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June 1st, 2000
Congratulations, Stefani, you’re thirty.
I woke up hungover as fuck with a shitty taste in my mouth. Whiskey was good, but not after it stayed on your tongue for twelve hours. The party last night was wild and I had Catherinelle and Lola to thank for it; they’d been in charge of organizing. I was sure they wouldn’t make a big fuss about my birthday, especially since it’s only been a couple of months since Catherinelle’s wedding, but I was wrong. Last night I drank my weight in booze to forget the fact that I’m now thirty-fucking-years-old.
I started regaining consciousness slowly and regretted it immediately. Once my body woke up, the crippling headache and the need to throw up my guts appeared too. My body was revolting against every single decision I made last night. The weed, the two lines of coke, and all the whiskey I gulped down last night was too much for me now that I was on my way to being an old man. Everything was hurting; from my joints and muscles to my liver that was probably curled up in a ball and waiting to die.
If it were up to me, I would have stayed there, spread-eagled in the middle of my California King bed, dressed in last night’s clothes, and with my shoes on, forever. Unfortunately, my plan was cut short by a low but persistent vibration on my chest. I hoped it would go away, but when it didn’t, I forced my eyes open to see what the hell was going on. Groggy and dizzy, I fished the Blackberry out the front pocket of my tuxedo and saw Gino’s name flashing on the screen.
“What?” I whined into the phone.
“You sound like crap.”
“I feel like crap too. What time it is?”
“A little past twelve.”
Shit.
“How are you awake? The sun was up when we left the party.”
“My son decided he needed extra attention today.”
Ah, the little Nucci prince was taking over the house. At four months old, Enzo Galliano Nucci was already exhibiting part of his father’s stubbornness, especially when he wanted something. That kid would be a good boss someday. We already knew he’ll conquer everything in his path.
“I love the kid, man, but I’m so happy he’s not mine. I couldn’t take crying right now.” Even hearing Gino through the phone felt like someone was stabbing me in the ear. “Can you come by and put me down with a bullet in my head, please.”
“That bad, huh?” The only answer I could give him was a grunt. “Well, take a shower and put yourself together. We’re getting together in a couple of hours.”
Bad joke, boss. My brain was scrambled, there was no way I could drag myself to the business table.
“Can’t it wait?”
“Stefani, my son needs some fresh air, and Cat and Mustafa are joining us for lunch.”
“Then go have some family time and forget about me. I feel like a corpse.”
“It’s your birthday, Roman. If you don’t show, the girls will hunt you down.”
“We celebrated my birthday enough.”
I’ve heard Gino chuckling, and then the unmistakable sound of a hungry baby screaming for his dad.
“Damn, I have to go. We’ll be at that Bistro in Central Park next to Jackie Kennedy Oasis. I’ll see you at one, brother.”
“Fine,” I mumbled, and threw the phone across the room.
The last thing I wanted was to get out of the house and keep celebrating. At least the place was in walking distance because there was no way I could drive like this.
After another twenty minutes of wallowing in my pit of agony, I decided it was time to face my hangover like a man. I rolled to my side, growling and cursing under my breath. When I opened my eyes again, my heart stopped. It happened every time. The huge three-by-six-foot portrait was looking back at me with the same frozen expression that was there every day. Salvatrice. It had cost a small fortune to have the painting done by an artist I’d brought over from Austria who’s specialized in life-like human portraits. She was as real as the brushes could make her, but not real enough. She was the last thing I saw at night before going to sleep and the first thing I saw every morning. This lifeless, loveless portrait was all that I had left, so I caged it in a massive gold frame, decorated with rubies, trying to hold on to my past.
For eight years I’ve been in love with the same woman and for six she wasn’t here. Not physically. It didn’t matter where in this world Salva was, her ghost was with me every day. Today was no different.The sharp pain in my gut from my hangover sends my mind spiraling back to the memory of another hangover. One I had gotten when Salva and I had indulged in some wine tasting – too much wine tasting – and we'd both woken up the next morning feeling miserable. We had spent the entire day snuggled under the covers and it made the whole deal more manageable.
She’s not here now, Stefani.
That was the problem, she wasn’t anywhere. I tore apart the state looking for her, but I couldn’t find a trace. I would go door-to-door if I’d believed there was a chance to find her.
