Chapter 32 The Archnemesis #2
She lifted her hands, palms up. “What are you doing here? And did you really just throw bread at us?”
He glanced over at his partner-in-crime, the former librarian who’d risked her life to testify against her husband, a superhero fighting for justice. The girl who’d just now stood up for Harold. The girl he’d just kissed! Even he hadn’t seen that one coming.
She and the rest of his table were watching him.
“That was my friend. Sorry about that. We’re a little rowdy over there.” The hurled slice of focaccia rested innocently on the white tablecloth. “And how are you?”
“Fine! Yeah, fine.”
“And goodbye, Aroldo,” Renzo chimed in. “You’ll be walking away now.”
Harold had nearly forgotten he was there. He swiveled his head and inspected him, slowly taking him in. The guy wasn’t as intimidating as he once was, despite the fury running through him. Which maybe he wasn’t to blame for. He had been the victim of a bread assault.
Harold pointed to a patch of whiskers above Renzo’s upper lip. “You missed a spot shaving, just so you know.”
“You need to walk away.”
Harold held his gaze long enough for Renzo to see that he wasn’t afraid of him, then twisted back to Alice. “You can do better than him. I hope you know that.”
Renzo forced a laugh.
Harold pointed at him, still looking into Alice’s green eyes. “This isn’t me trying to get you back. I’ve moved on. But I still want the best for you. And this guy, he’s not the best for you.” He let his eyes slide to the ring on her finger.
Renzo pushed away from the table and stepped toward Harold. He was a good six inches taller and probably had fifty more pounds of muscle. “You don’t know me.”
Other patrons were watching now.
“Don’t get in my face,” Harold said, feeling no fear.
“Is there a problem?” Renzo poked Harold in the chest. “You need to go back to your friends before you regret it.”
Harold inspected the impression the Italian Stallion’s index finger had left on his shirt. What to do? he wondered. The guy needed to be taught a lesson.
Then Renzo pushed him, two hands on Harold’s ribs.
That was it, the answer Harold had needed. Before he second-guessed himself, he struck Renzo in the stomach, and then popped him again, right in the cheek, two hard and fast jabs.
Harold and Alice both watched in shock as Renzo dropped to the ground, his head smacking the tile.
He was out cold.
Embarrassed.
Mortified.
Ashamed.
Gutted.
Words couldn’t capture Bianca’s inner turmoil as she watched the scene unfold.
Moira chucking bread across the restaurant, Harold throwing a punch, the man going down.
An enraged Corrado racing from the kitchen and seizing Harold by the arm and escorting him out of the restaurant.
An army of servers tending to the assaulted man on the floor and offering apologies to the redhead and the other nearby diners.
Once Bianca regained some clarity, she looked at her table compatriots. “We better go. Right now. I’ll take care of the bill.” Quiet nods rounded the table. The four of them stood and wordlessly moved toward the exit.
Corrado was just returning from the hotel lobby. He shot sharp looks at the retreaters.
Bianca stopped him in the reception area. “I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say. That was freaking awful.”
His jaw tight, he gave a sharp nod.
She dug into her purse and found her wallet. “Let me give you my card. We didn’t get a chance to pay the server. I just wanted us out of there.”
He stopped her with his hand. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No way, Corrado. I’m paying.”
“Please,” he said with grating patience, “just take your friends a long way from here. I have to deal with this.”
Fighting him on it now would only make things worse. Deciding she’d pay him later, she stuffed her wallet back in her purse. “I really am sorry.”
He gave another nod and raced back into the dining room.
Sandy was the first to reach Harold outside on the sidewalk that ran along Via dell’Indipendenza. “Are you okay?” Pedestrians weaved around them. Cars whizzed by.
He was pacing in circles. “I don’t know what came over me.”
Sandy held up his hand to inspect his raw knuckles. “You’ll need to take care of that when you get home. Wash and put some Vaseline or something on, then Band-Aids.”
“Don’t worry about me. God, I feel like such a fucking idiot. I just hate that guy.”
“Didn’t I warn you about love?” Sandy asked. He made no comment.
George and Moira joined, and Harold made the first of a dozen apologies. When Bianca exited the hotel, he said to her, “I am so sorry, Bianca. He was such an asshole to me, and it happened so fast and—”
She stopped him. “It’s okay.”
“Seriously. I’m mortified. I had too much to drink, and he was taunting me, then pushed me . . . I’ll pay the bill.”
“Corrado covered it.”
Harold dropped his head, defeated, cursing himself. Sandy’s heart broke for him. He’d been beat up enough in this life. At least he’d stood up for himself. There was that.
Moira slipped an arm around his waist. “Why don’t we get you home?”
He nodded, offered another apology, and the two of them disappeared into the night. Sandy saw it for the first time, that Harold and Moira had a chance at love if they had the nerve to give it a try. You couldn’t find two better people, that was for sure.
“I guess this is it,” George said, appearing next to Sandy. She giggled to herself. She, on the other hand, did not have the nerve.
Sandy crossed her arms, knowing she was leaving something on the table here. As if she had a choice. “I can’t believe you’re going back.”
“What a way to go out, huh?”
“A night to remember. I feel so bad for Bianca. I know she’s devastated.”
“And Corrado,” George added. “On opening night.”
“Yeah, I know.” A silence cut through them. Sandy couldn’t handle it and asked, “How long till we see you again?”
George glanced at his daughter, who’d backed away to let them talk. “Whenever she’s ready.”
“You better start working on your Italian again. I get the sense she’s not coming home any time soon.”
“Yeah, me too.”
More silence. Sandy couldn’t deny that this was hard, saying goodbye, shutting the door on could-have-beens. Men like him didn’t come around too often.
She straightened the collar of his shirt, then said, “Make sure to leave things in a good place between you two. Because you never know when you’re saying goodbye for the last time. Know what I mean?”
He lifted a corner of his lips. “I do.”
Their eyes held each other in limbo for a long time, the world spinning around them, the night carrying on.
“Was nice to meet you,” George said, and she could tell he was frustrated. And he had every right to be. She’d screwed it all up and let her wretched past win. What was she to do? It was too late now.
“I’m sorry, George. You’re such a good man. Make sure to look me up when you get back.”
“You know I will. Bye, Sandy.”
She feared he might stick out his hand for a shake, so she leaned in, kissed his cheek, and pulled him in tight, wishing things could be different, wishing he’d been the first man with whom she’d ever fallen in love.