Page 35 of Broken Pieces
He’s the same guy who was in Damian’s office the other day. The one that Damian shares some physical similarities with. The only difference between them is his deeper tan and caramel whiskey eyes. He’s a little shorter than Damian too, and somewhat bulkier, barely noticeable.
“And who do we have here?” he inquires, his gaze shifting to me as he raises a curious eyebrow.
Damian introduces me with a casual tone, “This is Aria Petrov, the curator of the gallery. Aria, meet Lorenzo Mancini, my cousin.”
I extend my hand, meeting Lorenzo’s firm grip with my own. As we exchange pleasantries, a thought occurs to me as I glance at the restaurant's name. “Do you own Lorenzo’s in Chicago?” I ask curiously.
Lorenzo's nod is accompanied by a charming smile. “I own a couple around the world. And please, call me Enzo,” he says with a friendly wink.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a subtle change in Damian's demeanor. His shoulders tense slightly, his expression growing unreadable. Without missing a beat, Lorenzo observes Damian's reaction, his smirk hinting at an unspoken understanding as he excuses himself.
“I'll leave you two to it. Enjoy your meal. It was nice to meet you, love,” he says, offering a knowing nod before walking away.
The meeting is long and fucking dreadful. His critiques are harsher than usual, picking apart my ideas and pointing out flaws I hadn't anticipated. It feels like he's going out of his way to challenge me. He's unspokenly drawing that line between us, shutting down what has happened these past few weeks.
I bite my lip, trying to contain any witty comebacks and maintain my composure. If he wants to be a dick about it, fine. If this is how he wants to draw that line, that’s fine too. I’m not stooping to his level. There’s no denying that a lingering sense of unease has settled over our meeting, making it hard to concentrate. It's as if the electrifying chemistrywe share is now sparking in a different, more volatile direction. Finally, we manage to wrap up the meeting, and he doesn't waste a moment before rising from his seat.
“We're done here. I have to go,” he says curtly, getting up from his chair and walking away.
I quickly stand and grab my purse, following after him, and somehow manage to catch up to him in these uncomfortable heels. “Is this how it’s going to be from now on?”
He refuses to look at me, and keeps walking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ha. Honestly, Damian, you’re a lot of things, but I never thought being a coward was one of them.”
He stops dead in his tracks, snapping his cold green eyes to mine. Honestly, out of all the looks he’s had, this one is the most intimidating. There’s not an ounce of feelings, or spark for that matter, behind those eyes. “Forgive me for trying to keep a professional boundary,” he replies coldly.
“We’re way past that and you know it,” I retort.
He looks sideways and lets out a tired sigh, scrubbing his face with his left hand. “I don’t know what you want from me,” he replies with a resigned tone.
My shoulders stiffen at his resigned tone, my heart drops in the pit of my stomach. That’s the thing, I don’tknowwhat I want from him, but it’s definitely not this.
Letting out a shaky breath, I whisper, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” and then walk away from him.
I’ve spent the whole afternoon holed up in my room, drowning myself in work to occupy my mind and maintain a much-needed distance from Aria. Now more than ever, I regret my decision to share a suite with her. It was a stupid idea, and now I’m paying the consequences. Staying away from her seems the safest route for now to keep the tension that has been brewing between us at bay.
My inner self screams at me to just let go of the reins, and stop trying to restrain myself. I’m hanging by a thread that’s growing more precarious every moment I spend looking at those beautiful eyes, or those plush lips that demand my attention, or every bantering moment that happens between us.
Fuck.
I’m already in an irritable mood as it is as I’m getting ready to have dinner with my mother. I love that woman to death, however, her consistent references to my father have always been a sore point for me. We have a complicated relationship, to say the least, and today I’m in no mood for her to go down memory lane and try to revive those distant and very few good memories we had as a family. It sucked being an only child. It’s not like I had any siblings to relate to or play with and overall be a normal child. The closest thing I had was Enzo.
Arriving at the restaurant, I stride to our usual table and find my mother, looking as elegant as ever. When she looks up, her face lights up with joy at the sight of me. Rising from her table, she envelops me in one of her warm hugs.
“È così bello vederti tesoro,”It's so good to see you, honey,she says, her smile radiant. “Sei molto bello.”You look so handsome.
Her touch is tender as she gently pinches one of my cheeks, a motherly gesture that accompanies her compliments.
Returning her warm smile, I take my seat and reply, “Grazie, Mamma. Tu sei magnifica come sempre.”Thank you, Mother. You look beautiful as always.
While my mother speaks English well, she enjoys speaking her native language more often than not, and I always enjoy brushing up on my Italian for good practice. Ourwaiter arrives and we order our usual wine and appetizers. We talk about my job and her recent travels.
“You’re doing wonderful things with the gallery, honey. Your dad would be proud.”
I let out an incredulous laugh. “Yeah, right.”
Her eyes soften as she grabs my hand and caresses it with her thumb. “I know that your dad was… how do I say this?” she ponders.
