She lets me take her hand one more time, and our fingers intertwine. She places her other palm on top of our hands, and I can feel how cold she is, she's practically freezing.
"I'm not running away, not anymore," she whispers, clearing her throat. "I love you, maybe even more than you can imagine, Ricardo. I just don't want to allow you to leave me with a broken heart after you get tired of this game and go back to London. So, please, open the door."
She looks at me so pleadingly that I lose my breath.
This can't happen. Not again.
"Let me drive you?" I ask, and I know that my eyes are already wet.
What is she doing to me? Why is she breaking my heart over and over again?
"No, I'll need a car tomorrow. I need to get to work somehow." She breaks our handhold again. I open the lock. She gets out of the car without looking at me.
I watch as she walks away to her small Fiat, parked near the main entrance, and I can't believe that it all started because I wanted to give her that goddamn Lexus.
Why did I do this? Am I a masochist? I knew she wouldn't like it if she knew the truth about the car, but I asked Pierpaolo about it anyway.
It's all my fault. Again. She left because I couldn't keep my fucking promise.
Just like when I promised her we'd stay friends forever, and then I left for London and we didn’t see each other for fifteen years.
She thinks that's what’s going to happen now.
But she's wrong, so wrong.
I will never let her go again.
I'll do anything to get her to come back to me.
Chapter Twenty
Angie
Three nights in a row I've spent in my old bedroom, hugging a pillow instead of Ricardo's shoulder and wearing my pajamas instead of sleeping naked next to him. Each night I could fall asleep only after I exhausted myself until two or three in the morning—I don't know, I stopped checking the time on my phone after that because it only distracted me from falling asleep.
I wish a lack of sleep was my main problem, but the truth is that a good night’s sleep isn’t what I miss the most. Ricardo is. For more than a month, I've fallen asleep in his arms, and I was absolutely not ready to let him go.
But he let me go. For the last three days, I haven't heard from him. Not a single call or a message. I think he’s made his choice. He’s probably gone back to London.
I force myself to get out of bed. I have the day off. Dad gave me a break after he saw me falling asleep at my desk yesterday. I told him I was okay, but he knew that if I was okay, I wouldn't be staying here. I would go to Ricardo's place, to our home, since I moved almost all of my stuff there, especially my work clothes, and now I have practically nothing to wear.
After taking a long hot shower, I put on the first things I pull out from the closet: my black yoga pants and an oversized gray T-shirt. I have to stay at home today because Dad forbade me to work, but at least I have my laptop and I can answer emails or make a couple of calls…
I have to call him.
This thought has been stuck in my head for a while now. I’m the one who walked away, so I should be the one who calls first, shouldn't I? He only wanted to help. It's not his fault that he can't give me what I want, he can't promise to stay with me forever.
But no matter how many times I repeat to myself that I have to call him, I need to see him and feel him, I just can't force myself to do it.
"Good morning, la mia bellezza," Valentina says with a smile the moment I enter the kitchen.
Although I haven’t been in the mood for breakfast lately, she keeps baking fresh pastries every single day. The variety of it is unbelievable, but the quantity…it seems like she wants to feed an army.
"Thank you, Val," I mumble, looking down at my clothes. I'm not thanking her for the compliment and calling me beautiful, I know I look like shit. I'm thanking her for the food she makes for me every day just to cheer me up a little.
I pour coffee into the biggest mug I can find. This cup is for soup, as Italians usually drink espresso, but I need a proper mug to invigorate me right now. I didn't get it at first, but now I totally understand why Londoners drink that much coffee: it's probably because of hard work and lack of sleep.
When I take a seat and look at the table full of pastries, I feel nauseous, but I know I have to eat. I have to at least taste them and pretend I enjoy them because Valentina did a great job.
I know she cooks so much because she used to be a chef and probably misses her work, but I don't want to offend her by not eating at all.
"Why are you up so early?" she asks me, placing some jam next to my plate and taking a seat in front of me. "It supposed to be your day off and you should sleep till midday."
"I haven’t been good at resting properly recently," I admit, although she's perfectly aware of my personal life problems since she lives with me.
"Your dad asked me to take away your computer for the whole day," she spills guiltily.
"What?" I widen my eyes in surprise.
How could he do this? What am I going to do for the whole day?
"But I know you have nothing else to do but work, so…" Val continues.
Thank God! She understands me perfectly. My laptop is staying with me and I'm gonna be working the whole day, trying to avoid my thoughts of Ricardo.
"That's why I’ve decided we should go out," she continues, smiling widely and looking at me excitedly.
I don't know what to say, so I just freeze in one place, silently looking at her with obvious shock on my face.
"Go out?" I clarify, though I heard her perfectly, trying to sound at ease, but it's obvious I'm still in shock.
We never spend time together if it's not at home. We used to have dinners out every Sunday, me, her and Dad, but that’s it.
"Don't look at me as if I just asked you to shave your head!" she laughs, and I start laughing too. I don't know why exactly I’m so shocked by her invitation.
"No, sorry, it's just…I don't really have friends, and I rarely hang out…" I begin my pointless explanation.
"Neither do I, mi amore, but I think we definitely should spend some time together before I become your stepmother."
I nod silently, looking at how Valentina puts extra jam on her croissant and then adds two teaspoons of sugar to her espresso. I'm amazed by how she stays so slender despite how many sweets she eats. I wish I could eat that much sugar at her age and look that way.
"So, where do you wanna go?" I ask, still trying to force myself to eat something but I can't even have a bite. Two or three weeks like that and I'll be just as skinny as Val. I probably should be thinner than her because I'm twenty years younger, but I inherited Dad's genetics to gain weight quickly instead of Mom's genetics to eat everything and stay slim, just like Chiara did.
"I’ve actually barely seen the city since I moved to Florence, so I would really like to see all of the most visited places." She chirps, smiling widely at me.
At least one of us is excited about today. All I wanted to do was to stay in bed and cry all day, reading emails from my clients and trying to work, but mostly feel sorry for myself, complaining and asking the universe why life is so complicated.