“Yes,” I lie, I keep looking out the window, I haven’t made eye contact with him all week.
“You just don’t seem yourself, did something happen in Ibiza?” His eyes flick up to meet mine in the rearview mirror as he waits for my answer.
Everything happened.
“Not at all.” I fake a smile at my ever-loyal guard. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“Because….”
“I’m fine, Antonio,” I say, sterner, cutting him off.
He rolls his lips and gives a curt nod and continues to drive.
Damn it, that was rude.
This isn’t his fault, but I can’t go there, I don’t want him digging around and trying to discuss my train wreck of a love life. I’m simply not strong enough to talk about it, I can’t anyway, even if I wanted to.
I try to make amends for snapping at him. “Tell me about your sister’s wedding on the weekend?”
He raises an eyebrow as his eyes stay fixed on the road in front. “Alright.”
I square my shoulders, determined to hide my feelings better. “Tell me everything.”
* * *
I’m okay through the day, it’s bedtime, I fear.
Darkness, the dreaded bearer of sadness, and like the masochist that I am, every night I do what I swear I will never do again. I put my headphones in and I cry silently in the darkness as I listen to “I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston.
I picture us dancing alone in our hotel room and him smiling down at me.
The love between us.
Why do I put myself through it?
I don’t know.
But I feel like I have to get it out, because how can you be so broken inside if you don’t get to show it to anyone.
I pretend I’m okay.
I don’t speak his name, I don’t ask about him, I don’t cry, and I’ll never admit it, but even after four weeks, I feel like I’m getting worse, not better.
I hear Anna wind up her phone call to Carlo, to add salt to my already weeping wound, he and her are going rock steady, while my world is falling apart.
At least Ibiza resulted in someone’s happiness, I only wish it was mine.
I have no one to blame but myself, I knew what I was getting into when I slept with Giuliano. But I had to do it anyway.
More fool me, I deserve every tear that I’ve cried. “I’m tired,” I say as I stand. “I’m going to turn in.”
“Good night,” Anna replies as she sits on the couch, she looks me up and down. “You’ve lost a lot of weight.”
I glance down at myself. “Have I?” I know I have, I’m skin and bone. Food turns my stomach. “I guess I’ve been so busy working that I haven’t had time to eat.” I shrug.
Anna’s eyes hold mine and I know that she knows. “Are you okay?”
“Uh-huh.” I smile. “Fine.”
“Are you really okay?”
“Absolutely, good night.” I walk into my bedroom and close the door behind me, I slide down it to sit on the floor, the dreaded lump in my throat returns.
I’m not okay.
* * *
I click onto my hundredth website for today, I can’t find the damn wallpaper that I want for the hotel. I know exactly what I want and damn it, why can’t I find it?
I’ve seen it a lot in the past and now that I finally want to order, it seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth.
Knock, knock sounds at my office door. I glance up to see my boss.
“Hi.” I smile. “Come in.”
“Hi, Francesca,” he replies, he comes and sits down at my desk. “How’s it all going? I’m hearing great things.”
“Awesome.” I smile proudly. “Busy.”
“Francesca,” Tony says from the door. “That tile that we used on the Murdoch job, do you remember the name?”
“Blackbird in matte.”
“Great. I knew you’d remember it.” He goes to walk out.
“It needs to be cut on the angle, remember,” I call after him.
“Ah.” Tony’s face falls. “Does it?”
“It has to be laid in herringbone to get that look.”
“I was going to do chevron.”
I wince. “It will look lovely, very different, though. If you want that same look as the Murdoch job, I would go herringbone.”
“Okay, thanks.”
My attention returns to my boss.
“Where are we up to with the Remington project?” he asks.
“They’re currently demolishing and I’m ordering materials and furnishings.”
“Chesk, what carpeting did we use in Chalet Street?” Ella asks from the door.
“Um.” I screw up my face as I try to place the job. “In the bedrooms or the living?”
“Bedrooms.”
“It was a tufted hundred percent wool. I’m not sure of the color, it’s from the Merino latest catalogue.”
“Okay, thanks.” She disappears.
My boss looks over at me. “Are you always interrupted every two minutes like this?”
I give an embarrassed smile. “Comes with the job, I guess.”
“No. it shouldn’t, not when you have your own very important job running. Why don’t you work from home for a while?”