Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
But I still missed being with Enzo. I still mourned the loss of what we’d had. And I continued to cry myself to sleep at night, terrified I’d never find that kind of magic with anyone else.
On Friday after work, I met up with Blair and Cheyenne for drinks at a wine and cheese bar called The Avignon.
“So how are you?” Cheyenne asked, her eyes wide with concern across our high-top table.
“I’m okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I’m doing okay.”
Blair smiled tentatively. “Did you get your hair done? It looks great.”
“Actually, I did it myself,” I told her, laughing a little. “I wanted a change, and I was too impatient to wait for an opening with my stylist. I hope she doesn’t kill me.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Cheyenne said. “We’ve all been there.”
We ordered glasses of wine, some cheese and charcuterie, and chatted about our work weeks, our weekend plans, and the warmer weather. May in Michigan was always unpredictable—you could have snow or eighty-degree days full of sunshine. Luckily, this spring had been mild, and the temperatures were warming up nicely. People were starting to put their boats in the water, and Bellamy Creek was busy with tourists again. But we couldn’t avoid the ghost at the table forever.
Blair broke down first. “So no word from Enzo, huh?”
I shook my head. “Nope.”
“I haven’t seen him either,” she said. “Even Griffin said he’s been strangely MIA.”
“Same.” Cheyenne picked up her pinot noir. “I asked Cole before I left if he’d heard from Enzo at all this week, and he said no. Evidently, he’s not even responding to texts.”
I shrugged, trying to ignore the worry they were putting in my head—I hoped he was okay. “He could be busy at work, now that he’s in charge, or putting in a lot of time at the Center Avenue house. But he certainly hasn’t been with me.”
“I don’t get it!” Blair said angrily. “He was so miserable the day after you left, I thought for sure he’d beg you to come back by now.”
“I think he was just mad about the way I did it,” I said, “without consulting him first. Or that I’d been dishonest about the Clomid.”
“I think there was some of that,” Blair said. “He admitted he’d felt blindsided, and his ego definitely took a hit. But he was hurt too, Bianca. I could tell. He didn’t want you to go.”
“Then why didn’t he try to stop me?”
Cheyenne and Blair exchanged a look.
“What?” I said.
“It’s just . . . These guys don’t always know exactly how to express what they’re feeling,” said Cheyenne. “They’re either too stubborn or they seriously just can’t think of the right words or they’re plain old scared to be that vulnerable.”
“The only thing Enzo is scared of is someone falling in love with him,” I said, “but then, of course, he goes and does everything he possibly can to make you fall in love with him.”
“Not before you,” Cheyenne said firmly, shaking her head. “I’ve known Enzo Moretti forever, and I’ve never seen him act this way about anyone.”
I stared at the fourth finger of my left hand, where he’d put that ridiculous ring that had always been a joke. “But it wasn’t real,” I reminded them—and myself. “It wasn’t real.”
By eight o’clock on Saturday night, I was in my usual spot on the couch, wearing sweatpants and a ratty old hoodie, damp hair hanging loose around my face. I’d just wrapped a blanket around me and was reaching for the remote when my brother came into the living room dressed to go out.
“I’m leaving,” he said, patting his pockets like he was looking for his wallet or phone. “You seen my keys anywhere?”
“On the kitchen counter.”
“Thanks.” He started to walk away and turned back. “Hey, I forgot to tell you. I did you a favor today.”
“What favor?”
“Enzo was asking about you, and I—”
I sat upright. “What? Where? At work?”
“Yeah. He’s paying a few guys cash under the table for side jobs at this new house he bought to flip. Anyway, he asked about you, and I said you were doing great.”
“Oh.” I lay down again. That didn’t mean anything. That was just being polite.
“Then he asked if you ever mentioned him, and I said no.”
“Good.”
“Yeah, he looked kinda mad about that, so I kept going with it.”
I eyeballed my brother from above the edge of the blanket. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I told him you seemed totally fine and you were going out every night until two or three in the morning.” JJ looked pleased with himself.
I bolted upright again. “What?”
“Well, what was I supposed to tell him, that the minute you get home from work you put your pajamas on, eat ice cream for dinner, and cry the rest of the night?”