Chapter 18
Sydney
Well, this week didn’t end any better than it started. The patients were more demanding and less compliant with each day that passed. Thank god I’m not on call this weekend. I’ve never been so glad to see 5:00 p.m. Friday.
Then there was my mother’s latest phone call. She didn’t even bother waiting for me to ring her. When she phoned, she practically demanded to know why I wouldn’t consider attending that charity gala with Winslow Harrington. Mom all but insinuated I’d be lucky to have him, like he’s the best I could possibly do for myself. Grr. The impertinence. The woman makes me absolutely ragey.
I should throw out a Carol Ann quip the next time she asks why I don’t want Winslow to escort me to the Mt. Sinai function. Because he acts like the prize hog at the county fair. The snort rips out of me before I can stop it. Bless it. I probably shouldn’t have had those two glasses of wine before Genni came to pick me up.
“You okay over there?”
“Yes.” I slump against the door. “It’s been a long week.”
“I figured as much if you wanted to go back to The Zone. That place isn’t usually your cup of tea.”
I push myself up in the seat. “Well, maybe I’m ready to cut loose a little.” Or go somewhere loud enough that I can’t hear myself think. I’m growing tired of the things my mind keeps conjuring to torture me.
As much as I’d like to blame my foul mood on my caseload, rude patients, or my mother, I know the truth of the matter. If my ex-husband, husband, whatever he is now… If he was going to leave, why couldn’t he have stayed gone? Not turn up and throw me for a loop, telling me we’re still married. What am I supposed to do with this information? A stronger woman would’ve secured a new lawyer and restarted the divorce process.
Yet there’s a tiny part of me that wants to believe Matteo still loves me. That he simply couldn’t let me go. Yes, I’m certain I have a screw loose.
I haven’t told any of my friends about my phone call this afternoon. That my lawyer confirmed I am, in fact, still married to Matteo. I’m not ready for unsolicited opinions. I need to be able to wrap my head around this before I let anyone else jump in the middle of this mess.
“Well, you deserve it, Syd. You work hard. You should play hard.”
“Yeah.”
I catch Genni giving me the side eye and decide to ignore her.
As we pull up to the club and park, Carol Ann’s Ford Explorer comes in to view.
“I was starting to wonder if you guys were still coming,” she belts, walking through the parking lot toward us.
I lean, attempting to look behind her. “Where’s Pepper?”
Genni drapes her arm around me. “Oh, honey, she couldn’t come out tonight. It’s her little brother’s birthday.”
“Ah.” I manage to catch the look passing between my two friends and roll my eyes. “I’m fiiiiine.”
“We see that.” Carol Ann walks on the opposite side of me from Genni.
“I only had two glasses of wine before Genni picked me up. It was a rough week.”
“Girl, you don’t need to justify a thing to me. I have two glasses almost every night I’m still awake after putting my kids to sleep. Lately, I fall asleep in their bed before they do.”
I giggle. “My biological clock makes me question whether I really want career over kids. But Carol Ann, the stories you tell about your children are the best birth control there is.”
“You’re welcome. They’re unhinged and unpredictable. But they’re mine, and I love ’em.”
I feel like she could just as well be describing my husband. God. I have Matteo on the brain.
Once inside, we manage to find a high-top cocktail table and three chairs. Genni flags down a cocktail server, ordering two margaritas on the rocks and a hurricane for Carol Ann. The DJ plays a Britney Spears song, and I start to wiggle in my seat.
Sliding off of my chair, I tell them, “I’m going to dance.”
“Okay.”
The song transitions from Britney to Nick Jonas, and I sway my hips, lifting my arms overhead. Again, I have the sense there are eyes upon me. But then again, I’m on the dance floor alone. If nothing else, I’m sure Genni or Carol Ann may be watching.
As if it’s déjà vu, hands rest on my hips, pulling me back against a firm chest. Looking over my shoulder, I discover an attractive man with dark hair and eyes. He appears to be in his early forties. My normal irritation with someone touching me without permission seems to have given this stranger a pass. How much wine did I drink, anyway?
I continue to sway with this handsome, slightly older man until, out of the blue, I feel lips on my neck. Pushing him off of me, I swiftly walk away from the dance floor. I should go back to my table, but I immediately feel dirty and want to rinse off my neck.
Turning the corner toward the restrooms, I find the line extending down the hallway and decide to take my chances upstairs. Once I reach the top of the stairway, I have a straight shot to the ladies’ room. There’s no line in sight.
Once inside, I decide to take care of some personal needs before washing my hands, as well as the skin where the stranger had placed his lips. The recollection gives me the shivers. And not in a good way.
Heading out, I take a moment to look out over the first floor of the club and dancers below before returning to my friends. Carol Ann and Genni seem so happy and carefree. Pointing around the club and breaking into fits of laughter.
I wish I felt as lighthearted. But it’s clear, coming here hasn’t helped my mood. My mind is just as jumbled. Overcome by emotion, preoccupied by my desire to be reunited with a man who pledged he’d love and protect me.
A familiar deep voice practically purrs in my ear. “Why so blue, principessa?” He’s so close his body heat warms my back. This shouldn’t feel so nice. And his tone is much too smooth. It’s like butter on a biscuit. Why does my internal dialogue sound like Carol Ann all of a sudden?
My mind feels lost in a fog. Trapped in a mist of alcohol, heartache, and relentless longing. Unable to control myself, I lean back against him, instantly soothed by the familiar weight against my body. I imagine this must be what an addict feels like, when they take a hit off of a drug they’ve been without for years.
A myriad of sensations swirl within me. Need, betrayal, yearning, and overwhelming, soul-crushing sadness. “You make me blue.”
“Why?”
“You threw me away.”
“Baby. It’s not what you think.”
My muddled brain is so heavy I don’t snap back at his response as I might any other time. But that’s tomorrow’s internal argument. “Then what is it? Why did you leave?” my voice breaks.
His arms wrap around my waist, his face nuzzling the opposite side of my neck from where the stranger had laid his mouth on me. Why doesn’t Matteo’s mouth repulse me as the unwanted advance of the man on the dance floor had? It should have, after all he’s done. But the many times I’ve replayed that kiss would prove it’s done anything but.
As I rotate toward him, he steps back. I hadn’t realized how hard he was moments ago. But it’s obvious when he reaches down to adjust himself in his low-slung black jeans. His shirt rides up, exposing his toned stomach covered in ink and that delicious V of muscles. It’s clear I’m too intoxicated to realize I’m staring. But he’s not.
He lifts an eyebrow at me, a smirk curling the corner of his mouth. “Go ahead, principessa. Look all you want. It’s all yours.”
My jumbled thoughts cause my face to fall. But you’re not mine. And I’m starting to believe you never were. My voice trembles. “Why are you here?”
His tone is soft, reminding me of the loving man I knew. “I’m here, because you’re here.”
“But, why—”
“Have you been drinking, cara mia?”
“Yes. Have you?”
“No, baby. You need to be more careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Matteo reaches down and begins to slide his hands up and down the outside of my thighs. To an outsider looking in, it may seem overtly sexual. But I know this man. It’s more than seduction. It is the way he’d greet me after I came home from work. When he wanted me to leave my troubles behind, and lean in to him.
What on earth am I doing? Letting this man try to reverse years of cruel, heartless behavior? Abort! Abort!
I shove his hands off of me. “Now you’re worried? You happened to me. You were the one who hurt me.” With each statement, I poke him in the chest. Which is utterly ridiculous because he doesn’t move. Hell, his pecs are so firm I probably broke a damn nail. Gah.
I swiftly make my way back downstairs without giving him a second glance. If I apologize to the girls for coming here tonight, maybe they’ll have mercy on me and take me home.
Why had I come here, really? Was it honestly the desire to blend in with the crowd, loud music drowning out my thoughts? Or was I secretly hoping he’d be here again?
I’m here, because you’re here.
Alcohol and the sensory overload of the club have had the opposite effect of what I’d expected. There’s no way around it. I need to find a way to move on from Matteo Bianchi.