When they do, I open my eyes . . . which is when I realize I’d shut them.
“Hold on a sec,” he says.
He sets the phone down, heading to his bathroom to clean up, I expect, and although I should probably do the same, I don’t. I lie back on my mattress, content to let my extra soft pillows claim me as I watch the dark screen. Waiting for him to appear.
“You look relaxed,” Enzo says when he finally returns.
“Mmm-hmm,” I murmur, content just to stare at him for a bit longer. “I wish you were here.”
“So do I, tiger. Want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?”
“It’s up to you,” I say, more tired than I was when we got on the phone for sure. I still have to wash my face and brush my teeth. But I do neither of those things.
“I’ll stay,” he says. “Close your eyes, Char.”
I do, saying in my head what I can’t yet say out loud.
Goodnight, Enzo. I love you.
34
Chari
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I snap.
Lisa and I sit in our usual spot next to the window in The Wheelhouse bakery. The view is magnificent today. Snow is piled on top of the waterwheel, and it also lines the creek running alongside it. Bridgewater came to life after the snow stopped, but business is still slower than usual for a Sunday morning. After all, everyone still had to shovel out from just under fifteen inches of snow.
Lisa tries to snatch back her phone, which she handed to me without comment, but I don’t let her. Even though I read the article once, I need to see it again.
A picture of Enzo with an absolutely beautiful black-haired woman stares back at me. And there’s literally zero chance that I’m misreading the look on her face. She’s staring at my boyfriend, my boyfriend, as if he’s the only fucking guy in the entire world.
A Billionaire’s Night Out
Enzo DeLuca and Hayden Tanner regularly frequent the small but well-known Italian eatery Faustini’s. The owner’s daughter, Giovanna Faustini, pictured with the chemist behind Angel, Inc., hints at a special relationship that keeps both DeLuca and his partner coming back each week.
I look up. “Special relationship?”
Finally successful in reclaiming her phone, Lisa tucks it back into her purse, going so far as to zip it. Of course, if I wanted to, I could find the same New York Post story myself. But I have no desire to stare at the woman in the picture any longer than necessary.
“Explain to me how this is different than when Enzo jumped to conclusions after Gian saw you with Rob?”
I open my mouth to deliver a retort before realizing that the situations are, essentially, exactly the same. So I smartly shovel in a mouthful of eggs instead of replying.
“I’m sure it’s exactly how it looks.”
I swallow. “Like Enzo is very cozy with a bombshell attorney who hints at a ‘special relationship’ with him?”
Lisa clears her throat as our waitress sidles up to the table.
“More coffee?”
“Sure,” my friend replies for both of us as I stare at the snow that kept Enzo and me apart this weekend. When the waitress leaves after filling our cups, Lisa continues, “No, like a wealthy, famous man standing next to the daughter of the owner of a restaurant he frequents every week.”
No comment from me.
“Char,” she adds gently, “you’re going to have to get used to this stuff with him. Enzo isn’t like us. He’s a celebrity in a lot of ways.”
I do know that.
“Imagine if Jennifer Aniston got jealous every time she saw her . . . OK, bad example. Or some other actress. Imagine if she got jealous every time her celebrity boyfriend or husband was pictured with another woman.”
I stop eating, not really hungry anymore.
“Well, it’s kind of their job to ‘be with’ other people,” I say. “Enzo is not an actor.”
“No, he’s a very prominent businessman in New York, and that paper reports on happenings in New York.”
At least the coffee is still tasty. It warms my throat, comforts my stomach, which is sadly tied in knots. This whole love thing sucks sometimes.
“You’re right, but . . .”
It’s a big but, and we both know it.
“But?”
This isn’t really about that article. It’s about the fact that I’m in love with a man who hardly has time to pee during the day, never mind to get away long enough to carry on an actual relationship.
“But,” I say cautiously, knowing once I say it out loud, the whole thing will become more real. “If we were together this weekend, it would be as simple as saying, ‘What’s up with this?’”
“Which you can still do on the phone,” she says softly as she finishes buttering her toast. She looks at it like it’s a lover, then takes a bite, her eyes fluttering shut.
The girl loves toast.
“I know. But it would be different in person. Less of a big deal.”
Lisa looks confused, rightly so.
“This weekend, it’s snow. A few weeks ago, the vodka formula. Next time, it will be something else.”
I hate the heaviness in my chest as I put words to the things that have been swirling around in my head.
“Meaning?”
I shrug, not exactly sure.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that dating a guy who’s building an empire, long-distance, is hard.”
She laughs, actually laughs, at me.
“You didn’t think it would be?”
I can’t say I thought much about the day-to-day of it. “I don’t know? Switzerland was just so, so perfect. And of course we can’t be on a perpetual vacation, but we have such different lives. A bad day for me is my asshole principal denying a training. A bad day for him is something that can cost his company millions of dollars.”
“So?”
I stare at her. “So? We’re like night and day.”
She blinks.
“And we live two hours apart.”
Still nothing.
“And he hardly has time for a girlfriend.”
Her brows rise. I toss it all out there now.
“And he hasn’t said ‘I love you’ yet.”
The corners of Lisa’s mouth actually lift, as if she finds this amusing.
“That’s not at all funny.”
“Maybe not. But I do wish you could hear yourself.”
I’m not sure I catch her meaning.
“Who called off every single relationship you’ve been in for one reason or another?”
Paying more attention now to my coffee cup than Lisa, I pretend not to have heard the question.
“At the very slightest indication that you might be getting in deep, boom! Goodbye.”
I stare into my coffee cup, my attention fixed. I think I might love coffee as much as Lisa loves toast.
“I know you can hear me.”
Finally, I look up. “This is different.”
“Is it?”
It is. Because I’m not so sure I’ve been in love before. Probably I have, but right now it’s hard to remember. And if I was in love with any of the others, my feelings for them didn’t even come close to how I feel about Enzo. If I’m being honest, it’s super scary how much thoughts of him have taken over my life.