This just isn’t working.
“I have a baby shower the weekend after that,” I say, grasping at straws. “But maybe you could come to Bridgewater?”
I know his answer even before he gives it.
“I can’t get away, not with everything going down at the moment.”
And there it is.
But I promised myself not to give up easily on him. So I keep trying.
“The weekend after?”
His eyes, always so expressive, give me the answer. He at least has the decency to look as devastated as me, although I doubt it. Only one of us is in love here, as far as I know. I’m beginning to wonder if Enzo is capable of loving anything like he loves Angel, Inc.
“So much for that,” I say, not even feeling the need to ask why that weekend won’t work either. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter.
“I told you, on the way back from Switzerland . . .”
I don’t blame him for sounding defensive, but I do blame him, maybe irrationally, for not making the situation clearer before he took complete control of my heart.
“You told me . . .” There’s a definite edge in my voice now, the kinds that cuts, but I can’t help it. “. . . you work a lot. Not that you work every waking moment.”
He grinds his jaw tight.
“But I suppose it’s my fault.”
If I’m lashing out, it’s because of the disappointment that feels like a lead weight in my gut. All the progress I’ve made this week, all of the grand promises to find myself, and it’s glaringly apparent I’ve failed. One cancelled weekend, and my world is shattered.
“I should have known better. If you can’t find time to come home for your family, then why did I think you’d find time for me?”
Enzo is getting angrier by the second, which is fine by me. Because I’m good and angry too. How long was he planning to jerk me around, exactly?
“I’m not gallivanting around New York with my new friends and leaving my family, or you, in the dust, Chari. I’m working. Building a company. Aside from Wednesday night, I don’t go out. I live in my office. You know that.”
I hate that I’m saying this. “And your special relationship with Faustini’s daughter?”
It was a stupid thing to toss in his face, but my anger has taken over.
“We’ve talked about the press, Chari. That was nothing.”
“I know.” And I really do.
But my chest feels like one of Devon’s prized bucks is lying on it. I can’t breathe right, because another thing I know is where this conversation is heading.
Maybe we can avoid it. Enzo is worth fighting for. I still believe that. I know that. Maybe . . .
“There are trade-offs,” he says. “I bring my family on a cruise every year. Tris got to open his restaurant ten years earlier than he would have on his own. And we”—Enzo looks me straight in the eyes, or as close as he can through a piece of glass and metal—“we have Switzerland. Or anywhere else in the world you want to go, Char.”
So that’s his peace offering.
We may not see each other very often, but when we do, fancy dinners and 5-star hotels await. Does he seriously not know me at all?
“I don’t care about any of that,” I say earnestly, angry again. “Your billion-dollar date in Switzerland, you can keep it. No view in the world, no royal treatment, as awesome as it is, can compete with time with you.”
How does he not get that?
“So what are you saying?”
What am I saying, exactly? OK, time to bring it down a bit.
“We can’t see each other for the next few weeks, which sucks. But what about after that? Are there any concessions you can make at all, any way you can maybe be a bit more like Hayden, who seems to balance work and family successfully? Anything at all you can change to make this feasible?”
I wait for him to consider it. Come up with a plan to meet me halfway. Enzo’s broad shoulders rise and lower as he watches me. Thinking.
And then . . .
“No.”
Is he freaking serious?
“No?”
He seems to have made some sort of decision and digs in.
“No, Chari. I’ve been through this with my family. Not now when we’re expanding. Hayden’s family lives in New York, so that makes a big difference. I can’t come running to Bridgewater at ten o’clock at night after things wrap up for the day.”
“Come running? I’m not asking you to come running. Just to think of something, anything, to make this work better than it has this past month?”
Like saying I love you, or promising we’ll make a plan together.
Like saying, Maybe I can try to avoid working Saturday nights so we can be together at least one night a week.
Like saying, I can deal with you distracting me if it means you’re here, with me, even if I’m working and you’re lying near me, reading a book. But at least we’ll be together.
There are so many things he can say right now, and I hold my breath, waiting for any of them to come out of his mouth.
“I’m sorry, Chari. I really am.”
So his answer is still no. There’s nothing he can do to meet me halfway. He won’t even try.
“This isn’t just a business to me. It’s . . .”
I wait, but he doesn’t finish. Because Enzo doesn’t know what it is, exactly. He just knows that nothing is more important to him at the moment than turning Angel from a gazillion-dollar global enterprise into an even bigger gazillion-dollar global enterprise.
And if I’m not high on his priority list, then Enzo just isn’t the guy for me.
“Then . . .” A lump in my throat prevents me from saying it, so I shake my head a little until the words come out. “I don’t think there’s a ton more for us to say.”
Contradict me. Please, Enzo, contradict me.
“No, I guess there’s not.”
We stare at each other for another few seconds, and then I gather up whatever modicum of self-respect I have left and hover my finger over the end button.
“Bye, Enzo.”
He blinks, and maybe he regrets how this went down? It’s hard to tell.
“Bye, tiger.”
The endearment doesn’t make it any easier to click the button and hang up.
37
Enzo
“Hello, Enzo.”
This is just what I need. We’re going to have to find a new restaurant soon.
“Evening, G.”
I step inside, wondering why the high-powered attorney is playing hostess tonight. After her little maneuver a few weeks back, I’m even less keen on being in her presence. She asked for a small press opp, a photo together, and I caved. Should have known she’d put her own little spin on the story. My fault, but it’s a mistake I won’t make again.
“I hate to say it, because you know how much I adore you.” Giovanna walks us toward the table even though she knows full well we sit in the same spot every week. “But you look like shit.”
Not what I was expecting.
“Thanks,” I say wryly. “Appreciate it.”
Instead of leaving me with my menu to wait for Hayden, the brazen woman sits across from me. I seriously can’t catch a break.