Eight Years of Love, One Day to Walk Away

Lorenzo's man hadn't expected me to reach the back room so fast. He scrambled to pull Lorenzo off Adriana.

But Lorenzo had clearly poured down more than his share. He didn't react at all.

He only slurred out a curse. "Get off me. Don't touch me."

I'd never seen him this far gone.

His associate leaned close to his ear, voice low and urgent, the way men spoke when something delicate was about to break in front of witnesses. "Francesca's here to take you home. Pull yourself together. The alliance union's only days off now."

Two more soldiers moved in, and after a great deal of effort they finally pried Lorenzo's hand loose from Adriana's.

His body dropped heavily back into the leather, his face flushed scarlet.

Only then did the man let out a breath and turn to make the introduction.

"This is Adriana Falcone. We came up together. She went overseas years back and only returned today, just in time for our sit-down. Lorenzo's had too much, so don't read anything into it."

The old me might have lost it right there and demanded answers.

Every soul in that room knew Lorenzo and I were promised, the betrothal pact sealed between bloodlines. So why let a Falcone daughter walk in? Why not close the door?

But now I only gave an indifferent little smile.

Off to the side, Adriana watched me with a look of amused curiosity.

Then the man started to name who I was.

The moment the word "betrothed" left his mouth, Lorenzo, who had been silent in the cushions, snapped upright, his voice furious.

"She's a friend."

In that instant the hand hidden beneath my sleeve clenched tight.

My nails dug into my palm until it ached, and a faint tremor ran through my fingers.

The faces around me shifted. Their eyes told me how awkward this had become, how badly a made man had just shamed the woman pledged to him.

It wasn't the first time Lorenzo hadn't wanted my place at his side made known.

I'd read the ending of us long ago, back when he refused to let us be seen together at the social club, refused to speak my name to his soldiers, refused to summon either bloodline or a single friend to the union.

I'd just been unwilling to accept it, wanting to gamble once on eight years.

And I'd lost anyway.

I held the smile in place and gave Adriana a nod.

"Hello. I'm Francesca Russo, Lorenzo's friend. You're even lovelier than they say."

The moment I finished, the private room went dead silent. Even the low clink of glass at the far table stopped.

Everyone traded glances, each face wearing a different look.

Adriana smiled, unbothered, and reached for the fruit plate on the table.

But Lorenzo, who had just slumped down, sat bolt upright again.

"Adriana, you're allergic to mango. You can't eat that."

Her hand froze midair. His earnestness seemed to amuse her. She tilted her head, and her voice dropped soft and wounded a half-second too soon.

"How are you exactly the same as ten years ago? You silly thing. That's watermelon. You're drunk."

In that moment something seemed to detonate inside my head.

The shards tore my heart to a bloody pulp.

So it wasn't that he couldn't remember. He just didn't care about me.

In eight years I'd reminded him countless times that I couldn't touch seafood, yet a seafood house was always his first choice when he troubled himself to take me anywhere at all.

I went from angry at the start, to giving in later, to even lying to myself.

He was simply worn down by the weight of the Family. There was no room left in his head for anything else.

But tonight reality jolted me awake all over again.

Every small thing laid the truth bare. He didn't love me.

I hauled him up off the couch, my face blank, and went down to the street to flag a car. Adriana came after me.

Her tender eyes crinkled with a smile as she looked at Lorenzo's face.

And she gave me careful instructions.

"Lorenzo can't hold his liquor, and the ingredients in the hangover remedies don't agree with him. When you get him home, make him a cup of honey water. The water can't run hotter than a hundred and forty degrees. He'll come around soon. Otherwise his head will split when he wakes."

These were things Lorenzo had never once told me.

I clenched my teeth and said nothing, turning to get into the car.

But she called me back again.

"Oh, and let me give you my line. If anything's wrong with him tonight, you can reach me."

"Lorenzo sleeps badly after drinking. You'll have to watch him all night. If he kicks off the covers, put them back at once, or he'll run a fever tomorrow for certain."

My nails pressed so hard they nearly broke the skin, my lashes trembling without stop.

I stared into her innocent eyes for a long moment, then finally nodded.

We traded contacts. Only then did I see that the photo behind her name was one of her and Lorenzo together.

In the picture, the two of them ten years younger looked fresh and unmarked by any of this, their eyes resolute, fingers laced tight.

The moment the car door shut behind me, tears slid silently from the corners of my eyes.

I used to hear people speak of a first love, the one that got away, and I scoffed at it.

Sincerity, held onto long enough, always earns sincerity back.

But in this moment, that belief of mine wavered. My fingers found the bare space on my ring finger where no ring had ever sat, and twisted at nothing.