For a few tense seconds he studies me as though he knows I’m full of shit before addressing her. “Gigi, how do you do? Long time no see.”
“William,” Gigi says, watching him with open dislike. She’s one of the few who isn’t dazzled by William and his perfect looks.
“I’m going to have to steal my wife for a moment.” He smiles at her and then focuses on me. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” He grips my arm, starting to guide me toward the bar. “Gigi. Great seeing you as always.”
“Let’s catch up soon, all right?” I throw the words in the air at her before following William.
“Sure, you have my number.”
I glance over my shoulder to find her gazing at us, a frown lodged between her eyebrows as she raises her hand and waves goodbye.
“Are you all right, my darling?” I hear William ask, drawing my attention back to him. He’s so close I can feel the heat of his body warming me. “You seemed upset just now.”
“It’s nothing really, just a little under the weather.”
William pauses mid-step, turning toward me. Cupping the side of my face, his thumb rubs the crest of my cheek. “Would you like to go home?”
The concern in his voice unravels me. This is why I stay. Without giving my actions another thought, I turn my lips toward his palm and kiss it. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
“That’s my Val.” He smiles his most charming smile. “Come. I see my friends that I want you to meet.”
We join a small group of people. I recognize some, and William introduces me to those whom I don’t. He makes a joke. Tells an anecdote. It doesn’t matter. All eyes are on him. Eating out of the palm of his hand. You can see the women falling in love with him, and the men secretly hating him while wanting to be him.
I take in the line of his aristocratic nose, the curve of his full lips, his razor-sharp jaw and sculpted cleft chin. He’s mesmerizing. Larger than life. He runs his fingers through his longish blond locks, and memories of his hair blowing wildly in the wind the day we drove to meet his grandmother, both of us living life out loud, momentarily hold me captive. I should be happy. Elated that he’s mine. But as I stare at my husband laughing bombastically at some kind of joke, I have to keep telling myself—reminding myself—that this is what I want.
I repeat those words over and over again until I carve them on my bloody skin.
Maybe then, I’ll finally believe them.
THE HOTEL BAR IS EMPTY. Just the bartender and me. She asks if I want another one as she wipes the counter with a tablecloth, and I raise my half-empty beer bottle.
“I’m good.”
But am I? I don’t even fucking know anymore.
I’m split in two. Agony and anger. I go from missing Valentina with an ache in my soul to wanting to erase her from my heart, from my head, cursing her for leaving me. I tell myself that I’ll forget her, but even those words sound empty to my ears. Her memory is my tormentor and savior.
My hell and paradise.
I focus my attention on the bottle in my hands before bringing it to my lips and taking a swig. My life was empty before her, but I was content. Satisfied. And now? My body is here. It appears whole. But there’s nothing inside. She took it all with her when she left.
The air in my lungs…
The beating of my heart…
There is only silence now where there was laughter before. Only darkness where there was once blinding hope. She showed me how beautiful life could be again, but she didn’t fucking teach me how to live without her, how to breathe without her. So I welcome the numbness, seeking—waiting for the abyss to swallow me whole. I’ve been there before, after all.
The bottle empty, I ask the bartender for one more. I drink to forget, but the more I drink, the more I remember her. The more it hurts.
Oh, Valentina … why did you have to fucking leave me, too?
As she places a new one in front of me and takes away the empty bottle, I stare at her. She’s a brunette with a friendly smile. Pretty. “Merci.”
“De rien.” When our gazes connect, she says, “A horse walks into a bar. The bartender asks, ‘why the long face?’”
“Good one,” I say without laughing.
She shrugs. “Thought you needed a good laugh, but I don’t think it worked.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’ve been scowling at the poor bottles in your hand this past hour, and you’re still scowling. No wonder my bar is empty,” she teases again.
“Have I been here for that long?” I ask dispassionately, noticing the tattoo of an orchid vine crawling up her arm for the first time. The image is like a visceral stab to the gut, slicing me fucking open.
“Longer.” She frowns. “Everything all right?”
Shaking my head, I pretend to smile when every part of me howls in pain. “Everything’s fine.”
“All right,” she says, doubt embedded in her gaze. “Give me a shout if you need anything else.”
Another customer arrives at that moment sitting on the other side of the bar. She goes to him to take his order, and as I watch her walk away from me, a sudden yearning for her company comes over me. Maybe talking to her will silence the taunting ghost of Valentina, and offer me a brief respite from the hell I’m drowning in.
When she makes her way back to my side, she smiles politely before going back to polishing glasses meticulously.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask, peeling off the label of the beer to keep my hands busy.
“Fire away.”
I focus on the colorful array of bottles behind her, tracing back my steps that day, searching for the moment when everything went wrong.
I left Valentina standing outside her apartment, my soul and body at her feet. She had to go to work, and I had to deliver some paintings. We made plans to see each other later that night. On my way back from the gallery, I got a call from a frantic Sophie. Her babysitter had cancelled last minute, and she needed my help to watch the kids while she went to an appointment. I told her not to worry, never imagining that by the time I made it back to the apartment, Valentina would be gone.