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“Her name is Luna, and you know that,” I said angrily.
“Whatever,” Colin said as security let us pass.
My friends remarked on how long it’d been since they’d last seen me.
“This woman really has you caged, doesn’t she?” Colin added with disgust.
I glowered. “She’s like no other, and I don’t need to defend her to either of you.”
“Well, I want my buddy back. We’re going to have fun tonight,” Sean said. “No more talk of Luna.”
So I had “fun,” which consisted of one pint after another. I knew I needed to stop, but it dulled the pain and misery. I took what I vowed would be my last beer—who was I kidding?—and leaned over the second-floor railing. I looked down to the first floor, remembering the exact place I’d seen Luna some eight months earlier. She’d seemed unhappy that day, as if someone had drained all the life from her. I’d been intrigued about her before then, enjoying teasing her, but that was the night I’d started falling for her. I wasn’t quite sure what had taken me in first. It might have been the way her gaze fixed on me, making me feel as though I were the only person in the room, as though she saw me for me, and not for fame and fortune. She didn’t need any of that shit. She had all her trust fund money she needed, if her brother didn’t drain it all from her first, the bastard.
I’d never forget the way she looked the next morning, in my oversized shirt and nothing more. She’d swept her long waves over her shoulders, and she’d crossed her sexy, toned legs under the table. Some had thought I had slipped a little for choosing Luna in the first place. She wasn’t the type of woman who would usually catch my eye. But when she got ahold of my heart, for the first time in my life, I didn’t think of sex first. I thought of it second, sure, but definitely not first.
I cared for her more than just for the sex. I wanted her there in the morning to talk to, to eat breakfast with. I enjoyed the idea of having a woman there to take care of me, someone I could take care of in return, someone who cared what happened to me. What I loved most were the quiet times alone, away from the rest of the world when we would hang around the house instead of running all over town, going to clubs, functions, and everything else I was used to doing or required to do. None of those things seemed as much fun anymore.
I ordered another pint. The alcohol was beginning to do its job.
I missed her desperately. I missed her body next to mine and was left instead with a cold, empty bed. I longed to have her in my arms, to make love to her. And then I thought of Carlton, fucking buzzkill. He was alone with her, no doubt plotting and planning. I should have gone to Monaco.
“Hey, Dev, you look lost.”
I was startled out of my thoughts. Standing next to me was Elle Winters, a woman I’d briefly dated a few years back. She was one of a few women who I had parted with amicably. She was far too nice, and I’d been far too shitty to her. Despite all that, she’d forgiven me, and I didn’t deserve it.
“Hey, Elle,” I said, trying to smile.
“What have you been up to? I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“I’ve been busy,” I said casually.
“I hear you have a new girlfriend. What’s her name?”
“Luna.”
“She’s a lucky girl.”
“I’m the lucky one,” I said, and I hoped that was still true.
She tilted her head to one side. “It’s loud in here. Do you want to go for a walk?”
I thought about that for a second. “Actually, I think I need to go home. It was nice seeing you again.” I needed to leave before I did something stupid.
* * *
Fog hung over Sandrine as I returned home. I took a long, hot shower, trying to shake off the hangover that was still lingering. Afterward, I sat on the bed in my towel and listened to voicemails. One from Luna wondering how I was, the second from Enzo. He was in town and would be over that morning. It was nice to hear from Luna. Enzo … whatever.
I took two aspirins and checked the newspaper. I needed to touch base with Leonardo, to finally sit down and have a “chat,” the one I’d been avoiding for more than a week, the one to explain my behavior as if I were some five-year-old. But I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, let alone Enzo, who arrived shortly before noon. He had his briefcase in hand.
“You look like shit,” Enzo said.
“Too much drinking,” I said, massaging my temples.
“I hear that too often from you, paisano,” Enzo said, shaking his head. “Drinking where and with whom?”
“Just some friends.”
“Tell me you went home alone.”
