Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
What a gentleman. “All right, then.”
He lingered in the doorway, as if he felt he should say something for the first time. Some goodbye words, provide some kind of closure.
I sat on the edge of the bed in my dress and heels. “Just go, Enzo.” I was utterly defeated, somewhat relieved I didn’t have a battle to fight anymore. Didn’t have to wonder what would happen with us because I’d watched the ending credits of the film.
He hesitated for another moment before he opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The heavy door shut behind him the instant he was gone.
The curtains to the window were pulled open, and I couldn’t see much in the darkness, just the light from the streetlamps against the leaves of the trees across the street. One of the lamps on the nightstand was on and cast shadows in the corners of the room. I felt the gravity of my loneliness in that moment, but realized I’d been lonely for a long time, long before Enzo had packed his bags and walked out.
I sat there for at least an hour before the tears flooded my eyes. The waves of agony hit me like ocean waves during a full moon. Why had I put up with this for so long? What had I done that made me so undesirable? What could I have possibly done to be so worthless in someone’s eyes?
How could he tell me he loved me . . . and then make me feel so unwanted?
Walk out of my life without even an apology, let alone an explanation.
I wasn’t worth either, apparently.
I didn’t leave my hotel room the next day. Stayed in bed. Didn’t look at my phone—not that I expected him to call or text. Didn’t reach out to any of my friends to tell them what had happened. Even though I knew the end was drawing close, I still wasn’t ready to describe how cruel it had been.
I didn’t have an appetite, so I didn’t order room service or go for some granita and brioche. I watched streaming programs on my device in the dark because I kept the curtains closed over the window. It wasn’t until the next day that I took a shower and headed into town, but the idea of sitting alone in a restaurant made the situation feel too real, so I sat on the steps by the fountain and people-watched for hours. Everyone seemed to be having a great time on their holiday, while I lived through one of the darkest moments of my life.
By the third day, I was ready to get out.
I packed my camera and took pictures of the town. Went to the beach and climbed rocks and headed to Isola Bella to snap photographs. I was a professional photographer, and getting lost in art was the only coping mechanism I had.
When the sun set, I showered and got ready for my evening, choosing to visit the famous hotel farther up the road. It was the setting for a TV show about a murder mystery, and ever since the show debuted, it’d become a popular attraction for everyone who visited Taormina. I’d wanted to stay there in the first place, but it was way out of my price range. A single night there was a week’s stay at the other hotel. I was certain it was worth it, but I just didn’t have the money.
But anyone could visit the bar, so I put on a black dress and heels and braved the cobblestone walkways and the steep stairs, my ass a little plumper after the journey.
The second I entered the hotel, I heard the quiet music of the piano from the musician in the courtyard. The area was full of swivel armchairs and couches, all occupied by hotel guests or other people like me who couldn’t afford to stay there. Full of trees in pots and potted flowers, the space was an oasis in the center of the hotel. There was also no vacancy, so I headed to the indoor bar, the lights low and most of the tables empty. The ceilings were coffered, with golden seashells, and the modern chandeliers that hung down only offered a slight increase in illumination. The mirrored shelves behind the bar were twenty feet high, stacked with every kind of liquor someone could possibly order. The bar also had a piano, but no musician to play it. Instead, music played from speakers overhead as the waiters circulated. Some couples were seated at the tables, but it was mostly men at the bar, who sat alone.
I found a table with two chairs and took a seat. A booklet menu and a low-burning candle were in the center of the table, so I flipped through the pages to see the tapas they had as well as their cocktails. They listed a spicy margarita with mezcal, my preference over tequila, so I ordered that when the waiter serviced me right away.