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“Just get out of here, Blue. I can’t even look at you right now.”
I ran to the bathroom and retched. When I finally made my way to our little pathetic room, Blue was gone.
For the first time we hadn’t sought understanding in mutual embrace, through the language of our hearts and bodies. It was the first time we gave up on each other and chose pain over love.
ChapterTwelve
Gina
“What wasthat?” Mila is practically bouncing, unable to contain her energy. “He nailed that interview. Who knew he could be so charming and honest?” She plays with the paper umbrella in her moldy-looking blue cocktail. “I mean, he was honest, wasn’t he? About his dad.”
We’re sitting in a corner at Casa Cassi, having drinks. Well, non-alcoholic ones, but pretending to be a part of the usual clientele. The floor is teeming with the evening crowd and I’m assessing where we can improve the customer experience without being too obvious about taking notes and making the staff feel they are being watched.
But I can’t concentrate. Massi’s interview, the revelation about his father and the delicious meal he not only prepared, but obsessively cared about my opinion on, are still reeling in my head. But it’s him calling me Blue that shook me to the core.
Spoken softly, that name dived into the darkest corner of my soul to drill through any protective walls I’ve built. Simultaneously, my stomach tingled with awareness and apprehension. Lust and dread coiled around my bones, and I knew I wasn’t strong enough to survive Massimo Cassinetti for the second time.
“His dad passed when he was thirteen, but I didn’t know he started cooking to stay connected to him.”
I watch tonight’s maître d’ interacting with a group of walk-ins, but it’s just a cover, I don’t really see what’s going on. The war surging inside me prevents me from functioning like a normal human being. I’m a mess. Just pieces of shredded heart, festering soul and dark emotions that could effectively suck the life out of this room.
“Well, it sure made me look at him differently. All that glower and barking is just a wrapping with the fragile sticker. He’s just as hurt and insecure as the rest of us.”
Calling Massi insecure instead of an asshole would have made me laugh yesterday. Understanding that he is not only chasing fame, scratching his ego with the need for the elusive star, but rather creating culinary art to stay close to his late father, has shifted my perception of him.
The new light of comprehension is blinding me and I can’t decide if this knowledge redeems him from the past or just makes everything far worse. We should have been this honest years ago.
“Are you going to finally explain what’s going on,Blue?”
Shit. Mila overheard him earlier. Her inquiring gaze pierces me, and I swear the woman can probably read all the answers written in my eyes. Perhaps the answers I don’t even know I have, the little witch.
“We were married once.” Okay, guessing by her dropped jaw she didn’t read this one. I chuckle. It’s a tentative rumble in my chest, not really a joyous expression, but it feels good to let go a bit.
“And you didn’t think of telling me this before? This is huge. Does he—”
“The day you and I came here to meet with them was the first time we’d spoken in seventeen years.” The meeting we should have never taken. Desperate for money and something to keep me occupied, I’d naively believed I was stronger. Immune. No longer impacted. I’ve been wrong about many things in my life, but this one takes the gold medal.
Lesson of the day—it’s impossible to build immunity against Massimo Cassinetti. There is no vaccine for the pull he holds over me. No immunization to neutralize his effect.
Not even the distance of time and space over nearly two decades doused the array of feelings I have. It’s unnatural. Or perhaps the most natural thing ever, if only it was reciprocated.
“Okay and it seems his initial shock—or dismay—is wearing off, judging by today.” She leans back and finally gives me a physical reprieve when she looks away, scanning the room. She makes a note on her phone. At least one of us is focused on the job.
I relax my shoulders a bit, hoping to mitigate the impending headache. God, I haven’t even realized how tense I’ve been.
“What do you mean?” I frown at her.
She raises her finger and finishes her note. “I’ve been trying to figure out what’s wrong at the entrance. The hostess isn’t smiling. She smiles when greeting someone, but then turns back to her bored self.” Mila puts the phone down and looks up. “What do I mean? Come on, he was talking and cooking for you the whole time.”
“That’s bullshit. I was standing in the shadows. He was fully focused on Catira.” Why is my heart doing pirouettes?
“Sure, sure. Have you left your skill of observation in LA?” she deadpans.
“It makes no sense. He hates me. In his mind I left him all those years ago, and he’s never forgiven me.”
Dessert plates from a table beside us get cleared and I start a stopwatch on my phone to time how quickly the bill gets delivered. I need to do some work today. My half-assed dedication immediately goes out the window when a server places two small glass dishes in front of me and Mila.
“Lavender-infused panna cotta with blueberries from the chef, ladies.” She smiles and waltzes away.
