Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Part of me wondered why I continued to fight for a man who couldn’t be bothered to fight for me. He’d been my boyfriend for two years, and we’d moved in together within the first three months of our relationship because it just felt so right. It was a whirlwind romance, uncontrollable laughter for jokes only the two of us could understand, a scorching chemistry that lit the sheets ablaze, a connection I’d never felt with another man.
I guess it just hurt too much to let that slip through my fingers.
The drive was spent in silence, the two of us in the back seat, Enzo constantly on his phone. He’d fire off a message and put it aside, but then it would vibrate with an instant reply, and he would be typing away again. That meant he was having a full-on conversation with someone.
He glanced at me when he felt my stare, and that was when he put his phone aside and ignored it when it vibrated a few more times. He focused his stare out the window and didn’t explain the messages, even though he knew I was paying attention.
When we arrived at the little town of Taormina, the driver took us down narrow alleyways to get us to the small boutique hotel, Villa Fiorita. It was a short walk from the heart of town and had a pool on the roof. It wasn’t a five-star experience, but it was an adults-only hotel, so that meant it would be quiet.
We checked into our room that faced another room across the hall. It had a double bed on top of a carpet that needed to be changed a decade ago. The bathroom didn’t have a walk-in shower, but a shower in a tub that was slippery just to look at, and a single sink at the vanity that we’d have to fight over.
But at least we were here.
The second he put the luggage on the racks, he pulled out his phone and continued whatever conversation he’d been having.
I gave him space for a few minutes, sat in the single armchair, looked through old messages, and scrolled on social media. I checked my emails even though I knew there would be nothing to reply to because I’d cleared my schedule for this trip. I’d made sure all my clients got their photographs and had tied up all loose ends so I wouldn’t have to deal with anything.
When I exhausted all forms of entertainment, I stared at him, leaning against the dresser with his fingers quickly typing away. Stared and stared while he typed and typed. My temper eventually got the best of me, and I snapped. “I made the lunch reservation for two, not three. Should I call and change it?”
His eyes finally left his phone and shifted to me.
“You know, for you, me, and your goddamn phone.” I wanted to use this trip to reconnect the broken parts of our machine, but instead, my voice was more poisonous than the venom of a king cobra.
He didn’t even bother to look embarrassed. He released a quiet sigh before he slid his phone into his pocket. “I told you I had a lot of projects at work—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I tightened the strap of my purse and headed to the door. “Let’s go before we miss our reservation.” A reservation that had been hard to get. Like all the other reservations I’d made for this damn trip.
He did a better job of ignoring his phone for the next few days, but he still wore his smartwatch, and the screen lit up all the time. When I was able to catch a glimpse without making it obvious, I saw Luna’s name on the screen—his boss.
So I guess he was telling the truth about work.
I kinda felt bad, but I also kinda didn’t.
For lunch, we decided to try Rosticceria Da Cristina, a famous spot known for their arancini. Sicily was the birthplace of some genius culinary creations like granita, cannoli, and, of course, arancini. We had something similar in Rome, called supplì, not nearly as fried and with a different consistency. We grabbed one of each flavor, ragu with parmesan, peas, and mozzarella, and then pistachio, which contained pistachio pesto, cooked ham, mozzarella, and pistachio grains. There were a couple of other options, but each arancini ball was as big as my palm, so we picked one more, the eggplant option, and then sat at the outdoor patio seating since we’d chosen to do their takeaway option rather than dine in their restaurant.
My bar-top chair faced the restaurant, while Enzo’s was pivoted the opposite way, the plate between us on the slender bar table that stretched all the way down for others to use too.
Enzo took the first bite, savoring the taste as he mulled over his opinion of it. “It’s good.” With dark hair and green eyes, he was a handsome Italian man with a nice smile. I noticed him the second we were in the same room together. And a lot of women noticed him when we went out together. It never used to bother me, but it bothered me a lot more now because our relationship seemed to have crashed on the rocks, no matter how hard I steered the ship back to sea.