by Remy Rose
Getting undressed in my bedroom, I contemplate this. Even before Carlo entered my life, I had really just been on a treadmill: working at Windswept, waitressing at Tucker's, hanging with Teal once in a while...watching Netflix at night and getting up to do it all over again in an endless string of yesterdays. Going and going, but going nowhere.
Aimless isn’t good. I need direction, and purpose.
I check my naked reflection in the mirror. I’ve lost weight. My belly looks sunken, and I can see hip bones. Now that my summer tan has faded, the color of my hair stands out even more. I pull out my elastic and shake my hair loose, the way Carlo always—
Stop. It doesn’t matter what Carlo liked.
I walk into the bathroom and yank open the shower curtain. There’s a post-it note on the faucet: U R SEXY. Even when Teal isn’t with me, she can still snap me out of a mood. Love her.
Sticking the note on the medicine cabinet, I turn on the shower and hop in, slicking my hair away from my face and enjoying the feel of the water raining down. This is one thing I need to do: be grateful for small things. Find the positive in the negative—maybe even in this whole mess with Carlo. If I try hard enough, maybe I can feel grateful I found out about the game. Because if our relationship had gone on any longer and then ended, it would have hurt more than it does now. If that’s even possible.
I towel off and run a comb through my hair hair before twisting it into a neat, low bun. I’m not really wanting to go into work, but hopefully I’ll make some good tips tonight.
As I’m putting on my waitressing shirt, my phone chimes. A text. My heart flutters in spite of myself, and I hate that I can’t tell if it’s more from hope or dread. I draw in my breath as I go to my nightstand to check the message.
It’s from Carlo.
I need to see you.
Another heart flutter, which feels more like a backflip. God damn him for still having this kind of hold on me. I grit my teeth and text back with angry thumbs. I don't give a fuck what you need. Stop contacting me, and go to hell.
There. I feel triumphant as I toss the phone on the bed and pull on my black pants. Fuck him.
After a few minutes, my phone chimes again.
You don't mean that. And let me make myself clear—I need to see you, and I also need to hold you, kiss you, touch you, and make love to you. I need to show you how much you mean to me.
Instant tears, burning my eyes, as my heart clenches with rage. How dare he do this? He’s fucking with me again. That's all this is. Probably another game. For all I know, he has a bet with someone to see if he can get me back.
I’m not going to waste more than one fucking word on him. I text back, ENOUGH.
I wait, my chest heaving. No response. Good. Maybe the son of a bitch gets it this time. And now, I really need to get to work—keep busy, stay in the present, look toward the future. A future without Carlo Leone.
My damned eyes are still brimming. I blink viciously, walking out of my room to the entryway. There is another note stuck to the door that I didn’t notice when I came in. In block letters, this statement: YOU ARE STRONGER THAN YOU THINK.
I give silent thanks to my best friend as I wrap my mind around those words and cling to them, hard.
chapter seven ~ Carlo
My office door opens. Estelle walks in briskly, carrying a cup of steaming coffee. She places it on my desk and steps back, frowning. Rubbing my eyes, I look up from my computer and manage a grin. “You never bring me coffee, and this is the second time in the past week.”
“I know. I fought it tooth and nail, believe me. But it was apparent you needed it this morning. Don't expect that this will be a regular occurrence, however.” Estelle folds her arms, arching an eyebrow behind her blue glasses. “You're not sleeping well?”
“No.”
“Care to discuss it yet?”
“No.”
“Would you like me to set up an appointment with your doctor? Perhaps he can prescribe something again.”
“No, thanks...trying to ride this one out on my own. And I need to stay clear-headed.” I sip at my coffee.
Estelle sighs, looking down to pick a piece of lint from her skirt. “All right. I suppose that's admirable.” She pauses and her tone gets softer. “Maybe things aren't as dire as they seem, Carlo. The saying 'when life gives you lemons' comes to mind.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Sorry, Estelle, but I'm not tasting any sweetness just yet—only sour.”
“You know I'm here for you.”
“You do realize you've always been the only woman for me, don't you?”
“Thank you. I'll be sure to keep that from Martin. I wouldn't want to make him insanely jealous.”
“I'm guessing Martin isn't the jealous type.”
“Your assumption is correct. He's a wonderful man, in all respects.”
“Including in bed?” I can’t resist.
“I said in all respects. I'll leave that to your vivid imagination. And I'm glad to see that your playful, if not completely inappropriate, banter has resurfaced. Must mean there's hope for you.” Estelle moves to the Boston fern at the window and lifts a frond to inspect it. “Unlike this plant. This is looking rather dreadful again, Carlo.”
“Yes. I'm clearly not cut out to take care of anything.”
“Anything with leaves, yes. You take care of other things just fine.”
“I'm afraid I've fucked up recently, Estelle. In a significant way.”
She glares at me. “You know how I feel about that word, Carlo.”
“I apologize.”
“Accepted. Explain this significant transgression you made.”
“Let's just say I hurt someone.”
“Would this 'someone' happen to have two X chromosomes?”
“Yes.”
“Is your transgression fixable?”
“I don't know. I hope so, but this is a major fuck-up. Ahh, fuck...I said it again. And again...Jesus, I’m sorry.”
Estelle looks at me sternly, her lips twitching. “I would suggest leaving no stone unturned when it comes to matters of the heart, Carlo.”
“I'm not ready to give up, if that's what you mean.”
“I'm glad to hear it. Changing subjects...remember that you have the cigar dinner at Bent Brook this weekend.”
“That's this weekend?” Shit. I’ve gone for the past several years—usually with Brock—but the thought of making inane conversation and listening to lame jokes with a group of inebriated men... I’ll pass. “I'll probably skip it.”
“You had invited David Shillings to join you.”
Fuck. Shillings is a new distributor out of Hartford, still in the corporate wine-and-dine phase. He likes to party, and canceling on him this late isn’t an option.
“All right. I guess I'm going, then. Thanks for the reminder.”
“It might be good for you, to get out. Even in a room filled with carcinogens and a bunch of drunken men in Tommy Bahama casual attire.” She smiles wryly. “I'll be back to water your fern later. Enjoy your coffee, Carlo.”
After Estelle leaves, I lean back in my chair, clasping my hands behind my head. Thank God for her, for her sharp, biting wit that drills through the bullshit and turmoil in my life and pins me solidly down.
So I took care of the Brock situation—that turned out to be the easy part, although I expected to hear something from the former president of Miller Valve. Dall must have been too scared that I’d make good on my threat to sue.
The challenge, of course, is Cassandra. She’s always been a challenge, since the first day we met, but now...there’s no enjoyment or arousal in trying to win her back, because I’ve hurt her so much. There is instead this devastated feeling, gut-wrenching guilt, and stabs of fear.
Unwelcome and unsettling as hell, because it reminds me of another loss.
A shudder takes hold of me. I lean over my desk, clenching my fists. Jesus, I can’t allow myself to get to that point again. I’ll need to be very, ve
ry careful about trying to get Cassandra back. Most of all, I just need to fucking survive.
But Cassandra has made me want to do more than just survive. I want to live, and feel—something that’s been dormant in me for a long time. She doesn’t know how major a change this is for me, because she hasn’t heard everything. God, I need the chance to tell her so that maybe she’ll understand and let me back in.
I told her early on, I always get what I want. I’d gotten myself to a place where I’d been arrogant enough to believe this, and maybe that's what’s lacking now—cockiness, or at least self-confidence.
I need to get that back. It’s what draws women (including Cassandra) to me. It’s like business: you can’t sell what you don’t believe in, and if you don’t believe in it, you sure as fuck have to fake it until you do.
Cassandra might not know what she wants. But I do. I need to be sure enough for both of us. I gave up too easily that last time, when she texted back, Enough. From this point on, I’m going to be fucking relentless, exploring every avenue to make this up to her and win her back.
I’m not going to give up.
The door opens, jumping me. Estelle again, carrying a watering can and a small package sealed with clear tape. “This just came for you.”
“I'm hoping it's not a bomb.”
“That was my first thought.”
There’s no return address. I open my desk drawer and take out a pair of scissors, slicing the tape and opening the package. Inside are two small jewelry boxes: Tiffany's, and Nordstrom's.
Ahh, fuck.
Estelle, busying herself with watering the Boston fern, speaks in a light, casual tone. “A gift?”
“A returned gift.”
No note, which is a message in and of itself—just the necklace, bracelet and earrings I gave Cassandra the night of Gianna’s engagement party. I’m remembering how good the pendant looked against her skin, hanging inches above the sexy shadow between her breasts. God, she was stunning that night. There was tenderness between us. And I had made her laugh.
But now...the jewelry is dull, meaningless. Cassandra was what made it so beautiful.
“Carlo.” Estelle's firm but gentle voice brings me back into the moment. “You've tasted bitter. Now find the sweet.”
I look up at her and nod. She knows as well as I do that there’s no other choice.
chapter eight ~ Cassandra
“You need to make a list,” Allison tells me, her face glistening with a sheen of sweat as we roll silverware in the break room.
“A list?”
“Yeah. A list of things you want to accomplish. It'll put you in a good frame of mind. You know, to stay positive.”
I take a long drink from the straw in my pitcher of ice water. “That sounds like a good idea. I feel like I've been just kind of drifting and need a focus.”
“So you and the Italian Stallion are definitely over.”
“Yes.”
“Your face just changed when you said that, sweetie.”
“Well, it's hard, I'll admit it. I had really started to—care for him.”
“I know. I could tell. Maybe the more you say that it's over, the more you'll believe it yourself.” Allison's eyes soften. “At least that's the theory, anyway. And I honestly don't blame you a bit—if he betrayed your trust like you said, you can't have that. I've been there, honey, and I know how much it hurts. You're worth more than that. I'm just sorry it didn't work out...you'd light up whenever he was in here and when you'd talk about him—it seemed like you two had something special.”
I pick up a fork and knife, laying it on a napkin. “It sucks that just when I was ready to admit I had feelings for him, it went all to hell. But I'm going to move on. I have to. Maybe we can come up with a few things for my list before our break ends.”
“Okay. What sort of goals do you have for yourself, like personally?”
“Um...well, since I can't make myself develop amnesia, I guess I'd say I can learn from this, and move on with my life.”
“And what did you learn? Besides that David Gandy has a twin, and Italian men are smokin'.”
“Besides that, I learned that I was willing to take risks...like in the romance department. He—he was able to get me to be more open to things. He awakened something in me that I didn't know was there.” I feel myself blush at Allison's raised eyebrows. But still, I want to be honest. “I was also willing to take a risk with my heart. Which I hadn't dared to do in a long time. And even though this hurts like hell, and it's so goddamned hard, I feel like I can get through it, and will come out stronger.”
“Girl, I'm impressed! Do you really think that?”
“Honestly? Most of the time, no. But just saying it makes me feel—I don't know...empowered, I guess.”
“Empowered is good! Empowered is awesome, actually. What else do you have for goals?”
“I want to take charge of my life. Be a stronger person. Make more friends...do more fun things.”
“This is a great start.” Allison beams, reaching out to squeeze my arm. “I'm proud of you, doll. Sorry if I sound more like your mom than your fat waitress friend, but I feel the need to mother someone since lately, my frigging kids aren't letting me.”
I burst into laughter. “First of all, you're not fat, and second of all...I appreciate you helping me, Al. It's times like these that I really miss my mom.” My throat thickens, and God, how I do miss her.
Allison's face crumples in sympathy. “Oh, sweetheart—come here.” She envelopes me in a bear hug, and even though the tears rush to my eyes, it feels good because I can pretend it’s my mother.
“Hey...I don't want to interrupt this tender Hallmark moment, but a big party of bowlers just came in.” Bruce leans against the door frame of the break room, his gray hair in its usual state of disarray, a perpetual frown on his face. Even though he looks pissed ninety-nine percent of the time, he’s a big teddy bear underneath.
“Just some girl talk, Brucie.” Allison gives me a loud kiss on the cheek before letting me go. I smooth my hair bun and retie my apron. I know myself enough to realize it’s good to let out my emotions once in a while, like a pressure cooker needs to release steam—but for now, I need to put a lid on it and do my job.
Bruce's pale blue eyes are fixed on me as I walk out. “You okay?”
“I will be.”
“Yes, she will,” Allison says firmly, patting Bruce's ample belly as she follows me into the restaurant.
The bowlers are taking up a good deal of the red room. Kelly and Meagan, the other waitresses, are starting to take drink orders.
“I'll help out with the pinheads here,” Allison tells me. “Why don't you go check out the jukebox section?”
“Okay.” I take my pad and pen from my apron pocket and head to the front of the restaurant. An older couple is sitting in the corner booth, their menus pushed to the edge of the table in the classic we're ready to order signal. The white-haired man facing me looks familiar, and he wrinkles his brow like he’s trying to figure out who I am as I approach. Smiling, I start to greet them—and then draw in my breath when I realize who they are.
“Cassandra,” Carlo's secretary says, a look of surprised pleasure on her face. “How nice to see you.”
“Estelle! And Martin. How are you?”
Martin is looking from me to Estelle, a confused smile on his ruddy face. He doesn't know who I am. And how am I supposed to explain it?
Estelle saves me. “We're doing well, thank you. Martin, you remember Cassandra—she was Carlo's date at Gianna's engagement party.”
There. That’s harmless enough.
“Oh! Knew I'd seen this lovely girl, just couldn't place her.” He smiles broadly, extending a hand for me to shake.
“How have you been?” Estelle's expression is bright, but her eyes are veiled with concern.
So she knows something. I can’t be sure what Carlo told her, but I’m thinking it was the minimum, given how private he is. And since it
was he who caused all of this.
“I've been fine, thank you.” Good. I sound strong, cheerful. I take their drink order and walk away to get it, glad I can act like nothing’s wrong.
Allison smiles at me as we cross paths near the bar. “Doing okay, honey?”
“Yes...I guess. I'm actually waiting on Carlo's secretary and her date.”
“Ooh, seriously? Is that awkward?”
“Not bad. She's so kind...I really like her, and I think she might know something. She looks like she feels sorry.”
Ugh—something just occurs to me. Did Carlo send Estelle to check up on me? Doubtful. I need to stop being paranoid. Estelle doesn’t seem the spy-and-report-back type, and she did act genuinely surprised to see me.
Allison shifts the tray on her shoulder. “Well, hopefully she'll tell the Italian that you're doing just fine without him.” She leans in, lowering her voice. “I wish you could somehow find out how he is.”
I raise my chin. “I don't care, remember?”
“Shit, sorry...lost my head there for a sec. You're absolutely right. It's over. Forget I said that—guess I'm just a little curious. We need to focus on your list...maybe work on it at the end of the night. Come up with some professional goals for you. 'Cause there's no way in hell you want to end up like me, working here for the rest of your life.”
“Agreed. But no offense.”
When I bring Estelle and Martin's check to them at the end of their meal, Estelle smiles and reaches out to squeeze my hand. “Thank you for your wonderful service. It was so nice to see you.”
“Likewise.” I hold her gaze longer than I mean to, feeling a current of understanding flowing between us until I’m dangerously close to tears. I say goodbye to the two of them and wait till they leave to go back and clear their table. They left me a very generous tip. And something else.
A note on a napkin, written with a pen in elegant handwriting:He misses you.
chapter nine ~ Carlo
Cassandra sent back the jewelry I gave her, so I’m not going that route. And she’s made it very clear that she isn’t into material things.
