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‘No, no,’ he insisted again. ‘It’s not like that. I told you. My ex-girlfriend was crazy. Once, I posted a photo on Facebook of Erica and me smiling with her hand on my shoulder in the kitchen. She was mad! She contacted Erica and said, “Do not touch my boyfriend or I will kill you”. She is crazy.’ He shook his head as if reliving the whole sorry incident all over again.
‘But maybe she wasn’t serious,’ I reasoned. ‘You know, lots of people say they’ll kill people, but they don’t really mean it.’
‘Sophia. With this woman, anything is possible,’ he emphasised again. ‘That’s why I only post photos with women who are like my mother or grandmother, because she did not feel threatened if I was with someone older.’
Ah, sothat’swhy he’s always snuggled up with the silver surfers.
‘I try to only post with older ladies. Like with your group on Facebook, I only posted a photo with Grace. Not with Fran, who is in her forties, yes? And not with you, because she would think you are pretty and go crazy.’
Everything was starting to make a lot more sense to me now.
‘So what is she like?’ I asked. ‘Your ex. Apart from being a madwoman, is she pretty? Why was she so insecure?’
‘Yes, she is a pretty woman. Brown hair and eyes. Good body. She is from the Ukraine. But is a very hard, cold woman,’ he said, grimacing. ‘Nothing I did was ever right. She did not like my food. When we had sex, she would push me away as soon as we finished. She did not like to hug or kiss. She did not show any feelings. She said I had a fat belly. Just like they did at school. She made me feel ugly and sad.’ He leant forward, resting his head on his knees.
‘It sounds like it was a very destructive relationship and you’re definitely better off out of it. I mean,you? A fat belly? Look at this…’ I said, pulling his legs down to lie flat on the bed before stroking, then gently kissing his gorgeous stomach. ‘Your stomach is beautiful. Perfect, in fact. Which must be difficult to maintain, seeing as you are a chef and spend all day cooking and tasting food.’
We both lay down again, and I continued stroking his stomach.
‘Thank you,’ he said as he rolled on his side to face me. ‘Yes. It is difficult. I am not naturally this way. I have to work hard to stay in shape. When I was younger, I was fat and the children said mean things. I had no friends and the girls called me ugly and said no one will ever like Lorenzo.’
‘You!’ I shouted with disbelief. ‘Ugly? I find that hard to imagine!’ He smiled, appreciating the compliment.
‘I hated school. But Ilovedfood.’ He sat up in the bed again, excited to tell the story. ‘When I was sixteen, a—how do you say? Hospitality school came to my school to look for students. I went and learnt more about how to cook and respect food. I also started to exercise and I lost weight. I cut my hair. I fitted into better clothes. When I was twenty, the girls began to see me. So I admit, I went a little crazy and had fun with women.Lotsof women…’ he said, smirking a little.
‘So you were a bit like a kid in a sweet shop!’ I said, laughing as I sat up beside him. He frowned as he tried to process and translate what I was saying.
‘Aha,’ he said as the penny dropped. ‘Yes, yes, Sophia. I understand. I was like a child who goes to buy caramella, yes. You reason—sorry, I mean you are right.’
‘I bet those girls that called you ugly are kicking themselves now,’ I said before realising that was another phrase he might not follow. ‘Sorry, let me rephrase: I bet those girls are sad that they called you fat.’
‘Ha-ha. Yes!’ he said, laughing again. ‘They try to talk and flirt with me on Facebook now. It is funny!’
That kind of made sense too. Probably why he had so many pictures of himself on Facebook. It was a kind of‘Fuck you bitches. Look at me now!’type thing.That’s right. Just call me Ms Freud, master psychologist.
He rested his head on my shoulder again. I stroked his hair. Now I understood why he’d seemed to crave hugs and affection when we were together in Tuscany.
‘Thank you for telling me all of this,’ I said, genuinely grateful for the insight it had given me into his life and what was behind his Florence no-show. ‘I know it can’t have been easy for you.’
‘It is okay,’ he said, kissing me gently on my forehead. ‘I know you are a good woman, and I know I upset you before. But that’s why I came to London now. My friend had a job for me in Paris. He said to go there. But I told him I wanted to see you. I did not know if you would speak to me again, as it has been a long time and I did not meet you, but I wanted to try. I felt what we had that night was special. I wanted to explore. See what happens.’
‘Well, I’m glad you came to London, Lorenzo,’ I replied as I stroked his beard. ‘I’m really glad you did.’
I knew I shouldn’t be, but I was excited. Beyond happy. It seemed like he was hoping that this would be much more than a fling. Like he wanted to stick around. Like he genuinely wanted to be with me. And like he wouldn’t hurt me again.
Oh God. Please, please, please let me be right this time…
