Chapter Ten
One month later
Lorenzo trailed his fingers up and down Josephine’s spine where they lazed together, sweaty and spent, in the middle of the opened sofa bed in her art studio. He was sitting beside where she lay on her stomach with his eyes on the towering sculpture. While she wasn’t working, it was still wrapped in damp cloths and encased in plastic to maintain its moisture. “Can I see it?” he asked.
“No,” she answered, her voice muffled by the pillow. “You’re not supposed to be here, Zo.”
He shifted his touch to the valley of her buttocks. “I couldn’t help myself,” he confessed, biting back a smile.
That morning, unable to fight the desire to see her, he had driven to Soho and rang the doorbell to her studio. They had just stared at one another for countless minutes before she reached for his hand and pulled him inside.
That had been an hour ago.
Josephine flopped over onto her back to look up at him.
He eyed the delectable sight of her, from her curly hair splayed around her on the pillow to every dip and curve of her naked body. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, mariposa,” he said in Spanish.
She looked curious. “Translate, please,” she requested.
He shook his head to deny her. “Just an observation,” he said.
She raised a brow. “That’s unfair,” she protested.
“I can teach you my language,” he said with a one-shoulder shrug. “Our daughter is doing well with it.”
Josephine nodded. “She is,” she agreed. “And where does she think you are on this fine Saturday she’s supposed to spend with you?”
“I told her I had to run errands–which I will do when I leave here,” he said.
“So now, who is playing in the shades of gray?” she wanted to know.
Lorenzo paused as if considering what she said. “True,” he slowly agreed with a quizzical look.
She smiled at him.
“In my defense, I know there is nothing or no one that can or will keep me out of Zoie’s life,” he affirmed.
“I believe that, Zo,” she said.
He looked at her and saw the truth of her words in her eyes. That set well with him. “I know she may be too young to understand that, but this belief is based on what she’s been dealing with not having a father all these years,” he continued. “But she is a child–no matter how much she doesn’t act like it. And a child does not understand adult things like sexual chemistry.”
“I know that, Zo.”
Lorenzo reached to pull the crisp cotton sheet up over them as he shifted to lay down on the bed and pulled her body to his. She felt good there. Her softness. The sweet scent of her. The way she draped her bent leg across his and lay her hand on his chest.
A perfect fit.
“I’ve missed you this last month, mariposa,” he admitted, surprising himself.
“I’ve missed you, too, Zo,” she responded softly.
That surprised him more.
He ran his fingers across the small of her back as she circled one of his flat nipples to tautness with her pinky. They lay there, silently, softly touching each other and relishing their connection. Lorenzo felt more peace than he had in the last month since she ended their liaison.
He looked at the sculpture and then frowned. “It’s midday, and your sculpture is already wrapped?” he observed. “Are you ending early or starting later?”
Josephine sighed. “I’m struggling a little,” she said, removing the sheet and pulling away from him.
He tried to hold her in place, but she persisted in leaving the bed and crossing the room nude. He sat up to watch her form and the gentle sway of her hips. She was as beautiful as the art she created and revered.
Josephine removed the plastic and began peeling away the damp cloths. Once done, she took a few steps back and crossed her arms over her chest. Then, she tilted her head to the side to observe her work. Her shoulders rose and fell with the deep sigh she released.
Lorenzo leaned to the right of her to take a curious peek at the sculpture. He looked at the clay feet and legs with the sheet draped between them. He flung the sheet away from his body to look down at his limbs and then back at the sculpture. Although he knew she had much more defining to do, he was blown away by her skill and accuracy.
“Most times when I’m at work at the bank, my mind is here,” Josephine said as she turned to walk back toward him.
He felt excited that she was crawling back into bed, but she strode past it and him. He turned on the bed to watch her open a tall metal storage cabinet. On the top shelves were three stacks of folded denim overalls. She grabbed one to slide on. He was disappointed she covered her nakedness but ultimately turned on at the sight of the baggy overalls doing nothing to cover her breasts.
It was muy caliente to see.
It awakened his member and lengthened its inches.
He was thankful for the sheet and bent his legs so that it tented and hid his erection. His desire for her was just as intense and strong as it had been all those years ago. More so. In the seven months since his return to New York, he had shifted from blistering anger–perhaps even hate–of Josephine to being unable to resist her charms. Their chemistry. Their fire.
It consumed him. Again. And he welcomed the flames. He craved them. Just like he had in their past.
Lorenzo truly had missed Josephine the last month. Nearly every moment of every day that his mind wasn’t occupied with the restaurant pop-up, outlining his new cookbook or the production of the culinary show, he thought of her. Wondered what she was doing. Hoped she missed him too. Wondered if she thought of him. Craved to be back in her bed.
In her life.
And so here we are.
“I want to finish it,” she was saying as she padded barefoot back to the sculpture. “I have vacation time, and I’m thinking of taking a few weeks off work.”
He watched as she began arranging her sculpting tools and then walked past the bed again to soon return with a bucket half-filled with water. “Or maybe you should leave the job altogether and focus on your art,” he offered.
She paused in her stride past him again to give him an odd look. “The days of being a starving artist–add homeless and unable to provide for our daughter–are so over, Zo,” she drawled.
“I could help you–”
“No!” Josephine exclaimed.
Lorenzo was taken aback.
She set her second bucket of water on the floor to come over and press a kiss to the top of his head as she rubbed his back. “You have done more than enough for me. You have to financially take care of Zoie…not me,” she said.
He lowered his legs and leaned his head against her chest as he nodded before quickly turning his head to suck her nipple that peeked from behind the strap of her overall.
She gasped, shivered, and then stepped away. “And to not distract me, Lorenzo Léon Cortez,” she said firmly.
Lorenzo laughed. “Zo will suffice,” he said.
She picked up the bucket and gave him a soft look. “Yes, Zo will suffice indeed,” she agreed, with a pointed look down at his erection, now tenting the sheet. “But not now.”
He gave her a boyishly sheepish look as he bent his legs to hide his arousal again.
With a wink, she moved back over to her work area.
Fascinated by her talent, Lorenzo silently watched her recreate his pose with the clay. Carefully selecting tools of varying sizes depending on the detail she wished to give. Using a damp sponge to correct or moisten the clay. Swiping away her hair with the back of her hand. Pausing to study her work.
He got lost in watching her as she did, satisfied to see how using her creativity brought her joy, which made her glow.
∞
One month later
Lorenzo and Josephine’s sensual liaisons spread beyond the studio. There were lunchtime meetups at the hotel near Josephine’s work. Late not quickies in Josephine’s basement–on the floor, against the wall, and atop the pool table–after he parked down the street and she snuck him in the house while Zoie slept. And even a quickie inside the half-bathroom of his townhouse during his housewarming party.
They were unable to resist. Anywhere. Anytime.
And when Zoie traveled with her abuela to visit his sister in Arizona, her parents decided to enjoy that time together at the studio. Josephine was laying nude and spread eagle in the middle of the sofa bed. The summer sunlight streaming through the many windows warmed her body as Lorenzo used a white feather to tease her hard nipples.
Lorenzo watched her face intently, feeding his arousal with the expressions of her own. They spoke no words. None were needed. With their eyes locked, he touched every inch of her smooth brown skin with the feather, evoking gasps, shivers, and flashes of pure heat in the depths of her brown eyes.
Leisurely–deliberately–he used the tip of the feather to stroke her plump bud.His stare hardened as she arched her back off the bed, positioning her body like a bridge. He didn’t relent, keeping the feather against her in a rapid motion. She reached her hands above her head to grip the pillows as she writhed. A fine, almost undetectable sheen of sweat coated her body. She bit down on her full bottom lip and released a slow moan that built-in crescendo until she cried out, her body tensing with each spasm of her release that dampened the sheet. She was in the throes of her climax, and he was so hard it ached, but her pleasure was his focus. At that moment, it was his everything.
As she whimpered, he held the feather in one hand and moved to gather her tightly against him. Deeply, he kissed her as he felt the tiny quakes continue to rack her body. And when the waves crashing inside her began to subside, and he could feel the pounding of her heart against his chest, he continued to hold her.
With a slow smile, he brought the feather to his nose to inhale her unique womanly scent.
∞
Hours later
Lorenzo was examining digital mockups of various set designs that had been sent over for his approval. Filming of the 10-episode series would begin in two weeks, and the final construction of the set was near completion. He had whittled down the half-dozen choices to two but needed to get his final choice to Sean by morning. He checked the time on his tablet and looked over at Josephine. She was wiping her hands on thick cloths, dressed in another of her overalls with a red tank beneath it.
After recovering from the feather-play, she’d insisted on returning the favor and slow-stroked him to an explosive climax as she sat between his open legs. He’d succumbed to a nap and awakened to find her working on the sculpture. He’d decided to get some work of his own completed.
He pushed his black square-framed readers to the top of his head. “Which of these do you like better?” he called over to her. “I need to choose the final design for the set of the cooking show.”
Josephine turned and walked over to the sofa to look down at the tablet. Lorenzo swiped back and forth between the two he favored. “I thought they would just film in your kitchen at the townhouse,” she said. “It would save on overhead.”
Lorenzo gazed up at her.“I don’t want all that traffic in my home,” he explained.
“How about using Gabe’s restaurant on another day it”s not open,” she offered, bending over to swipe through the photos. “But I like this one out of the choices.”
He nodded in agreement. “Actually, the weekly one-night chef-in-residence at Gabe’s restaurant is doing so well that I’m thinking of opening my own restaurant,” he said, reaching up to slide his hand into one of the large back pockets of her overalls in the most comfortable way.
She looked at him with excited eyes.
“Maybe even the restaurant downstairs,” he said, knocking his readers back onto his nose.
“Is it up for sale?” she asked, sitting on the arm of the sofa with his hand still in her pocket.
“No, but it should be,” he muttered in disgust. “The food is subpar. It’s a waste of a beautiful space.”
The night before, they had went downstairs to enjoy a meal and left less than pleased.
“The dessert was excellent, though,” she commented, settling her arm across his shoulders and playing with the ends of his hair.
“True. It was the best part of the whole meal,” he agreed.
They fell silent, just enjoying the comfort of being close to one another.
Last night, falling asleep with her snuggled back against him and his arm draped over her side had given him the best night of slumber. It was only to be topped by awakening and watching her as she slept before waking her up with soft kisses to her nape beneath the curly layers of her hair.
“Are you done for the day?” he asked, leaning a little to look over at the sculpture.
She had constructed his hips and the top of the sheet clutched in his hand. The detail she was giving to his lean muscles and the subtle print of his member made him smile.
“Yeah,” she said slowly, also looking at her work. “I might go back to it later. I was frustrated about not getting the sheet’s drape perfect, so I’m taking a break.”
The sun was beginning to set, and the skies were darkening in color.
“I thought we could enjoy a beautiful summer night exploring Soho,” he offered.
He loved that her eyes widened in wonder at his offer. He reached up to cup her neck to draw her closer for a kiss. With a grunt, he enjoyed the pleasure given and the pleasure received.
∞
As their weekend ended, with Camilia and Zoie expected back that evening, Lorenzo was packing his leather duffel bag. He looked up from his seat on the unmade sofa bed to find Josephine dressed in the shirt he wore the night before. She was leaning against the wall and looking out the window with an unreadable expression. She pulled the neckline of the button-up shirt to her nose and took a deep inhale of his lingering scent with her eyes drifting closed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing,” she said.
He knew that was not true. Rising from the sofa shirtless and wearing just his pants, he crossed the room to stand before her. She didn’t look at him. He smiled as he tucked his fingers beneath her chin to raise her head. It was then he saw her eyes brimming with tears and sadness. It wrenched his gut. “What’s wrong?”he repeated.
“I love you, Lorenzo,” Josephine declared, her voice thickening with her emotions. “I love you so much.”
He was stunned. He made to remove his touch, but she raised both her hands to clasp it and lock it in place.
“I know,” she said, with a tear racing down her cheek. “I know that’s not what this was about. I know. There is a difference between sex and love. And this was sex. Really great sex, but it opened my heart, and this weekend, being in bed with you. Near you all night. Waking up to you beside me. Spending the day with you. Talking. Laughing. It made me realize I want more from you. More with you.”
Lorenzo’s heart pounded. He shifted his eyes away from the hope he saw in hers. She released his hand. He stepped back and ran his fingers through his hair from root to end.
“I have to speak my truth with no expectations and no guarantee of return,” she said, her voice soft and tender. “I know I hurt you, and I have no right to want more of what we shared this weekend. But I do. I love you. I always have and always will, Zo.”
He turned and squeezed his eyes shut, denying her a look into his eyes and, thus, his heart and soul.
“Zo.”
He inhaled deeply, made his face unreadable, and turned to face her again. Her long lashes were wet with tears, and her eyes sparkled even brighter. The sun bounced off the curls of her hair and illuminated her brown skin.
She’s beautiful.
His eyes examined her face and lingered on her mouth.
“There was a time I know you loved me, Lorenzo,” she said.
“Look where that got me,” he said, remembering living with pain and disbelief for months after their breakup. He had felt like a zombie—going through the motions but feeling nothing.
Not deeply.
Not for a very long time.
Their eyes locked. Hers searched his before it filled with understanding.
“I know trusting me with your heart is not fair to ask after everything that happened,” she admitted, reaching to grip his wrist. “After everything I did. I am telling you I love you without any pressure for you to return that love, but…”
He furrowed his brows at her pause.
“But the more we continue this, the more my love grows,” she confessed.
Warmth filled his heart, but he ignored it. Deliberately. Forcefully.
Josephine released his wrist and raised her hand to gently stroke his cheek with her palm.
He felt the heat of her touch and stiffened his body to keep from shivering. Still unable to resist, he turned his head and kissed the center of her palm. “Mariposa,” he whispered against her skin as he closed his eyes.
“I want more. I need it, or I have to end this,” she stated.
Lorenzo knew what she offered and what he didn’t have to give her in return. “Love is not a part of the plan for me. Not this time,” he told her softly.
A bit of light dimmed in her eyes.
He felt pained by that.
She nodded and forced a smile as she eased her hand away. “Okay,” she said, turning from him.
He watched her walk over to the sofa to pull the shirt over her head, revealing her nudity that he would miss. She folded the article of clothing and placed it inside his duffel bag before walking to the rear of the art studio, where there was a small bathroom. Soon, the door shut.
Lorenzo turned to face the windows with his arms crossed over his chest. He knew, just as surely as he knew his name, that she was in there shedding tears. That tore at him. Turning, he retraced her steps to the bathroom. “Josie,” he called to her.
“I-I-I’m o-k-k-ay,” she said.
That was a lie. Her words were broken by her crying.
“Come out, Josie,” he said. “I have something to say.”
Water ran.
He leaned against the wall opposite the closed door and looked down at his bare feet, causing his hair to fall on both sides of his face. The water shut off, and a few moments later, the door opened. He looked up and shook his hair from his face as she stepped into the hall with a towel wrapped around her body. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed. If he was honest, for many days after she left him, he had looked and felt no better. And it was those days that lingered with him.
Lorenzo pushed off the wall and took a step to be closer to her. He raised his hands, intending to hold her face.
“Is this your payback for all I’ve done that hurt you?” she asked softly with hesitance in her eyes.
He jerked his hands away and reclaimed the step he took. “No,” he answered emphatically. “That’s not who I am or was.”
She nodded. “I know,” she admitted. “I took my shot, and I’m just trying to understand why I missed the basket.”
“If I knew breaking our rule would lead to me breaking your heart, I never would have–”
“Made love to me?”
“Sí.”
She nodded and shrugged her shoulders. “Okay. This time, it’s done, Zo. It has to be,” she said firmly before cutting her eyes up to him. “Please.”
He balled his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her to offer comfort. She revealed she didn’t have the willpower to resist their physical connection, while he had no desire to ramp up their emotional one. With one last look into her eyes, he turned and went to the sofa to finish dressing, zip up his bag, and walk to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob but didn’t look back. “Are we okay?” he questioned, hoping they wouldn”t go back to being at odds.
“Don’t worry; it”s not a choice between love and war,” Josephine said. “Let’s just forget we ever broke the rule. Okay?”
With a stiff nod, he stepped out of the studio and closed the door behind him. What she asked of him was not easy at all because he knew he would never forget.
∞
Lorenzo got home and could not escape his thoughts of Josephine professing her love. He was in his chef’s kitchen preparing a delicious dinner of Chicken Francese atop homemade angel hair pasta with a side of garlic-infused broccolini. When the front doorbell rang, he paused in juicing lemons to help create the creamy sauce.
He already knew it was Gabe.
Wiping his hand on the dish towel over his left shoulder, he left the spacious kitchen and crossed the main living room to soon open the front door. He smiled to find his friend was accompanied by his nearly three-year-old daughter Emme. She was sucking on her thumb but smiled at the sight of her beloved godfather. She was a perfect blend of Gabe and Monica, with the beauty of a doll in her white sundress and the curly topknot of her soft baby hair.
Lorenzo adored her.
“Hello, Uncle Zo!” Emme exclaimed, reaching for him with her free hand.
And she adored him.
He took her from Gabe, and she hugged his neck tightly while freeing her thumb to kiss his cheek.
“It seems she has it just as bad as her mother and aunts,” Gabe drawled with a brief look up at the blue skies.
Lorenzo chuckled. “Thanks for coming,” he said, motioning with his head for his friend to enter as he shifted Emme to his shoulders to straddle his neck.
She instantly began running her fingers through his long hair as she hummed some tune from one of her animated shows.
“So what’s going on?” Gabe asked as he followed Lorenzo into the kitchen.
“Josie.”
“Josie-Posie,” Emme sang. “Josie-Posie! Josie-Posie!”
The men shared a look of amusement.
Lorenzo filled his friend in on the change in his and Josephine’s relationship since he gifted her the use of the studio space. “And it was all amazing until…”
Gabe looked concerned. “Until what?” he asked when Lorenzo had yet to end the pause in his words.
“She declared her undying love for me,” Lorenzo muttered. “She just ruined everything.”
Gabe’s face shifted from concern to confusion with a bit of annoyance. “Oh yeah. Sure. Loving you is the worst thing she could do,” he said with apparent mockery. “How dare she!”
Lorenzo leveled him a hard stare. “It wasn’t part of the plan,” he said.
“Neither was the two of you getting back together in any way,” Gabe reminded him.
True.
Lorenzo reclaimed his spot at the wood island with the black marble top. The entire kitchen–as was the decor throughout the house–was an exact replica of his beloved apartment in Paris. “It was undeniable,” he admitted. “Especially with our past.”
“So is love,” Gabe said. “Do you believe she loves you?”
“I love you, Lorenzo. I love you so much.”
Lorenzo’s heart pounded, and his gut clenched at the memory of her softly spoken confession. The look in her eyes. The feel of her touch. Then, the memory of her confession in the basement months ago came forward.
“I lost you, and it broke my heart, and I couldn’t find my way back to the version of me that loved you and missed you.”
“Yes, I believe she loves me,” he said, feeling warmth spread over his chest. He took a deep inhale.
There was a time when knowing he had Josie’s love had thrilled him beyond measure.
“Breathe, Zo!” Gabe said urgently.
He did, not realizing he had been holding his breath–trying not to feel anything.
“Breathe, Uncle Zo!” Emme added, kicking his chest with the backs of her little feet.
“I am, Emme. I am,” Lorenzo assured her, holding her feet as she piled his hair atop his head.
“Let Uncle Zo’s hair go, Emme,” Gabe admonished her.
Emme did, splaying the fingers of both her hands like she was being held up. “Sow-ry, Daddy,” she said. “Sow-ry, Uncle Zo.”
Lorenzo chuckled. “It’s all love, little one.”
“For Josie, too?” Gabe asked.
“I didn’t go into it looking for love,” was his response.
“Not an answer,” Gabe replied.
True.
“You don’t have to speak your truth to me, but at the very least, be honest with your damn self,” Gabe said.
“Oooooh! Daddy, you said a bad word,” Emme cautioned.
“Yes, I did, Emme,” he agreed.
“Telling Mommy,” she warned.
“Yes, I know, Emme,” he said calmly.
Lorenzo smiled. He was already well aware that his little goddaughter was talkative and loved sharing every detail of every moment of every day.
Gabe eyed the ingredients on the island. “Chicken Francese?” he asked, reaching to pick up one of the cutlets of chicken breasts that had been flattened, coated in flour, and then dipped in eggs before being fried in a mix of olive oil and butter. “Old school.”
“Classic,” Lorenzo corrected as he finished slicing the lemons at a quarter-inch thickness.
“Delicious,” Gabe said around the bite.
“Thanks.”
Gabe walked over to the corner cabinet that held the alcohol to remove an aged bottle of scotch and two snifters. “Sometimes people, places, and things from the past are true classics,” he reasoned.
Lorenzo cast his friend a sardonic look as he moved the butcher block cutting board to the counter by the eight-burner gas stove. He shifted Emme from his broad shoulders to sit atop the middle of the island so he could sauté the lemon slices without fear of her being injured by any hot oil splatter. He moved around the island to retrieve one of Zoie’s fruit juices from the fridge, opened it, and handed it to the toddler.
“Thank you, Uncle Zo!” Emme exclaimed.
He gave her a wink that made her giggle.
“Like classic cars,” Gabe said suddenly, continuing his train of thought.
Lorenzo frowned.
“It’s funny how you take an old car that has rusted spots, an old eight-track radio, and never had air, but the memories–the nostalgia–make you want that car because you see the beauty of the lines more than the inconveniences of what it doesn’t have or what could have been better,” Gabe said, looking down into the glass as he swirled the brown liquid inside it before cutting his eyes up to lock with Lorenzo. “But you love that car–flaws and all. It may not make sense, but you love that car. So you work on it. You refurbish it. You pour time, effort, and energy into it. You find its beauty again, knowing its worth more than its minor flaws. And now you have a vintage car that could be on the auction block because others wish they could have what you have.”
Lorenzo took a deep breath.
“Love can be just like that car, Zo,” Gabe added.
“I got it, Gabe,” Lorenzo said, turning to place the lemon slices in the drippings in the pan to brown.
“Hate to see someone else drive away in your car,” Gabe slid in.
“Point made.”
“We’ll see.”
∞
The hours that passed since he first left Josephine’s studio were long. Zoie and his mother were asleep in their bedroom suites, but slumber for him was elusive. His thoughts were full. His doubts wouldn’t release him, and the advice of his best friend lingered. But Gabe didn’t know the whole truth. No one did.
Unable to find peace, he rode the elevator up to the roof from his bedroom suite that took up the entire third floor of the townhouse. He was welcomed by the sounds of the city that never slept. With his hands in the deep pockets of the robe he wore to cover his nudity, the summer winds blew his hair back from his handsome face. He allowed himself to be swept back to a memory he hoped to forget…
Lorenzo’s heart pounded as he took the stairs leading to Josie’s apartment two at a time. He almost ran into the door at the top of the steps. He slid his key into the lock of her apartment, but it didn’t turn, drawing a frown from him. With the side of his fist, he pounded on the door. He’d already tried calling her cell, but the number had been changed. It had been hours since he found her note and the spare key to his apartment.
What the hell is going on?
“Josie! Open the door. Talk to me,” he roared before pummeling on the door again.
No answer.
He lowered his head to the door. “Please, mariposa,” he begged softly.
“Lorenzo?”
He turned at the sound of an elderly woman”s voice. Mrs. Fields, the friendly owner of the apartment building, stood at the base of the hallway stairs in a floral housedress with rollers in her bright red hair and a lit cigarette between her lips. She knew all her tenants by name and counted Lorenzo as one of them because he spent so much time there with Josie. “I’m sorry for the noise, Mrs. Fields,” he said, shifting on the landing to grip the banister tightly. “I was looking for Josie–”
“Josie?” the woman said, her voice hoarse from years of cigarette smoking. “She moved out last week so I changed the locks.”
That floored him.
“Last week?” he asked.
Mrs. Fields nodded, her face filled with concern.
“Did she say where she was moving?” he asked, hating the hope he held on to.
Mrs. Fields shook her head with sadness.
The strength left his knees, and he slumped down to sit on the top step as he clutched his hair in his fist with his head lowered between his knees. Heartache consumed him, making him lost to time and place. It wrenched his soul, and pain radiated inside him.
The note. Her key. The unannounced move. Her disappearance.
He had begun to worry that something harmful happened to his love, but she had planned their breakup. Today had been their goodbye without her telling him that.
What did I do?
“Lorenzo?” Mrs. Fields called up to him.
He couldn’t raise his head and let her see the tears filling his eyes. “I’m okay,” he lied, hearing his despair.
Josie was gone.
It was clear she wanted nothing more to do with him.
That tore at his gut with the savagery of a hungry wolf. The pain was palpable. Her betrayal stinging.
In his pocket was an engagement ring. Foolishly, he thought he could just talk to her and let her know how he planned to propose next week in the very spot in the park where they first met. He’d been making payments on the ring for two months, and last week, he paid the final installment and set his plans in motion to marry the woman he loved.
What now?
He felt utterly lost. Completely. And foolishly. Very much so.
“Lorenzo, what’s going on, son?” Mrs. Fields asked.
He didn’t want to upset the woman who had been very kind to him over the last year. “I’m sorry for the interruption,” he said, forcing strength into his voice as he swiped away his tears before rising to his feet to descend the stairs.
When he reached her, she gripped his arm. With red-rimmed eyes, he looked down at the petite woman.
“I hope you find her,” she said with care.
Lorenzo turned his lips downward. “I won’t,” he said. “It”s clear she doesn’t want to be found.”
Mrs. Fields gave his arm a comforting pat before she removed her hand.
“Adiós, Mrs. Fields,” he said before striding across the lobby.
“Adiós, Lorenzo,” she replied from behind him.
Looking pensive, Lorenzo released a heavy breath as he reached into the pocket of his robe and removed the suede ring case. He kept it as a reminder of the last time he would be foolish about love.
He used his thumb to open the case. The moonlight glinted off the two-carat diamond. He had felt the ring”s design would please Josephine. It resembled the sun with a round center surrounded by a ring of smaller gems.
For weeks after her disappearance, he questioned himself. He found fault with everything and wished he had done many things differently. He began to drink heavily, and it affected his culinary career. He had swung between desolate heartbreak and insane hope that she would return. A hope that he would eventually release as time proved him wrong. His hurt shifted to anger and then, in time, to coldness. He became distant and closed off his heart.
The memory of his anguish caused visceral pain across his chest.He never wanted to feel that way again.The truth of how much she had broken his heart he had never shared with anyone.
“I know I hurt you, and I have no right to want more of what we shared this weekend. But I do. I love you. I always have and always will, Zo.”
He shook his head as the pain subsided. He could not let her words permeate the barrier he placed around his heart. He could give Josephine all of the sex she could ever long for, but not his heart. Not again. He could never allow her to break him like she did before.
Lorenzo snapped the ring case closed decisively.