And I honestly would never expect this type of behavior from her. So who was it?”
“Who was what?”
Claudia laughs. “It’s sweet that you’re trying to protect her, even now, after everything.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Which one of your friends did she fuck?”
I brake so hard that both our necks strain against the seatbelts before slamming into the headrests. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“Whoa.” Claudia breathes out shakily, one hand pressed against her heart. “Are you crazy? You scared the shit out of me!” she yells, punching me hard in the arm.
“What did you just say?” I whisper menacingly.
“Who did she sleep with?”
“No one!” I roar. “That’s what you thought? That my girlfr— that Mia hooked up with someone last night?”
Claudia pushes her sunglasses on top of her head, her eyes flashing. “What else did you see that got you so mad that you put your hand through a wall?”
I punch the steering wheel again, pain traveling up my arm from my knuckle on my ring finger. I think it’s broken. “She … Mia … she was throwing up.”
“Okay,” Claudia says slowly, as if she’s afraid to startle me. “So you’re angry because she drank too much and got sick?”
“What? No! She was making herself throw up, on purpose.” It comes out on an exhale, a secret leaked in the confines of the car.
Claudia’s eyes widen as she finally puts all the pieces together. “Jesus.” She whispers. “Enzo, that’s serious.” Claudia slinks down in her seat. “Poor Mia, she must have been so scared, so embarrassed when you saw her like that. You need to talk to her, Enzo. She needs help, guidance. She needs support. Not your temper.” She looks over at me. “This is important.”
I nod in agreement, knowing Claudia is right. I could curse myself for the way I handled things this morning, for the way I yelled at Mia, embarrassed her, forced her to shut me out. Fuck. Easing my foot off the clutch as I switch gears, we resume our ride in silence. But this time it’s a comfortable quiet.
Chapter Forty-Six
Mia
“We should talk.” Words that no girl ever wants to hear. Never ever. Particularly me. Especially in this moment.
I’ve been avoiding Lorenzo for nearly a week, ignoring his calls, not responding to his messages, giving up my study spot, even changing the route I take to school. How could I face him after everything he saw? I still can’t believe he’s here, standing in front of me, just inside the green door of Paola and Gianluca’s apartment. I watch as he shuffles his feet uncertainly. I guess I should just be grateful that no one else is home in this moment. No one is here to witness this devastating and embarrassing showdown. Well, there is that silver lining at least.
“Look, I know you’ve been avoiding Angelina’s.” Lorenzo tries again.
I should invite him in, shouldn’t I? You’re not supposed to have these serious, life-altering conversations on a doorstep, are you? Lila would k
now exactly how to handle this situation. I should have talked to her, but then I would have to tell her everything. Lila and Emma and Maura. Oh God, what are they all going to think of me?
“Mia.” Lorenzo’s knees bend a little, and I can tell he’s trying to lower himself in order to force me to make eye contact.
Why is this so hard?
And excruciatingly embarrassing?
Why is this my life?
Lorenzo sighs loudly. “Can I come in?” he finally asks.
I push the door open wider and step aside, noticing the bright blue laces in his dress shoes as he steps across the threshold and into the apartment.
Instantly I feel like I can’t breathe, as if Lorenzo has sucked all the oxygen from the room. My cheeks are on fire, burning and blushing and sticky hot. I feel my palms grow sweaty. Gah!
“Mia?” Lorenzo is watching me. I feel his gaze strong and steady on the top of my head.
Look up. Don’t look up. Look up. Don’t look up.
And then his shoes … they’re right in front of me.
“Mia.”
His hands, simultaneously rough and soft as they cup my cheeks, gently tug my head up to meet his eyes.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight. In this moment I would rather the floor open up and swallow me whole (why is that not happening?) instead of behold the pity and disgust in a pair of blue eyes that somehow have the ability to see all the way to my soul. To all the ugly bits I keep hidden there.
“Mia, look at me,” Lorenzo says softly. He brings his forehead down to rest against my own. “Mi amore, please.” His voice sounds tortured.
But that word. Amore. Love. Oh my God. He called me his love.
Well, that has my eyes flying open. I stare incredulously as a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. His hands slide down my neck, my shoulders, so slowly. They graze my arms, his long fingers threading through my own. He pulls my arms back with his, nestling our hands into the small of my back. Then he kisses me. And it’s the sweetest, gentlest, most perfect kiss ever.
It’s full of compassion.
And understanding.
And forgiveness.
Lorenzo breaks away first. “We should talk.”
I nod in agreement. I knew this moment was coming. Knew it from the moment his eyes froze in disbelief at seeing me folded over the toilet. The blue of his eyes flat and cold like a lake in winter before transforming into a violent storm of rage and fury.
“I know,” I say instead.
Lorenzo’s mouth is tight as he walks me over to the sofa, and we sit down. He sinks back into the cushions, his arm draped along the back of the sofa, his posture relaxed. He’s not relaxed though. A slight tick is working his jaw, a vein in his forehead throbs, and his right knee bounces lightly.
I perch on the edge of the sofa, ready to spring from the room and lock myself in the bathroom. I think I’m going to be sick. And this time, it won’t even be on purpose. I swallow. It’s like pouring mud down a drain.
Lorenzo breathes out heavily, running a hand through his hair. God, he looks hot when he’s agitated. His jostling knee picks up the pace. “Look, I’m not sure how to start this conversation.” He turns toward me, his blue eyes piercing me with their steady gaze. I’ve never seen him look so serious. “What I saw in Liguria…” he shakes his head “…I’ve never seen anything like that before.” He leans forward and clasps my hand in his own. My hand completely disappears for a moment, and I wish he could cover me whole, erase me completely, absorb me so I cease to exist. “Why Mia?” His voice is gentle, but I detect the unspoken edges, sharp and intense. “Why would you hurt yourself?” He shakes his head again and leans back. “I don’t get it. You’re beautiful. You’re beyond beautiful. You’re fucking perfect. Why would you do something like that to yourself?”
I look down. Why do I do it? It’s been for so long now. The binging and purging, the hiding food, the avoiding food, the obsession with food. Late nights reveling in the angry rumble and ferocious clawing deep in my stomach. Beautiful mornings of light-headed giddiness.
Pure, ethereal, exquisite emptiness.
Self-control. Discipline. Willpower.
Knowing I could do it, I could rule my body and command my mind. Secretly scrutinizing other girls, other dancers. Noting the way their bodies bended gracefully, like a willow tree in spring. As if a gentle breeze stirred them, swayed them softly. Watching the elegant lines of their extended limbs, their flawless turnouts, the way they moved as though on air, floating above the rest of us. I wanted to be like that. I wanted it so bad; the desire to be perfect always tasted way better than any chocolate ever could.
“Answer me, Mia.” Lorenzo’s voice is sharp, his patience waning. “Please, whatever you’re thinking, just tell me.”
“I wanted it too badly,” I finally say.
“Wanted what?” Lorenzo shifts next to me, his face coming into my line of sight. He looks worried, concerned.
I shrug. “I wanted to be the perfect dancer. I wanted to fly across stages around the world, to float on air, to be graceful and limber and so flawless that when you watched me, you wouldn’t be able to tear your eyes away, you wouldn’t be able to blink.” I meet his eyes, a spark igniting low in my stomach. “You don’t understand.”
“So help me understand. I want to understand.” He’s exasperated now, his eyes pleading with me. “I’m sitting here, begging you to tell me, to help me understand why the hell you would do that to yourself when you’re already all of those things! I can’t tear my eyes from you; I am scared to blink when we’re together for fear that I might miss something.”
I shake my head, blinking rapidly, fighting to hold back the tears that start to sting. “I’m not. I’m not any of those things. I’m nothing now.” I gesture toward my knee. “I’ll never be anything worthy of all the effort, the time, the years of commitment. I dedicated my entire life to dance, to being the best, and now…” I shake my head sadly “…I have nothing to show for it except a hideous scar and thighs that rub together when I walk.” I groan, embarrassed for letting that little truth slip out. “It’s disgusting. I’m disgusting! How can you even stand to look at me? To kiss me?” An image of Lorenzo’s face on the dock, the way it felt when he pulled away from me, flashes through my mind. “You can’t! That’s why you turned me down, not once, twice!” I raise my voice, my hands curling into fists. Anger is better than the hurt, the brutal blow of rejection. Good, hold on to that, Mia. Cling to it with both hands and don’t let go.
“Are you fucking serious right now?” Lorenzo springs to his feet, his face beautiful in his outrage. His jaw strains in fury, the lines strong and solid and fierce. If I wasn’t so enamored by him, if I wasn’t so hurt and humiliated, I would let myself be moved by the emotions radiating from him. For someone to get so worked up, to react so strongly, a part of them, however small, must care. Right? I’m beyond hopeless. “Turned you down? Are you crazy?” He swipes a palm over his face and walks away from me.
For a moment, I’m scared he’s going to put his hand through another wall. Except these walls aren’t mine or his, and I silently pray that he doesn’t break anything. His anger is palpable, hanging over us like a storm cloud.
“I would never turn you down.” He finally faces me, his eyes menacing. “Do you have any fucking clue how badly I want you? I told you. I keep telling you. I want it all, Mia. But I want you the right way. Not on some dirty, stained dock in the middle of a tourist trap. Not because you’re scared and want to please me. Not because you need some type of approval from yourself or your friends or whatever the fuck you’re trying to achieve. But because you want me just as much as I want you. Like you can’t catch your next breath if you’re not wrapped around me. Fuck!” He closes his eyes as if in pain. “But you can’t give me half of that, can you?”
Forget about turning the tables on me, he straight up flips them over.
“What do you mean?” I feign confusion, wrinkling my forehead
.
“What do I mean? How can you give yourself to anyone? Even a part of yourself? You’re so wrapped up in your own head. Counting calories or bites or whatever the fuck you do before running off to the bathroom and hurting yourself. Not telling anyone, not letting anyone in on your dirty little secret. You would never ask for help. How can I trust you, when you don’t trust anyone? Tell me, do your friends from home know about this?”
I don’t say anything.
“I didn’t think so.” He laughs, but it rings with cruelty. “You talk about rejection. About me turning you down? About being hurt by me? You’re killing me right now! You’re hurting yourself. And no matter how much I could try to be enough for you, you’re too goddamn empty for anyone to fill. You need to try and help yourself, you need to want it, before anyone else can come close to being enough.”
He’s staring right at me, waiting for a reaction. A response. Something.
Those words, his wrath, the truth, rips into me with fresh waves of pain so strong, I fear I may drown.
And my lifeline, the only thing I cling to, is the emptiness.
“You should go,” I tell him quietly.
He covers his eyes with his hands. “Mia, please. I want to help you. I want to be with you. I’m not giving up and I’m not letting you go. You were honest with me in Liguria, about wanting to be my girlfriend. This is me being honest with you: I still want all of you. I still want this.” He gestures between us, his movements agitated. “Please, let me in. Let me help you. But you need to take the first step, Mia.”
I stare at him, watch his face crumble. Instead, I focus on the toe of his shoe as it taps against the tiles.
“I think it’s best if you leave.”
He nods once, a jerk of his head. Lorenzo stalks to the door, his blue shoelaces flashing, and then he’s gone.
I don’t watch him leave, but I flinch when the door bangs closed behind him.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Lorenzo
When I leave Mia’s, she is sitting, still as a statue. Her face is pale, her eyes are blank. She somehow looks both stricken and at peace. I shake my head as I close the door, a little too firmly, behind me.
