I went looking for her. After knocking for about five minutes, I gave up, sat outside her door, and waited. I knew she would eventually come. Maybe she got stuck late at work. Sophie had mentioned she’d seen her earlier in the day and had placed a large order of arrangements. Maybe that was it. But after an hour turned into two, a bad feeling sunk its teeth around me, and no amount of excuses would shake it off. I told myself to calm down. To not worry. There was an explanation why Valentina wasn’t here yet. Before I drove myself crazy, I decided to go back to my place and wait for the next morning. I would go downstairs, and she’d be there. Everything would be all right again. It had to be.
But when I went downstairs the next morning, I didn’t find Valentina. Instead, I found a real estate agent along with a cleaning crew erasing all traces of her. Hiding behind neighborly concern, I asked the agent what had happened to Valentina. The agent told me the apartment was being put on the market again. The woman who had lived there had gone back to the United States and wasn’t planning on coming back.
I broke out into a cold sweat. She had left me without an explanation. Without even saying fucking goodbye.
And like a stupid, pathetic fuck, I waited for her to come back to me. Hours turned into days and days turned into weeks. Eventually I gave up, drank heavily, and took random women to bed. Fucking harder, fucking to oblivion.
I laugh bitterly. I tried so damn hard to do the right thing by Valentina, take it at her speed. I didn’t even fuck her.
I lost her anyway.
What a fucking joke.
She was once my hope, but the love I felt for her became my prison. The spiral down was a brief relief. Yet late at night, with the smell of sex surrounding me and the taste of stale beer on my tongue, I couldn’t fool myself anymore. It wasn’t working. Nothing was. I still felt the pain. Raw. Unforgiving.
When Poppy and our unborn child died, I didn’t think I could go on without them. Sorrow, anger, disbelief, they all drove me to madness. I purposefully threw myself in danger’s way. If they couldn’t be with me, I’d join them. One day, I sat there with a knife in my hand. I was fucking done. Tired. I couldn’t handle the pain anymore. I kept thinking that it would be very easy to put an end to my pathetic, worthless life. But as I felt the sharp bite of the blade on my skin, I realized that I couldn’t do it. Poppy wouldn’t have wished for this. She would have wanted me to fight. Be the man she fell in love with.
I sought help the very same night.
Not everyone is lucky enough to get a second chance, and I did. I was gifted one in Valentina.
Or so I thought.
And no matter how low I sink in debauchery, I still can’t let go of her.
There are times, though, like right now when I try to replay the whole sequence of events. Search for a sign that Valentina was lying to me. That what we shared had been nothing but wishful thinking. It would make it so damn easy to hate her. To move on. But deep in my heart, there’s a voice screaming that what we had was real. That something happened to make her leave.
“Well?” the bartender asks, bringing me out of my reverie. “What was your question?”
Blinking repeatedly, I focus on her.
She grabs a bottle of whiskey, and pours a shot, handing me a small glass filled with liquid courage. “On the house. Now drink and then talk.”
“Cheers.” I down it, enjoying the burn as it is going down. “Thanks.” I grin ruefully. “Guess I needed that.”
She shrugs a tiny shoulder. “You pick up some tricks along the way working here. So, who is she?”
“Am I that obvious?”
She laughs. “No. Just a lucky guess.”
I slide the shot glass back and forth between my hands, avoiding meeting her gaze as I consider what and how much to tell her. I’m not sure if it’s the whiskey or her soothing presence, but I find myself opening up and unloading all of my bullshit. I tell her about Valentina and our time together, about the last morning I saw her, and how it seemed like it was finally going to work out only to come home and find her gone.
“That’s my pathetic story.” I grip my hair in my hands, wanting to pull it out. “It just doesn’t make any sense that she left without even talking to me.”
“Do you love her?”
I nod. “Fucking hopelessly.” Even if William loved her for the rest of his life, it would only be a fraction of how much I love her in one beat of my worthless heart.
“There has to be a reason why she left.” She removes the empty bottle and shot glass in front of me. I notice this time she doesn’t ask me if I want another one. “Call me crazy, but there has to be more to her story. When you love someone, you just don’t up and leave without a word. Husband or not. And by what you told me, I don’t think it was an easy decision for her. There has to be a reason why she left the way she did. And if I were in your shoes, I would find out. I’d want closure.”
“But what if—” I suck in a breath, an earthquake of emotion rolling through me. “I’m fucking afraid of what I’ll find.”
“We can’t live our life in fear.” She places a hand on my forearm, the touch welcoming—fortifying. “Imagine what you could lose because of it.”
Her words bounce around me like a wrecking ball, little by little tearing down the walls I’ve erected since Valentina left. She’s right. I’ve given enough of my life to fear, letting it rule over my every decision. And I’m done.
Done.
If there’s a chance that Valentina returns my love, I will seize and fight for it.
And if …
No. I won’t allow those doubts to haunt me.
I stare at the woman standing in front of me and thank God for sending her to me. He knew I needed her.
I take out a bill large enough to cover my drinks and then some, and place it on the table. She smiles, her eyes twinkling with pleasure.
“Had enough to drink?”
“Think so.” I crack the first real smile I’ve felt in a very long time. “Thank you for everything.”
“No problem.”
I stand up, pushing the chair behind and heading toward the entrance. I’m almost past the threshold when I hear her ask, “What are you going to do now?”
I glance back. “Choose life.”
Outside the hotel, the city comes alive, pulsating to the mad beating of my heart. I take out my phone and dial Sophie. She answers after the first ring.
“What’s up, handsome?”
“Your best friend … Her husband’s family is from Greenwich, right?”
“Sharon? She’s from New Canaan, her husband’s from Texas. But, yeah, they live there now. Why do you ask?”
“Listen, I need you to do me a favor …”
“Sure. Are you okay? You sound funny.”
I stare at the cars flying by.
I choose life.
I choose her.
“Yeah,” I pause. “I think I will be.”
“GOOD MORNING, VAL.”
I’m reaching for a pan in one of the cabinets when I see Evan approaching. He’s been working as our chef for the past three years. He used to work at an Italian restaurant that we frequented in Port Chester until William made him an offer that he couldn’t resist. Now he’s with us.
“Good morning, Evan,” I say lightly, placing the pan on the stove. “I’m preparing breakfast today.” I open another cabinet and reach for a bowl this time.
He comes to stand next to me and folds his arms across his slim chest. He reminds me of a young George Clooney, back when he was on E.R. And unlike Mrs. Croft, who has never really warmed up to me, Evan has become a good friend. One of the few real friends I have.