Chapter 7
“Was that necessary?” I click my tongue as Fabio halts the car in front of my lecture hall. He seems to be on the edge this morning, driving as if we were late for something.
“We were going to be late,” he unlocks the car door, his tone biting.
He is mad about something—he is mad at me. And if my observation has been correct for the past three days, he is mad about having to drive me to school. Only I cannot exactly understand why. I press the power button on my phone to see that we are twenty minutes early.
“Twenty minutes!” I screech, wishing I could burst his eardrums or claw at him for bringing me here twenty minutes earlier than supposed. I don’t like waiting around. And it’s not like he would allow me to frolic around campus by myself.
He and my father have scheduled my life. The routine is as robotic as them both, except thanks to Vittoria, my father now has blood streaming through his veins, but Fabio… Fabio is irredeemable.
I go from home to school, back home, then to my studio, and I never do any of these alone. Plus, I do all of these with him, and the painful part is that he makes it seem as though he has sworn an oath of silence around me.
“I want to take a walk,” I say, reaching for the door handle. But it clicks, letting me know he has locked it again. That’s a no—a loud no.
Classic.
It too lovely a sunny day to sit in the car stewing and pining for the man in front of me, wishing I could do more than get intoxicated by his scent of opulence and command, wishing every single second around him wouldn’t come with the constant, migraine-rendering effect of my heart cramping, my stomach flipping and my desire for him.
It’s frustrating having all these emotions and not knowing what to do with them. While the object of my misery moves confidently about, causing me even more misery just by existing in the same sphere with me.
“You are not great company,” I cross my arms over my chest and stare out the window at the few students roaming the lecture hall.
I sip my coffee, involuntarily soaking up the swash of colors in their outfits, hair, makeup, bags, the flowers around them, the green grass, the fiery sun, and rows of lecture halls.
I click my tongue, thinking of something to do to fill my time. I have a history class today so I didn’t bring my camera with me. I press the power button on my phone to check the time again. Seventeen more minutes! Bloody saints!
“Silence is good for the mind,” Fabio calls my attention to him, and I chuckle hysterically at the madness coming out of his mouth.
“I am not training to become a monk,” I grind out. “You could have given me a heads-up so I could have texted my boyfriend and told him I would be here earlier,” I poke, or maybe stab; I don’t care.
It has been getting more difficult to get a reaction out of him when I mention Paul lately. It’s Thursday, and I think it is a little too soon for him to stop being jealous or caring altogether. I know he cares, but that reaction I got out of him on Monday is nowhere to be found.
“Hmm,” he starts to stroke the steering wheel with his thumb.
“Hmm,” I huff at him and shoot a text to Gloria. It is not that I don’t like being in this enclosed space with him; it’s just I don’t know how long before I start to grovel for his attention, which will give him the upper hand.
I don’t want him to think I am in love with Paul and am still trying to mess around with him. I need some molecule of self-respect where Fabio is concerned.
Ten gruesome minutes later, I see Gloria hurtling towards us in an oversized mushroom-printed skirt and beige crop top, her hair the same untamed mess as her skirt.
“Help is here,” I say, sitting up. He unlocks the door. I hop out of the car, and the first thing I do is breathe in the fresh air—air that doesn’t twist and flip my inside, air that is void of Fabio. I hurry to Gloria.
“Are you good?” Gloria laughs softly, and I nod repeatedly. I am a little dramatic with the way I am breathing heavily, but it feels like I need to get a wave of oxygen through my lungs or risk passing out.
“Let’s get out of here,” I hook our hands and scuttle with her towards the lecture hall, just in time to see Paul swaggering towards us in the distance, wearing black jeans, boots, and a dark purple T-shirt. No backpack, no notebook.
“I called him because you said it was an emergency, and I didn’t think I would be here on time,” Gloria confesses with a tight grin.
“Thank you,” I don’t care for Paul’s presence, but I don’t exactly hate it either.
It is no longer news that I am doing this to get Fabio jealous. I told both of them over lunch at the cafeteria on Tuesday. I had to come out plain and tell them that I like Fabio and want to have him if he will have me. I didn’t want to lead Paul on or give Gloria further excuses to keep fawning about the romance she thought she was sensing between Paul and me.
They took it well. No, Paul took it well. He seemed unfazed by my revelation and told me he had thought as much. Gloria, on the other hand, didn’t know how to react at first, and to date, she has yet to react. But she seems to be loving the idea of watching a real-life telenovela play out before her.
“Is there a deadline in mind?” She looks at Fabio and then back at me.
“For what?” I know what she means, but I don’t want to think about the fact that I might have to continue with this charade longer than I was estimating.
“You are pretty obvious, you fucking like the man; he is not blind to it, no one is, and if he is not doing anything about it, don’t you think you should…” she trails, biting her lower lips to shovel down her words, partly because of the daggers I aim in her direction.
“I am in it, I will see it to the end,” I pin. I will. I am Eva Teso, after all. I am more like my father than anyone else. My easygoing self aside, when I want something, I get it. I don’t back down halfway. I wasn’t raised by that kind of man.
“He is doing you a favor,” she says, low-voiced. He is setting you free, fly baby,” she mimics a bird. “Soar,” her eyes widen. While I appreciate her enthusiasm, I don’t share her school of thought.
Fabio isn’t setting me free. There is never any freedom in life when you cannot be with the one your heart genuinely longs for. You will always be bound by the shackles of a love you wished you could have.
“Gloria,” I click my tongue so she can stop flipping her hands repeatedly, dramatizing flapping wings.
“Paul is a catch,” she looks over her shoulder in Paul’s direction.
“Then catch him,” I shrug.
“Try to consider the idea of dating someone our age, the butterflies of young romance, the date nights, the fact that you both can talk about the same things and understand each other because you are from the same generation…” she continues.
“I don’t share your fantasies, Gloria. Do whatever floats your boat, and let me do whatever rocks my ship,” I lower my head. “You have my permission to catch him if you want; he is…” I lift my eyes and smile quickly at Paul as our eyes meet. “Nice.”
She scrunches her nose, “Nice?”
“He doesn’t exactly inspire my vocabulary choices, Gloria. You are the one consumed by him,” I clip as Paul closes the distance.
“Consumed by who?” Paul halts beside Gloria, and she grins coyly at him. “Hey, Gloria,” he smiles at her. “Hey, Girlfriend,” he reaches out and brushes my cheek softly with the back of his hand.
I plant my feet, fighting hard not to recoil because Fabio can see me from the rearview mirror, which I am certain he is doing. This shenanigan is beginning to slip into a crossing of boundaries.
“Paul,” I breathe, hold, and blow out.
Silence encircles us.
“Coffee or lecture?” Gloria holds her hands in a fist so we can choose, breaking the awkwardness.
“Both,” I slap her fists.
“I will meet you both in class,” she lowers her head. “Fabio will think the lovebirds needed their moment alone,” she winks, and I roll my eyes at her.
“Stop it, Gloria,” I laugh softly, a little sapped but not too drained not to find her winking funny. She shrugs and struts away. I will have to ask her later if she fancies Paul that way. And if she does, I will tell him. It will be a good way to get him to act appropriately within the boundaries of our charade.
Paul slips his fingers between mine to interlock our hands. “It’s been a week,” he exhales, leading me to the lecture hall.
“Paul,” I try to retrieve my hand, but he holds it tighter. “He can’t see us anymore,” I look behind me to confirm that the two-way door is obstructing the view.
“It’s just holding hands,” he shrugs.
“Well, we shouldn’t have to pretend to be dating when Fabio is not in the picture,” I try again to take back my hand but come short.
“Relax, Eva,” he halts and turns to me. “I don’t bite, and I think when we are comfortable in private, it will help us look more natural when we have to put on a show,” he lets go of my hand. “Like rehearsal and performance.”
I nod, disagreeing with what he is saying internally, but not in the mood to argue it out with him. When I find out from Gloria if she likes him, I will know what to do with him.
Gloria reappears with a tray and three cups of coffee. “I am saving us a seat,” she scampers in front of us.
I pick up my pace, and Paul keeps up. He holds out the door for me, and I step into the lecture hall. While I am still squinting to find Gloria, Paul points with his index finger in her direction. I motion to go to her, but he holds me back, his hand clasping around my wrist.
“You were saying he is no longer affected by our little display,” he drops his head. What if we take it a little bit further?”
“The lecturer will be here any minute,” I avert his question.
“Think about what going on a date with me would do to him; I mean, we have the street photography project submission coming up, we can do that together,” he lets go of my wrist. “Let me know your answer after the lecture,” he turns away and leaves.
While I don’t want to push Fabio too much just because he knows how to conceal his suffering, I also know I, too, am suffering, and he is the object of said suffering.
I don’t want to go on a date with Paul, but he might have a point.