CHAPTER 5 #2
The irritation comes first, sharp and unreasonable. Then something quieter beneath it, heavier, like a pull I don’t understand. Is it because she doesn’t look at me?
The thought lands, unwelcome and electric. What the fuck is wrong with me? I need to get on that jet and get back to Milan, putting distance, real distance, between me and whatever this is.
Because whatever this is, it’s not rational.
And worse, I have the unsettling sense that I already want her attention, even though I have no idea what that wanting means.
This is absurd. This is stupid.
***
I didn’t call Isabella last night. She’s smart, she would know immediately.
And honestly, I didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing tangible, nothing I can confess to. Just thoughts. Traitorous and unruly thoughts. I blame the gallery opening, the pressure and the long days away from Milan that comes with it.
Clive doesn’t help either, with his manic conquest energy, dragging Caroline’s name into every conversation like a provocation I didn’t ask for. It makes everything worse.
I wake early and do a few laps around the block, briefly flirting with the idea of a longer run before abandoning it. Instead, I head straight for the treadmill. Miles burn away beneath my feet, controlled, punishing, and mindless. Then a shower. Then out the door.
By the time I reach the gallery site, the construction manager is already there. He nods at me, eyes never leaving his team as they reinforce the back wall. I’ve worked with enough companies to know quality when I see it. These guys earn every pound I hand over.
My phone buzzes just as I finish a walkthrough with the gallery director. I glance at my screen. Not Isabella. It’s Elena.
“Ciao, bellissima,” I say, answering her FaceTime.
She fills the screen instantly - already dressed, hair sleek, makeup flawless. It’s Friday. She’s supposed to be remote.
“You’re in workwear,” I say, lifting a brow. “Don’t tell me you’re actually going in.”
She rolls her eyes. “I had an early client meeting. And before you say anything, I’m switching to English.”
“To avoid our parents’ spying ears?” I say dryly.
“Exactly. They already know too much.” Elena wastes no time. “So,” she says brightly and decisively, “I want to do my birthday weekend in London.”
I lean back. “London? That’s in three weeks.”
“Yes. Three weeks. Some of my friends will already be there, so it makes sense. We’ll use the house.”
“Of course,” I say. “How many people?”
“Nothing crazy,” she waves a hand. “Four classmates already in London. Ten of us from Milan. Eight more from Paris and elsewhere.”
“So… twenty-two plus us. No cousins?”
“Exactly. Small circle,” she says, practically bouncing. “I want to have fun. Oh - and I called Stefano and Gigi last night.”
“And?”
“Yes. They’re in. No hesitation.”
“Of course they are,” I mutter.
Stefano and Gigi operate as a unit. I am his best friend, and now I am sitting aside like a dog waiting to be summoned.
She smiles, pleased. Then, far too casually, she adds, “And I invited Caroline.”
I straighten. “Caroline?”
“Yes,” Elena says easily. “They were all at her place last night when I called. Celina can’t make it but I invited Caroline.”
I keep my voice level. “What did Caroline say?”
“She’s not sure if she’ll be in London that weekend,” Elena says, tilting her head. “She’s lovely, by the way. Not at all what I expected. I hope she comes.”
I say nothing.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Elena notes lightly.
“I’m just processing logistics. So make it safe, thirty people?” I reply, too quickly.
“Sure you are.” She smiles. “And yep, thirty people. It’s going to be fun.”
“Anyway, sis, I will organize your birthday extravaganza.” I say as lazily as I can.
“Oh, and of course, Isabella is invited.” Elena adds, picking at her nails.
“I’m not sure Isabella can make it but will let you know.” I blurt out, not nearly as smoothly or as controlled as I would like.
“Okaaaaaay.” Elena responds.
“Elena,” I say before she hangs up.
“Yes?”
“…Nothing.” I shake my head. “I’ll see you soon.”
She studies me for a second longer than necessary. Then smiles softly. “Ciao, fratellone.”
The screen goes dark.
And suddenly, the stress hits me harder than anything related to the gallery opening. Caroline. In my orbit. In a small group setting. Too close. Too unavoidable.
The flight back to Milan is barely two hours, far too short to outrun my thoughts. Instead, I replay scenarios. What to plan for Elena’s birthday. What to do if Caroline shows up.
I tell myself that I’m hoping she’s busy. That she stays in New York. And yet, I want to see her.
I want to know who she is without the armor. Without the sharp lines of business attire. I imagine her in a cocktail dress and immediately curse myself.
People, whether they love me or hate me, have always described me as “decisive.” While I don’t care about other people’s opinions, it is true that I am. By the time the jet lands in Milan in the evening, my decision is made.
I go straight home, change, and run - longer this time, harder. I burn through every restless thought I can.
Then I shower. And go to Isabella’s house. I know exactly what I’m going to say.
I love Isabella. I desire her. But I will not waste her time. Because I know clearly now, in both heart and mind, that I can’t give her what she wants. A marriage built on full devotion. A life shared until the end of days without hesitation. That isn’t what I’m capable of giving right now.
I’ll have one hell of a day tomorrow explaining it to my parents, especially my father.
But I have to do this. No other way!