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She looks at me, her eyes tired and unimpressed. “Ricardo is a tour guide I hired to show me around. Today was the first time I actually spent a daynotalone, and I will not let you ruin it for me.”
I squeeze my glass. What the fuck do I really want? I don’t even spend time with her, but I can’t let her go. I’m torn, and I hate Mila for that too.
“You can stay here as long as you wish. I have to spend some time in California right after the wedding. We’re selling the Wings, and then I fly to finalize the deal in Singapore.”
All my hard work has paid off, and I got even better deals than I hoped for. It took a lot of hours and sweat, but the win is so much sweeter. “You’re welcome to return to New York or stay here for the summer.”
She stares at me, her face passive, but something flickers in her eyes and then she stands up. “I better go to sleep. Gina and the family are arriving in the morning.” She leaves her wine and returns to the house.
For the first time in years, I hate being here. I hate that the place is infused with the heaviness between us.
I hate that she can be so indifferent. I hate the silence that is more profound when she leaves.
I hate myself for the way I feel and don’t want to.
* * *
What the fuck is that wailing?
A baby? I run my hand down my face, wondering why my back hurts. I must have passed out on the sofa, reading the projection for the Chicago condominium development.
Grunting, I push up to a sitting position. My mouth feels glued shut with rancid cotton balls. A half-empty bottle decorates the coffee table.
Oh, yeah, that would explain why I feel like a dumpster.
Walking out of my office, the sun blinds me. Massi is bouncing his crying daughter around the terrace. I guess his wife and his grumpy teenage son are around as well. Having company is annoying at the best of times, but this morning… fuck me.
“Make it stop,” I growl, leaning in the doorway.
My brother pins me with a look that I’m sure makes his famous consommé sour. “You look like shit. I thought I was in charge of your bachelor party.”
If my niece doesn’t stop right now, I might just drive them to a hotel. “I’m going to take a shower.”
I make my way to the master bedroom. The guest bedroom door is closed. Is Mila sleeping? My hand hovers, but I decide to take care of my basic needs first. She doesn’t need to see me like this, anyway.
I shower and get changed, feeling marginally more human. At least the baby seems to have gotten the message. When I return to the living room, I’m met by Gina’s glare. I’ve never seen her appear this vicious.
She’s feeding little Ali. Fuck. Now my house is a nursery.
“Your milk will go sour if you continue glaring,” I quip, mostly because I’m an asshole. “Where is Mila?”
“Gone,” she deadpans, looking at me like I’ve just drowned a litter of kittens.
“What do you mean gone?” I shake my head and go to make coffee.
I start the espresso machine and down the bitter shot.
Gina waltzes in, the baby now sleeping in her arms. “I mean she left you.”
Everything goes still for a moment as I stop midway, placing my cup in the sink. Not sure why I think that turning in slow motion might make the words comprehensible, but I still take my time. In that slowed down moment, before I face Gina, scenarios run through my mind.
She can’t be far.
She wouldn’t have left without telling me.
She can’t risk her family’s lifestyle and health.
She did what’s best for both of us.
