Probably for the best that I didn’t get the chance to talk to him. Marcel hands me over a fancy red cocktail. “Here you are, we saved the best one for you.”
The table erupts into laughter and I know its code for this is the worst one. I force a smile and take a sip.
Ugg, I wince. “Tastes like poison.”
They laugh some more.
I take another sip, good. I deserve it.
I’m an asshole.
* * *
The sound of Marcel’s regulated breathing is calming. Like the sound of the ocean, a comforting background noise.
The sound of my heart, not so much. A million horses galloping through the forest, lost and angry.
I can’t sleep.
And what does it mean when you make love to your fiancé, but feel guilty to another man for doing it?
I have a huge lump in my throat and I don’t know if I want to cry, throw up or simply howl to the moon.
Ever since the funeral I have a monkey on my back, the grim reaper in my soul.
Taunting me toward the darkness, wanting something I know that I shouldn’t.
I keep seeing Giuliano’s face fall when Marcel told him about our engagement, the way his eyes searched mine as if he didn’t believe it.
I feel bad, but I shouldn’t, because he isn’t the man I once loved anymore. He’s a gangbanging criminal, and if the truth be known we would never work out even if we were able to be together. We’re two different people now, our lives in different universes.
He probably doesn’t even care.
I remember the way he used to love me, the way he held me in his arms after we made love as if I was the most precious thing in the world.
The feelings of closeness between us.
My eyes fill with tears because I know that time is gone forever.
The reality is, that maybe the memory is so special simply because he was my first love, everything is so exaggerated in my mind. Everyone talks about their first love as being special. I know it’s just that, but damn it, I wish I would hurry up and forget. Why do I compare everything and everyone to him?
Why does it always come back to him?
I snuggle into Marcel’s back and my mind goes to Giuliano again, I get a vivid memory of him going down on me, I let myself sink into a happy feeling of home as I rewatch Giuliano’s tongue lick me up. His eyes on mine, my hand tenderly in his.
The way he loved me so completely.
Stop it.
What in the hell is wrong with me? I have a wonderful man sleeping beside me and I need to get my act together or I am going to lose him too…and then what?
Somewhere down the track I realize that I can never have Giuliano anyway and I live my entire life alone without children. I would be forced to watch him take a wife and give her the family that I desperately wanted. Watch him bring up his children as their aunt, always secretly in love with their father from the sideline.
No.
I need to cut this out, I can’t let myself go down this path. It’s destructive and damn well toxic. I already feel the heartache before it happens and I need to snap myself out of it, this is bad for both of us. Giuliano is better off…I am better off without him.
What I need to do is go back to France and concentrate on Marcel and my work and my life there. I have a wedding to plan.
I need to forget all about Giuliano Ferrara.
I roll over and nestle into the blankets to try to get into a good sleeping position, I close my eyes and once again I see Giuliano’s hauntingly beautiful face.
If only it were that easy.
“Are you ready, darling?” Marcel asks.
We are just about to go out to breakfast, we fly back to France tonight. “Yes, hang on, I’ll grab my phone off charge.” I walk into the bedroom and pick up my phone to notice I have an email from my boss.
Hi Francesca,
Sorry to interrupt your weekend, I hope it’s a great one.
Great news.
I’ve just had confirmation that the first hotel we are working on will be in Rome.
The perfect setting!
They want to have a meeting on Wednesday this week to go over the plans and timeframes. Feel free to work from home on Monday and Tuesday to prepare the spreadsheets if you like.
Looking forward to Wednesday,
Safe travels,
Pierre
Shit.
I exhale heavily.
Don’t give me extra time to get home, I need to get out of Italy ASAP. I click out of my phone in disgust.
“Are you coming?” Marcel calls.
“On my way.” I grab my coat and purse and make my way out. “Let’s go eat, I’m starving.”
The thing about the human mind is that it reconciles your bad choices. Musters up some kind of excuse for you to justify your upcoming mistakes.