Lorenzo gives a small chuckle before replying to me, “You don’t want me to leave really.”
As if to prove me wrong, he moves forward more, really coming to land a fucking kiss on me. I can feel my anger boiling and so I push him off completely before it can erupt, but as soon as I move him to clear my view, Zane’s stare is no longer on me and he’s now got a skinny redhead on his lap. He’s laughing joyfully, and I can see he really likes the newfound attention.
“If that’s what you want,” Lorenzo begins to mutter and looks back at Zane. “He brought her back last night so he must really like her.”
With his piece said, Lorenzo gets up and leaves, and I’m left staring aghast at Zane, who’s now framing the stranger’s face and before I have time to look away, he’s drawing her down so he can kiss her. I’m surprised the crack that ran through my heart wasn’t so audible he stopped, but instead he carries on. The more I watch, the more heartache and anger meet. I’m sieving and striving to watch anything but the sight before me. However, the more I watch, the more I’m pretty convinced he's trying to clean her teeth for her. He’s really working her to enjoy the time she has with him and I sit here like an envious little fool. Why am I jealous of that?! Why am I jealous of Zane playing tonsil tennis with a complete fucking bimbo? That’s right, because I made it so convincing that I was just in it for the sex that he no longer cares for my emotional welfare. Nor will he care at the ache that’s consuming me so painfully that I fear I’m about dissolve into tears.
I see movement and watch his hand come up her back, toying with the string to her skimpy bikini. I'm suddenly confused, overwhelmed with bafflement. Last night he was confessing the undying love he held for me and now he's here, allowing women to drape all over him and he’s clearly offering the advances. My tortuous memory throws forward my own mistakes from just last night, hissing at me the reasons he’s now being brutal. But as I feel this gauntlet of emotion rip through me, it’s all I can do not to allow it all to show on my face. As my eyes water, I know I’m soon going to fail on that aspect.
The final cut comes when Zane – continuing to kiss the stranger – looks directly at me. Our eyes meet and I try my hardest not to let him see my hurt, but I’m sure he can see he’s won. If this is the payback he wanted to hit me with, he’s winning. Anytime I see another woman threatening what fragile foundations Zane and I are forever building upon, I lose total control and only ever feel deep hurt. The worse thing is that I deserve all of this.
I have no right to go over there, drag that woman from my man’s lap by her shoddy extensions, and claim him as mine. I had that chance last night and I blew it beautifully. So convincingly that Giovanni is finally bonding with Zane over something – women.
With his eyes still on me, Zane deepens the kiss. The part that finishes me most is when he pulls her more onto his lap, both hands cupping ravenously at her ass as she now straddles him. I realize I can’t take any more of this torture and as the tears weave themselves along my lashes, I know I have to go. I stand up slowly, leaving all my things and begin to strut across the poolside until I’m passing Zane and Giovanni and heading up toward the house.
I’m grateful that I make it past them all before the tears start their onslaught. It’s far from pretty once they start, and I must look like a hot mess as I flee in nothing but a tiny bikini, my face screwed up as I allow every ounce of my heartache begin to reach the surface.