Maybe the fact that he hadn’t proposed when she needed him to meant that he wasn’t the one after all. Maybe Mr. Perfect wasn’t her Mr. Right, and she’d only thought so because he was such a good guy. But being a good guy and being the right guy might be two different things. The one time she really needed him to come through for her, to do the right thing, was the one time he hadn’t. How much longer could she wait? If he wasn’t the one, she needed to let him go and start looking.
He could be the most perfect guy on earth, the Second Coming himself, but if he wouldn’t propose to her, she couldn’t wait forever.
“Is there anything you wanted to say before we hang up?” she asked, wanting to reach through the screen and shake some sense into him. Why didn’t he want to marry her? She had waited so long. One third of her life had been spent as his girlfriend. She didn’t want to make it half her life as a girlfriend. She was ready to be a fiancé.
“Have fun,” Weston said. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
This conversation was supposed to bring them closer, to give them a chance to reconnect. Talking face to face, being able to read his expressions, always made her feel better. But this time, it didn’t. She only felt more frustrated than before. All the perfection in the world couldn’t make up for this torment. She already knew she wasn’t the perfect girlfriend. No matter how hard she tried, she never would be. But that didn’t mean she didn’t deserve a ring, didn’t deserve happiness. Being his girlfriend forever, with a promise of someday, had worn her too thin. She’d been waiting for someday for three years now, and it never came. Maybe it never would. And someday just wasn’t enough for her anymore.
Chapter Eleven
“How was your date?” Kristina asked when they sat down in class the next day. Maggie had gone to bed before Kristina got back from hanging out with Armani the night before, and she’d slept late that morning.
“It was…weird,” Maggie said, pulling out her tablet to take notes.
“Weston is anything but weird,” Cynthia said.
“It’s not that,” Maggie said. “He’s not weird. I think it’s me.”
“You’re not weird,” Kristina said. “Trust me. She’s weird.” She nodded at Rory, who had come to class wearing overalls. She scampered down the aisle and sat behind Maggie.
“I think…maybe we’re growing apart,” Maggie said.
“You and Weston?” Cynthia asked. “That’s not possible. You’re like, surgically attached. I’m sure it’s just the distance.”
“It’s that, too,” Maggie said. “But it’s also…I don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve been waiting for years. I’m tired of being the accommodating Asian girlfriend. I don’t want to keep waiting and wasting time. I could be finding someone who does want to be with me forever.”
“Like Enzo?” Kristina asked with her big goofy grin.
“Not like Enzo,” Maggie said, but she could feel sweat breaking out on her forehead. “He’s too…too much.”
“Awww, don’t say that,” Kristina said. “He’s Italian. They are different about showing their emotions. I think it’s romantic.”
Cynthia sighed. “It is. I want an Armani of my own.”
“I told you I’d set you up with someone for Friday night,” Kristina said. “But Nick’s not going to like it.”
“I talked to him,” Cynthia protested. “He’s fine with it.”
“Of course he’s going to say that,” Kristina said. “He can’t risk his pride.”
“He’s not like that.”
“All guys are like that,” Kristina said. “And girls. We all have egos.”
“Well, my ego needs a hot Italian to stroke it,” Cynthia said with a wicked grin. “And maybe something else besides my ego, if all goes well.”
One of the Italian professors shushed them and started his lecture on the Roman forums, which they were going to see on Thursday. Maggie took notes, blocking out the conversation that Kristina and Rory had struck up. At least they were finally getting along.
Notetaking always calmed Maggie. She outlined ahead of time, making bullet points and numbers, lining everything up for perfect notes. Kristina always made fun of her, but she’d appreciate it later, when she realized she’d missed big chunks of information while she’d been talking.
“So are you coming with us?” Kristina asked. “Armani’s taking us to the coolest club on Friday. He already told me about it. I can get Enzo to come…”
“Please don’t,” Maggie muttered. “I have enough on my mind without adding him to the mix.”
“So he has been on your mind,” Kristina squealed, drawing a frown from Professor Cucci. “I knew it. I knew that even a kiss couldn’t be meaningless for you.”
“You kissed someone else?” Cynthia asked, her eyes widening.
“If my lecture is not important to you, feel free to leave,” Professor Cucci said. “Please. Go right ahead.”
Maggie ducked her head and scribbled in the notes, furious that she’d missed something. She refused to turn back to the girls, even when Cynthia hissed, “I can’t believe you kissed Enzo!”
That Friday night, when they met up with the Armani, he had his friends with him—including Enzo.
Maggie immediately turned to Rory and Ned, who had joined them this time. “Did you bring your camera?” she asked.
“Not this time,” Rory said. “I thought, you know, I might not want it getting in the way if we’re dancing.”
“Dancing and me do not mix,” Ned said. “But I’d be happy to watch.”
“Hello, my hot and beautiful friend,” Enzo said, sliding an arm around Maggie and giving her behind a squeeze that was definitely more than friendly.
“Hey,” she said, suddenly finding herself a bit short of breath.
“I can’t wait to dance with you again,” Enzo said, nuzzling her neck.
“As friends this time.”
“Of course, my sweet.”
Weston always called her sweetheart, but he didn’t say it like this. When Enzo said it, it sounded almost dirty. Every word that came out of his obscenely full lips dripped with sex. It made her supremely uncomfortable. She sidestepped out of his reach and smoothed her lips together. She’d snuck a little of Kristina’s lipstick, not wanting her to make a big fuss about it if Maggie admitted she wanted to look nice.
“Maybe tonight, I get more than a kiss,” Enzo said.
“Don’t count on it.”
“Would this boyfriend of yours be very mad?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, he would.”
“That’s too bad,” Enzo said. “I don’t think he realizes what a lucky man he is.”
“Try telling him that,” Maggie muttered.
“If he doesn’t treat you right, I will,” Enzo said. “You tell me, and I’ll show you what it’s like to be with a real man.”
“I think Weston is a real man. But thanks.” They headed for a tall building, from which Maggie could see colored lights flashing in an upstairs window.
“Weston? What kind of name is this? That is not the name of a real man. Let me take you out, I’ll show you how a real man treats you. If it’s not better than him, I will leave you alone. But I think you should give me a chance.”
“From everything that’s come out of your mouth up until now, I can pretty well guarantee that you’re not the kind of guy I go out with.”
“What kind of guy is that? You don’t like real men?”
“I like gentlemen.”
“Just let me have one chance. You let me choose what we do, and I promise, you won’t regret it.”
“I usually pick what we do.”
“Of course you do,” he said. “Your boyfriend’s name is Weston. I’ll take you out tomorrow.”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “But thanks.”
“I’m a patient man,” he said. “You tell me when you change your mind.”
“Not happening.”
They arrived at t
he club, a monstrosity with several different levels. Dance music throbbed through the place, and strobe lights flashed incessantly. Inside, Kristina and Armani melted into the crowd of dancers, along with Cynthia and Armani’s other friend. Nick and Ned went to the bar, leaving Rory, Maggie, and Enzo.
“Want to dance, ladies?” Enzo yelled above the music. “I wouldn’t mind having two beautiful ladies on my arm tonight.”
Rory’s giddy grin made Maggie reconsider Enzo. He wasn’t so bad looking. He was no Weston, with his chiseled features and perfectly proportioned body. He was a little soft in the middle, and his face was too angular to be really handsome. But his stubble gave his face some definition and masculinity, and overall, he wasn’t terribly unattractive. He slid an arm around Rory and one around Maggie and pulled them closer, pushing a thigh between each of their legs.
Maggie started to protest, since she’d worn a skirt—knee length, thank you very much—but then she stopped. Surprisingly, Rory had become someone else, like she was behind the camera. Only this time, the someone else was a giggly girl who seemed to have no objection to grinding with a random stranger in a nightclub. Maggie was a bit shocked. Ned was right there! She wouldn’t have thought Rory would be so scandalous.
Enzo’s hand slid from her waist down to her bottom, which he gave a hearty squeeze. “I like this skirt,” he said, using his hold to rock her hips against his thigh even harder. “I can feel everything through it.”
“Stop it,” she protested, pushing at his chest. But he only laughed and continued holding her tight against him while he pressed his thigh rhythmically between her legs. She finally stopped fighting it and let him rub against her to his heart’s content. Rory was having fun, and her boyfriend was right there, so why shouldn’t Maggie? If it was something objectionable, wouldn’t Ned have cut in?
After a long time, they went to get drinks at the bar. Maggie’s thin skirt and t-shirt were soaked through with sweat in places, and Enzo was even sweatier. Rory was laughing, glowing, as they stepped up to the bar and ordered waters. Enzo handed them shots as well, and after seeing Rory take hers, Maggie did as well. After all, Rory was a huge germophobe, and if she didn’t mind taking a shot, it must be okay. She had friends there to look out for her, and she’d seen that the bartender didn’t slip anything extra in the shot glass.
Ned and Nick came over to join them, and Ned insisted on buying another round of shots. Maggie liked Jagermeister, so she didn’t resist too much when Enzo insisted she take another one. She could already feel it relaxing her, making her slurry and loose-limbed. She thought she must look how Kristina did all the time—a bit sloppy in her movements, a bit clumsy, but cute anyway.
They went to the next story of the club, which was playing a different kind of music and had different décor, but was otherwise pretty much the same. It wasn’t that much different than a club in Arkansas, which struck Maggie as funny, and she started laughing. Enzo spun her around and grabbed her hips, pressing them back into his own. Maggie giggled in surprise but moved her own body a little more than she had downstairs. She felt clumsy, like she must be doing it wrong. She liked dancing at home, but she usually danced in a group with her girl friends.
Enzo slid his hand around her, spreading his palm across her belly, pulling her tighter to him. She could feel him against her backside, a ridge of desire. This guy wanted her. This guy wasn’t waiting seven years to tell her. This guy had already kissed her instead of waiting for an entire year after asking her out the first time.
That’s how long it had taken Weston to work up the nerve to kiss her. It had been the sweetest kiss, though. Shy, hesitant, and super soft. She could still remember peeking and seeing his blonde lashes dusting his cheeks, their soft curve cradled against his soft skin. It had only lasted a few seconds, but it had made her heart beat so hard she thought she’d faint. It had taken him another month to work up the nerve to do it again.
Enzo didn’t waste any time. His hand was slowly but surely traveling south. She thought maybe she should do something about it, but she didn’t. Not yet. It was still somewhere in the acceptable area. Until…it wasn’t. Suddenly it was nowhere near the appropriate level, cupping the front instead of the back.
She gasped and pulled at his wrist, but he resisted her grip, kneading his fingers against her. “Don’t worry, no one is paying attention,” he said into her ear. “And you’re as excited as I am. I can feel it.”
Finally she twisted from his grasp. Reeling and out of breath, she darted through the crowd and found her way to the bar. What was wrong with her? Why was she letting this guy manhandle her this way? She was furious, and humiliated, and yet, he was right. Against all her better judgement and without any rationale, she was infuriatingly turned on by his advances, unable to resist his vision of her as irresistible.
Had Weston ever seen her that way? If he had, he wouldn’t have waited a whole year to kiss her. He wouldn’t have waited seven years and still not be ready to propose. He would have grabbed her and never let her go, just like Enzo was trying to do. If she let Enzo grab her, would he ever let her go? Would she want him to? She knew that she loved Weston still, that if she had to end things with him, it wouldn’t just break her heart, it would tear it right out of her chest. But was it better to do it now, to rip off the bandage all at once, instead of letting her heart continue breaking slowly, more and more with each year that passed without a ring?
Chapter Twelve
The next day, Kristina and Armani went out to spend the day together. Maggie did homework, took a nap, and helped Mary make dinner. She felt strangely absent, like an alternate, dream version of herself was participating while the real Maggie was somewhere else. But where that somewhere was, she didn’t know.
She tried to talk to Kristina about it that night, when she got home from her day with Armani, her hair tangled and wild, her moony smile looping all over the room. She looked as dreamy as Maggie felt, but in a good way.
“What’s to debate over?” she asked. “Enzo is here, he’s hot and Italian and madly in lust with you. Let it carry you where it will. Trust me, it’s worth it.”
“That’s what he said.”
“And I’m saying the same thing, and since I’m your best friend and would never lead you wrong, you should listen.”
“But I’ve been with Weston forever.”
“Which is way too long. You’re young and hot. Embrace it. Flaunt it. Have fun with it. It won’t last forever.”
“If we get married it will,” Maggie said. “That’s the point.”
“Well, I don’t see a ring. You’ve been patient, you’ve waited, and he didn’t do what he was supposed to do. Why don’t you show him what he’ll be missing if he doesn’t hurry up and, excuse me for quoting Beyoncé, ‘put a ring on it.’”
“What do you want me to do? Try to make him jealous?”
“No, forget him. You’re not doing this for him. You’re doing it for you. Because you deserve it. I’m having so much fun with Armani, Maggie. I think I might be in love.”
“You just met.”
“I know,” Kristina said, shrugging with a huge grin on her face. “It’s amazing. He’s amazing. I wish you’d forget that boring old ball and chain at home and come have fun with me. It’s the perfect way to take your mind off the breakup and move on. And I would know. It’s like a fairytale come true.”
“Yeah, but fairytales aren’t real,” Maggie said. “I want the real thing.”
“And what’s more real than a guy who you just can’t get enough of? Who you want to just—God—rip his clothes off and devour him the second you see him.”
“I don’t know,” Maggie said. “I’ve never felt that way.”
“Well, Enzo feels that way about you,” Kristina said. “It’s the real thing for him. Does Weston make you feel that way? Do you make him feel that way?”
Maggie paused and picked at her split ends. “No,” she admitted at last.
“Then take it w
hile you can,” Kristina said. “Who knows if you’ll get the chance again. It doesn’t happen with every guy—as you know. And you deserve to have that at least once, especially if you’re going to marry Weston.”
On Sunday, they went to the Vatican and toured the Sistine Chapel, so she had plenty to keep her mind occupied. As she attempted to capture the beauty of Michelangelo’s famous ceiling, she scooted up next to Rory, who was shooting with her real camera. “Did you get it?” she asked.
“Hard to tell,” Business Rory said. “It’s so big. You can’t get the whole thing at once, you know?”
“Yeah,” Maggie said. “Sometimes when I try to take pictures, I just kind of miss what I’m taking pictures of. You know what I mean?”
Rory’s fingers hesitated above the shutter button. “No,” she said. “I never feel that way. I could stand here all day taking pictures and never have enough.”
Maggie shrugged. “Must just be me. Probably why I’m not a photographer like you.”
She wandered through, looking up at the ceiling until her neck hurt. She loved art, though she’d never been the creative sort. Maybe that was part of the appeal. She couldn’t imagine having the patience or imagination to do something like that. Michelangelo had spent years including every detail. She wondered if he’d ever gotten sick of it, gotten so bored he hated it.
“We should go to Florence and see his David,” she said to Rory.
“Would you really?” Rory asked. “I’d love to go!”
“Of course,” Maggie said. “We’re in Italy. Who knows if we’ll ever be back? And it’s not that far away. Italy is like a state in America. It probably only takes a couple hours from here.”
“I’ve been dying to go there, and to Venice,” Rory said. “But all y’all seemed happy to stay in Rome.”
“Why don’t you have Ned take you?”
“He offered,” Rory said, her neck beginning to redden. “But then I thought, what if he thinks it’s an overnight trip…and we’d be there by ourselves…”
When in Rome...Break His Heart Page 7
