Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
I stretch my legs out, which have gone a pretty light golden color in the few days I’ve been here. My bikini, a light baby blue, sits low on my hips. Hips that are struggling to hold it up because I’m losing weight, something to do with the fact that I’m not eating. I really need to get myself under control, but right now, I don’t know how to do that.
Luca returns with two more drinks, and I don’t even stop to question if he might have drugged them before swallowing my first mouthful. Honestly, I don’t care. I don’t care about anything right now, which is both alarming and calming.
“Tell me, Willow,” Luca says, sitting back down. “What man broke your heart so bad you didn’t even question if I drugged your drink?”
I stare at him. “To be fair, I did think it, I just didn’t ask because I don’t care.”
“That bad, huh? Tell me, I’m a good listener.”
He leans back on the chair, pulling his sunglasses down.
I don’t know this man. Hell, he could be anyone, but I don’t care, either. I lean back, close my eyes, and I tell him. Oh, I tell him everything. He doesn’t so much as flinch as I go over my story, and the more I speak, the worse it sounds. I’ve never said it out loud, but now I am, I realize just how bad my situation is.
God, I need to get myself a life.
Stat.
“Well,” he murmurs when I’m done, “that’s certainly something. So, this man, Jagger, he chose his wife?”
I nod.
“Are you certain? It sounds like you ran out before he got the chance to speak to you.”
“He chose her,” I mutter. “He cried. Jagger doesn’t cry. Obviously, he loves her.”
Luca studies me. “Sounds like he loves you, too.”
“Well, I’m not second choice.”
“Have you at least spoken to him?”
“My phone doesn’t work here. A blessing in disguise, I’d say.”
Luca chuckles. “You’re a hard woman.”
I sit up, facing the stranger who is now making me really angry with his judgment.
“Excuse me, Luca, but you don’t know me. You don’t know what I went through. I deserve to feel a little sorry for myself.”
He nods, raising his brows. “Indeed, you do. But don’t you think it would be hard on him, too? Imagine if someone you loved came back from the dead. That wouldn’t be easy. Put yourself in his shoes. If he died and you moved on, and then he suddenly showed up, would you just forget everything you felt for him?”
“You’re making it worse,” I mumble. “Because that could mean he loves her far more than he ever loved me. I know if I lost him, I could never love someone the same.”
Luca doesn’t say anything.
He knows I’m right.
“You look like you need some food; let me take you for a meal,” Luca suggests, standing.
I stare at him. “I’m fine here.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
I don’t answer him.
“Exactly. Come on, if you’re going to mope around, at least let me show you how beautiful this city is. You didn’t come all the way here to miss it, did you?”
I huff under my breath, but I stand. I pull on my shorts, a top, and then sling my bag over my shoulder and slide my sunglasses down over my eyes. “Fine, one meal, but if you try anything, I’m a good fighter ...”
He laughs, hooking his arm through mine. “I’m not into girls mourning other men.”
Good to know.
I’M DRUNK.
God, I’m so damned drunk.
I went out with Luca, we ate lunch, then we went out and drank some more before dancing late into the evening. He was fun, so much fun, and he made me laugh in a way I haven’t laughed since I came here. Then, he walked me home before I passed out. I managed to get myself into the hotel room and lock the door before falling face first onto the bed where I stayed for a few hours.
Now, I’m angry.
It comes in waves, the anger.
Alcohol doesn’t help.
It really does not help.
I stand on wobbly legs, Jagger swimming around in my mind, and I stumble to the phone. It’s going to cost a heck of a lot of money for me to dial out of this country, but I’m going to anyway. I’m going to because I want to hear him tell me exactly why he hasn’t called, why he hasn’t come for me, why he just walked out and left me for her.
I know his number.
I have it memorized in the darkest parts of my mind, somewhere that I’ll keep it forever, along with him.
It takes me six attempts to figure out how to dial out, but, finally, the phone rings, and I sit on the edge of the bed with it pressed to my ear, waiting for him to answer, yet praying that he doesn’t. I have so much I want to say, god, I just want to scream at him and tell him how much I hate him, but I also want to cry and tell him just how much I love him.