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As I’m contemplating how badly I really want to be here, an attractive stranger approaches me from the side. He takes the seat next to me, and I can smell a faint hint of his expensive cologne.
Turning to him in an awkward, rigid manner, I attempt to remember how to askdo you speak Englishin Italian. My words escape me, and now I feel like an even bigger idiot than before.
“You don’t speak Italian?” he asks, a warm smile melting my inhibitions faster than the tequila ever could.
“No, no, I don’t,” I confess, feeling my cheeks flush until my face matches the color of my dress.
“That’s fine. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. We can dance, though,” he suggests with a devious look in his eyes.
By now, I’m so flustered that my entire body feels hot. The shot hasn’t even hit me yet, but I’m already craving another. I’m going to make some mistakes tonight, and I’m going to love every second of it.
He orders shots for both of us, and once we’ve thrown them back together, he leads me out to the edge of the dance floor, where a small clearing has been created. At first, I’m nervous that I’ll be uncoordinated and clumsy, but he guides my movements to the rhythm of the song. My body is resting against his as we dance, and I can feel the heat coming off him as our growing desire begins to overwhelm us both.
Even though dancing with this man would make any of my friends convulse with jealousy, I can’t help but think about Marcello. I’d give anything to feel his hips grinding against mine as we tease each other with our movements. I can’t stop imagining his face, how beautiful he would look under the haunting glow of the blue lights.
It feels wrong to be thinking of him actively when I’m trying to forget him, especially when there’s another perfectly fine man here with me. It’s the kind of behavior I would resent in someone else, especially if the man dancing with me were using me to get over another woman.
I guess I have to be open to anything in a place like this.
I try to focus on the man I’m with, breathing in his cologne and placing his hands on my body to show my interest.
It’s been five years. I need to stop letting my memory of Marcello control how I behave. He isn’t here, and even if he was, he never owned me. At least not in any tangible way.
I turn around to face the man who has taken me as the object of his desire for the night, and I lean in to kiss him. He accepts emphatically, and I’m able to release myself from my imaginary loyalty to Marcello for the first time. I feel so free, like I’ve escaped a prison of my own making.
We wander back over to the bar after a while, and I realize that I’m starting to feel tipsy. I haven’t been properly drunk in so long, at least not for the past two years since I was able to have a night to myself. I admit that I don’t remember exactly how heavily alcohol impacts me, and for now, I feel so good that I want to keep chasing this effervescent warmth for the rest of the night.
We’re both living fully in the moment, embracing each song as it plays and allowing our inhibitions to drown in every drink that we slam together. His hands are all over me now, teasing along the slit of my dress and sending chills up and down my legs. I want to pursue him so badly, and I came here to take risks, but I’m starting to stumble around from all the liquor.
Just as I’m deliberating what I should do next, I see a man that looks exactly like Marcello walk down the stairs and out the door.
What could be the odds that it’s actually him? Would it be crazy of me to try and find out if it really could be?
I turn my face back towards my dance partner, but he’s already growing irritated with me for being a lightweight. He might have also seen the way I was staring after the man from upstairs, which would embarrass me to death. What a horrible impression I would give him!
“I’m going to go get some water. I’ll be right back,” he says, leaning in close to my ear as the bass grows louder.
My coordination is terrible at this point, and my head is beginning to pound with the rhythm of my heartbeat. I know I need to drink some water too, but I’m so curious about the man that just left that I allow my intrigue to get the better of me.
I slip away from the outer edge of the dance floor where my partner will be looking for me, excessively controlling my motions to appear less intoxicated than I am. I doubt it’s working the way I want it to, but if I don’t overthink every movement, I’ll fall over and collapse on the floor.
Right outside the door, I can see the man walking casually down the sidewalk. It’s too dark for me to really see if it’s him, but I could swear that he looks exactly how I imagine him in all of my fantasies.
“Marcello!”
I call out his name, but he doesn’t miss a beat as he continues walking away from me. Do I call out again? Do I just look insane at this point?
Instead of calling after him, I try to chase after him to the best of my inebriated ability. I can’t believe how drunk I am, and I wouldn’t be shocked if this entire ordeal was a hallucination or drunken delusion of mine.
When he turns the corner, I immediately begin to run after him against my better judgment. I’m not even able to walk properly. How the hell do I expect to catch up to him in heels?
Despite the odds stacked against me, I can’t give up on catching him. Even if I’m wrong, I’d never forgive myself if I never got to find out.
I’m about to round the corner when the heel on my shoe breaks, and I fall face-first into the ground, striking my head on a landscaping rock and blacking out completely.
ChapterTen
JUNE
