Whilst I hadn’t quite worked out exactly what I was going to do on this trip and was apprehensive about being completely solo this time around, I’d have been disappointed with myself if I’d just sat at home. That would be giving Lorenzo too much power and letting him control my life, and I’d already done enough of that by waiting for his messages. As everything was already paid for, I had nothing to lose by being here, but potentially lots to gain. Who knows? I might even have a good time. I had zero expectations, so any enjoyment I got to experience will be a bonus. In honour of MAP point number 7, whatever happened, I would embrace it.
I was starving, but first things first. Better let the ladies know I was here.
Me
Hey. Arrived safely. Still quite warm here and it’s just before 9 p.m. Currently in my hotel room lying on a ginormous bed all on my own. Oh, what could have been…gutting.
Me
I’m okay. I go from feeling shit and wondering why he didn’t meet me to thinking ‘sod him, I don’t need a man to have a good time’. Will probably venture out to a restaurant around the corner with a good book, order some delicious food, get a nice bottle of wine, do some people watching and try and take my mind off things. I’ll also go to the concierge and book some excursions. Enjoy your weekend and see you next Sat xxx
Roxy
Aaaah buonjourno (sorry don’t know how to spell it!) my gorgeous…glad you arrived safe and sound. That’s the spirit. Now go find food! And keep messaging x
I went around the corner to a cute little family restaurant I’d driven past in the taxi on the way from the airport. It was busy, which was a good sign, but not too noisy. Perfect.
‘Table for one, please,’ I said to the ridiculously good-looking waiter with floppy dark hair, clean-shaven olive skin and greeny-brown eyes who greeted me with a beautiful smile as I stepped through the door. Seriously? What was it with these Italian men? Why were they all so hot? And more to the point, why couldn’t they all up sticks and come and live in London?
In the end it wasn’t so bad dining alone. I’d flicked through the literature that I had picked up from reception with details of all of the organised trips and made a shortlist. Then I WhatsApped some photos of my dinner to Roxy and Harrison, caught up on reading some articles whilst enjoying a glass of chianti and of course some dessert: an orange Florentine cake. Whilst it was nice, annoyingly, I had to admit, it wasn’t as tasty as Lorenzo’s recipe.
After dinner I went to the concierge with renewed optimism and booked myself on a pizza and gelato-making class for tomorrow and a day trip to Cinque Terre, which apparently was a collection of five lovely fishing villages tucked away on the Italian Rivera, for the Sunday. The coach would leave at 5 a.m. and then we wouldn’t get back to Florence until about 8 p.m. Perfect. That would take my mind off things for an entire day. Then on Monday it would be time to go home.
I needed an early night if I was going to be up at 4 a.m., ready for the coach to collect me at 5 a.m. Roxy had been messaging throughout the day to check up on me, so now I was back from my cookery lesson, I typed a summary of what I’d been up to:
Me
Hi, Roxy. How did the wedding go? Any single guys? What was the food like?
Today I went into Florence but tbh, I’d seen it all before when I went last month. I’d booked on to a pizza and gelato making course which was good. The pizza I made didn’t look as good as it could have but was tasty. Another dish to add to my growing Italian recipe repertoire! The chef was cute (the amount of good-looking men per square mile in this country is ridiculous!). Will send pics shortly.
Me
Tomorrow I’m booked on an all-day excursion to Cinque Terre (means something like ‘five lands’), which has beaches and looks interesting. Didn’t fancy Rome in the end. I’ve seen a lot of the attractions during press trips and just not cultured enough to do it all again right now. Then on Monday it’s home time.
Still get moments where I think about what could have been with Lorenzo…but I guess that’s what happens when you take a gamble. Sometimes you lose… xxx
Roxy
Gorgeous pics and adorable man!!
Was a very long day at the wedding (and zero hot guys—clearly they’re all in Italia!).
Good luck with the trip tomorrow. Keep me updated and stay positive—you really are amazing! xxx
Normally getting up this early on a Sunday was a struggle, but I was relieved to be doing stuff and was looking forward to going to the beach and feeling the sun on my skin.
I popped on my jean shorts, a khaki t-shirt and also a black jumper, as it might be a bit chilly this time in the morning. I packed the leggings I’d worn on the Taste Holidays trip in my bag for later this evening and headed downstairs. As I waited at reception, I glanced at the weather forecast on display on the desk. Rain? Surely not?
‘Excuse me,’ I said to the stocky, suited man behind the desk, who was typing away on the computer in front of him. ‘It says on this forecast that there will be rain in Florence today. But is it likely to be raining in Cinque Terre too?’
‘Possibly, madam,’ he replied.
Don’t know if it’s just me, but being called ‘madam’ always made me feel about ninety.
‘Oh…I thought it would be sunny at this time of year,’ I said. ‘Do I have time to run upstairs and grab a brolly, I mean an umbrella?’
‘Sì, signora. If you are quick,’ he said.
I hurried to my room, unlocked my case, pulled out my umbrella and locked it again.
Should I bring my coat? Nah, it’d be too heavy to carry that around all day, and as I had packed sandals, snacks, water and a book for the journey, my bag already weighed a ton. This was beautiful Italy, not England, so if there was a little shower, it probably wouldn’t last long.
Oh dear…first the rain started trickling gently down the coach windows, but within five minutes it became torrential. You have got to be kidding me. All of the women in their spaghetti-strapped tops and cropped shorts started to look very nervous. Like me, they must have thought that, as we were visiting beach towns in Italy, somehow it automatically guaranteed sunshine.
The rest of the day could only be described as being like a school trip from hell.
Luckily for me, I had my leggings to wear over my shorts (not a good look, even for the new me), a thin scarf, which I tried to use to cover my hair in a bid to stop it exploding into a ball of frizz, and my umbrella. But the rain was so heavy, even that was futile. We scrambled to the nearest tourist shop to buy flimsy plastic ponchos, which helped marginally, but we were in the middle of a storm. Why oh why hadn’t I packed my bloody coat! Had living in London not taught me anything? Never leave home without preparing for every conceivable meteorological possibility.
I had a flashback to when I was a student and had gone up to Kings Cross to do some research at the British Library. When I left the house, it was sunny, but I got out of the tube station it was raining, and then when I left the library a few hours later it was snowing. And this was in March! Three seasons in one day. Only in the UK, right? Well, evidently not…
My blue canvas shoes were now black and completely soaked through—it was like walking in a bath with slippers on. If I’d known I would be auditioning for the role of a drowned rat, I would’ve asked to attend the casting in London and stayed at home.
Not only was it raining, but it was windy and freezing cold too. Frankly, it made the British weather seem tropical. What’s more, it was only 11 a.m. and the coach wouldn’t be picking us up until 5 p.m., so I had six hours of this nightmare still to endure. Aaaarrrgghh!
First, after getting drenched in Manarola, we went to a train station, where we stood freezing our butts off on the platform, waiting for a train to Riomaggiore, which of course was late. I thought commuting in London was bad, but try waiting on a platform with a hundred other tourists in wet shoes, in an ill-suited outfit without a coat, as the wind and rain give you a serious lashing. It was about as mu
ch fun as having a tooth extracted without anaesthetic. But if I thought the train was bad, next we had to get a boat—yes, a boat—to Monterosso, an ancient fishing village. Cue rough seas, a bumpy crossing that was akin to being on the Stealth roller-coaster ride at Thorpe Park, feeling like I was either going to throw up or, worse, drown, and you kind of get a taste of the experience.
As we approached the shore, the sun started to come out. Thank fuck. We went to the restaurant and had some gorgeous pasta, seafood and fresh fruit salad with ice cream for dessert. At least the weather was finally looking up. Or so I thought.
The minute we stepped out of the restaurant, the heavens opened again. This can’t be happening! I went back into the bar and ordered a glass of prosecco so that I wouldn’t have to wander around for an hour until we were due to meet to get the train to Vernazza.
As positive as I’d been trying to feel throughout the trip, this excursion from hell had brought all of my emotions and sadness to the surface. Why, Lorenzo? Why did you stand me up? In fact, why did I do this to myself by putting my precious heart and emotions in the hands of a man who clearly didn’t deserve it? If I hadn’t gotten carried away with stupid dreams of having this amazing weekend together, I wouldn’t be here freezing cold, wet and feeling sorry for myself.
Why didn’t he want to meet me? Was it really because he was working, or something to do with me? Maybe it was someone else? Had he got back with his girlfriend? Were they getting married? Shit…maybe it’s because she’s pregnant?
There I went again. Overthinking…
I glanced over to the other side of the restaurant. Oh, great. A couple kissing. Would I ever kiss a man, ever again? Maybe I should have just stayed with Rich. This single life was sooooo hard…
What the fuck is wrong with you, woman! screamed Reasanna in my head.
Pull yourself the fuck together and stop letting this man take control of your thoughts. You are a smart, successful and beautiful woman, and if he can’t see that, that’s his loss. Rain or no rain, you’re away from London for once, in a beautiful country on a bank holiday weekend, and you’re not working—this isn’t just another miracle. It’s an opportunity to actually do something different, discover new places and experience more of life. So don’t waste it.
Remember, when shitty Italian men like Lorenzo throw you lemons, make Limoncello. Drink up and enjoy!
Hell to the yes, Reasanna.
I called the barman over, ordered a shot of Limoncello, downed it in one and made my way to the meeting point at the station full of positive, don’t-give-a-fuck gusto.
We got a train to La Spezia, where we boarded the coach back to Florence. And of course, five minutes later, the sun started to come out! I laughed to myself. What a day. It had certainly been an adventure. Not one I’d wish to repeat, but this was all part of my growth and another experience to add to the memory bank, that’s for sure.
I settled back into my seat, took out my phone and scrolled through the photos I’d taken earlier. Despite the rain, the colourful houses suspended on the cliffs overlooking the sea and the surrounding scenery still looked beautiful. I bet when the sun was shining, it was even more amazing. Shame that wasn’t to be today though, but that’s the way stuff goes sometimes. Things can’t always be perfect. And would you believe it? When I messaged Roxy earlier, she told me it was twenty-one degrees and sunny in London. Typical! I laughed again. Life really is funny sometimes.
Monday morning. After an eventful few days, I was at the airport and was finally returning to London..
As my flight was delayed for an hour, that gave me three hours to kill. It was a nice warm, sunny day (why wasn’t it like this yesterday?), so I sat out on the grass outside Pisa Airport.
It wasn’t long before I got bored. Should I message him? Part of me said, No, why the hell should you? Especially when he hasn’t even messaged to check you’re okay or to express any real remorse for leaving you in the lurch. But then the other part of me—you know, the weak, irrational, but oh-so-persuasive part, which makes smart women like me do stupid things when it comes to attractive men—started to cave. Before I knew it, I’d drafted a message.
I wanted him to know that I hadn’t cancelled my trip because of him, that I’d had a good time (even if that wasn’t entirely true). To feel remorse about standing me up. And to regret missing the opportunity to spend time with me. Childish, I know, but it was hard to be logical in these circumstances.
Me
Afternoon, Lorenzo. Well, I decided not to waste my money/time, so I came to Florence anyway and had an amazing few days. Love this country, the friendly people and the delicious food. And the hotel was great (HUGE bed)! Hope work wasn’t too awful? You should have told them you were busy and joined me instead. You really missed out, and who knows if you’ll ever be lucky enough to get another chance…
I clicked the send button.
Would he reply? And if he did, what would he have to say for himself?
If past timings were anything to go by, in roughly two hours, I would find out…
Chapter Twenty-Three
Naturally, the minute I stepped off the plane at Gatwick, I switched on my phone to check whether Lorenzo had messaged. Sure enough, he’d replied within the golden two-hour window with four messages (still never understood why he couldn’t just put everything in one):
Lorenzo
Sorry, Sophia, you have reason
Lorenzo
It is a bad time right now but maybe your smile would have helped me
Lorenzo
Good for you…glad you enjoyed your time in Florence without me
Lorenzo
Have a safe flight
Awww. He sounds so sad, I thought to myself. Then I started wondering whether he’d found my message too harsh, confident and screw you? Without thinking, I messaged back quickly:
Me
Are you okay?
As soon as I’d sent it, I realised what a ridiculous question that was. Clearly he was not okay. That’s what he’d said, right? So why had I asked him that?
Then I came to my senses and wondered why the hell I was even considering his feelings after he’d stood me up. At that point, I switched my phone off and started flicking through Psychologies magazine to try and take my mind off things.
And now here I was back home, annoyingly still with thoughts of him in my mind, but feeling glad that I’d been brave enough to go to Florence on my own and make the most of what could have been an awful trip if I’d allowed it to get me down.
This time around, I was actually relieved that I couldn’t feasibly take any extra time off work tomorrow as, in addition to all of the campaigns we had running at the moment, I had a new business meeting with one of the top facialists in Chelsea, who wanted us to manage a project to promote her new facial. Then I was seeing Monique for drinks as I hadn’t had a catch-up with her since my birthday and she’d be heading back to America for six months soon. Plus I was following Bella’s advice and trying to keep myself busy.
‘So that’s where I left it. I stupidly asked if he was okay and I haven’t heard from him since. Normally he replies within a few hours.’ I’d recounted the whole story to Monique whilst she glared at me, rolling her eyes so hard I thought they were going to come right out of their sockets.
Oh dear. Take cover, people. I fear fire will be shooting from her mouth imminently.
‘Girl, well, first of all, I think you done messed up,’ she said, scowling. ‘I’m sorry, honey, but as a career woman running her own business, how can you condemn a man for working? Surely you of all people must understand how these things go. Sometimes things come up at the last minute and you have no choice but to go take care of your shit.’
‘I hear what you’re saying, Monique, but—’ Before I even had a chance to finish my sentence, she butted in again.
‘You could have tried to see if you could have met him briefly whilst you were there,’ she scolded. ‘Or you could have change
d your flight. But oh no, you got struck down with that whole Independent Woman Syndrome, decided to ghost him and just go anyway because you so strong and you won’t let no man dictate your life. And then, if that wasn’t enough, you send him a message which basically says, “I don’t need you. I can go to Florence all by my damn self and have an amazing time without you”.’ I could tell her frustration was building with every word.
‘Well, Monique, I can go to Florence and have a good time without a man,’ I replied defensively.
‘Sophia,’ she continued, this time softening her voice a little, ‘you gotta realise that men are very sensitive souls and you have damaged his ego. It sounds like he’s going through a tough time and you’ve just pissed all over him. And then you ask if he’s okay? I don’t even know what to tell you right now!’ She crossed her arms and leant back in her chair.
I was dumbfounded. As usual, Monique didn’t hold back. True. I had never thought about it from that point of view, but surely she couldn’t be saying it was my fault. Come on! If I hadn’t contacted him, who’s to say he would have even bothered to tell me he was working? Anyway, the past had gone. What I needed to figure out was how best to move forward.
‘I see what you’re saying, Monique, and I know it’s a casual thing, so strictly speaking, he didn’t owe me anything. But at the end of the day, he essentially stood me up. And it’s not like he made suggestions to meet another time, or showed any kind of real remorse, so you don’t really expect me to feel sorry for him, surely?’ I snapped.
‘Honey, I know you think I’m being hard on you, but it’s only because I’ve made those same mistakes and seen my friends do it too. I’m just saying, keep an open mind, and sometimes you need to be gentle with a man’s ego. I know so many women who think that liking a man or doing things to please him makes them weak, and so they put their guard up and act all tough. But too many of them are also alone. It’s okay to be vulnerable, and sometimes you need to give people the benefit of the doubt. You don’t know about their lives and what they’re going through.’
The Middle-Aged Virgin: A Chick Lit, Romantic Comedy Novel: Newly Single And Seeking Spine-Tingles... Page 18
