Lose Yourself (The Desires Unlocked Trilogy Part Two)

by Evie Blake

  ‘Valentina? Is everything all right?’

  ‘Oh, no, Leonardo; thank God you answered.’ She wishes so much that Leonardo were curled up on the couch with her. She realises that somehow their relationship has gone on to a deeper level, a real friendship, like how it is with Marco.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ He sounds genuinely concerned.

  ‘It’s Theo.’

  Leonardo doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. ‘Did you call him up?’ He sounds tired – not his usual self.

  ‘I’m sorry; have I woken you?’

  It occurs to Valentina that maybe their relationship is rather one-sided. She is always ringing Leonardo and asking for his help. When she thinks about it, he has not once phoned her and asked for her advice.

  ‘No, I’m fine . . .’ he says, hesitating. ‘There’s just stuff going on here . . . I’ll tell you when I see you. Now, tell me about Theo.’

  ‘Leonardo, I saw him today. A complete coincidence: he was at the gallery where the exhibition is on.’ She hesitates, not wanting to tell him about Anita just yet. ‘It was like I was struck down . . . like in one of those stupid Hollywood films . . . like I was hit by lightning, literally. I was just jolted awake; it felt so raw. Oh, Leo, I’ve been so stupid.’

  ‘But it’s good, isn’t it? Now you know for sure how you feel. Now you can tell him – get him back, like you want to.’

  ‘But it’s not as simple as I thought.’ She pauses, licking her lips. ‘He has a girlfriend.’

  ‘No, not Theo.’ Leonardo sounds surprised. ‘Maybe she is just a casual lover, but not a proper girlfriend. He has always wanted you, Valentina; I know that.’

  ‘You’re wrong. She really is his girlfriend. I met her,’ Valentina wails down the phone. ‘And she is so sweet and I know she is in love with him; I can see it.’

  ‘So what are you going to do, Valentina?’

  Valentina chews her lip. Her heart is racing, her head thick with emotions. She knows now, without a doubt, that she loves Theo, but it’s too late. He is with Anita.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she whispers. ‘I was hoping you would tell me what to do.’

  Leonardo sighs. ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Please, Leonardo, you’re so wise, and Theo confides in you. Please tell me what to do.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Leonardo says slowly, ‘you say this girl is in love with Theo, but is Theo in love with her?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He might be going out with her to make you jealous.’

  ‘That just doesn’t seem his style. We never did jealousy,’ Valentina muses.

  ‘He must have a plan,’ Leonardo says. ‘This is Theo we are talking about.’

  ‘But she is crazy about him . . .’

  ‘How can you be sure? I mean, you only met them together once. She might be like your friend, Antonella: all show but not much heart.’

  ‘That’s a bit of a mean thing to say,’ Valentina defends her friend. ‘You make her sound shallow.’

  ‘Valentina,’ Leonardo continues, ‘you have to find out how Theo feels about you; more importantly, you have to let him know how you feel. Once and for all, tell him you love him.’

  ‘Even though he is going out with someone else? Isn’t that a bitchy thing to do to another woman?’

  ‘That depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On whether you can live without him. If not, you have to fight for him, baby. Win him back.’

  ‘Oh, Leonardo,’ Valentina sighs. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe I should just come home – just continue the way things were.’

  ‘You were miserable, Valentina. Even all my sexual attentions couldn’t cheer you up.’

  She closes her eyes, reliving the moment she saw Theo and how charged she had felt afterwards. She opens her eyes again, staring out of the window at the swaying trees in the park. ‘I miss you, Leonardo. I wish you were here.’

  ‘Believe me, so do I.’

  She hears desperation in his voice and she wonders what ‘stuff’ is going on in his life. She knows he won’t tell her over the phone.

  ‘I wish we were in bed right now and you were consoling me,’ she says softly.

  ‘I could console you over the phone.’

  ‘Are you going to talk dirty to me, Signor Sorrentino?’

  She hears the ticking of a silent line, and then Leonardo speaks again, but this time his voice has changed. This time it is Leonardo the dominator who is speaking to her. Her skin tingles with excitement as she closes her eyes and imagines his hard, dark eyes pinning her down.

  ‘What are you wearing, Valentina?’

  ‘My dressing gown.’

  ‘The blue one?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what else?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Are you completely naked?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want you to open up your dressing gown; I want to caress your breasts with your hands; pull on your nipples, feel them hardening. Now open up your legs.’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispers. ‘I’m doing it.’

  ‘Close your eyes and put your hand between your legs; stroke yourself, Valentina.’

  She pushes her hand between her legs and spreads her fingers. She can feel her warmth, her need sensitising her fingertips.

  ‘It is me touching you, Valentina; can you feel me?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  And he is with her, her friend, on Isabella’s couch, stroking her with his fine long fingers, soothing away her distress, her pain at seeing the love of her life with another woman.

  ‘Push your finger right up inside yourself, V. That’s me inside you, fucking you, making you feel me, right up into your tip.’

  In the unlit living room of Antonella’s aunt, Valentina spreads her legs before the rustling city park opposite. She doesn’t care who sees her and her need, her ecstasy. She spins her fingers inside herself, increasing the pace, pushing herself further and further. One moment it is Leonardo beside her, and the next she sees Theo’s face, his enchanting smile, his eyes looking deep into hers. Yes, she believes he does still love her, but she can’t understand why he is with Anita. As she comes, she doubles over, spent and shivering. Anita had called herself Theo’s girlfriend, so he had found a girl not afraid of commitment. Was fate punishing Valentina? Is this what she deserves after the way she has treated him in the past? Theo is too good for her, she tries to convince herself; she should leave him alone in peace with someone sweet and giving, like Anita. And yet a fire is burning deep down in the pit of Valentina’s belly, and she knows it will burn all reason out of her. She wants him back.

  Six hours later, Antonella and Valentina are drinking coffee. They are still sleepy-eyed, with Antonella nursing a hangover.

  ‘I don’t know how Aunty Isa managed to get up for work this morning,’ Antonella groans.

  ‘Here.’ Valentina throws over a packet of ibuprofen. ‘Take a couple of those; you’ll be fine.’

  ‘So, how was it at the gallery?’ Antonella asks her, as she pops two tablets out of their silver foil and into the palm of her hand.

  Valentina can’t face going into the details. She is sure that Antonella would be fascinated to hear about Anita’s private dance, although not so thrilled to learn about Theo’s reappearance in her life. ‘OK,’ she says. ‘The show looks good. There are two pictures of you and Mikhail being exhibited.’

  ‘Great; I can’t wait to see it.’ Antonella gets up, pours a glass of water and knocks back the tablets. She sits down at the table and takes another swig of her coffee. ‘These pills had better work. I feel terrible.’

  ‘You were both very drunk, and shouting at each other.’ Valentina refills her coffee cup.

  ‘That’s what happens when my family get together; we’re a rowdy lot.’

  Valentina watches her friend; she looks tired and vulnerable. Without her make-up on, Antonella seems so much younger than her twenty-eight years. She is usually so upbea
t and positive, yet today her eyes are sad and heavy.

  ‘What exactly was the dispute over?’ Valentina asks her gently.

  ‘Aunty Isabella was trying to justify the fact that my father walked out on us when I was a child . . .’

  Valentina frowns with annoyance. This is one thing that unites her and Antonella: they were both abandoned by their fathers when they were little. Although Antonella has seen her father a couple of times, his contact has been intermittent. After he left Antonella’s mother, he went to live in Argentina. ‘So what justification is there?’ Valentina says, her voice hardening with irritation at Antonella’s aunt.

  ‘She says that he did the right thing because there was such disharmony in our home. My parents were always shouting at each other.’ Antonella tugs her hand through her tangled red hair. ‘She claims that it’s better not to have had contact with my father than to have experienced my parents at each other’s throats my whole life . . .’

  ‘Were they really that bad?’

  ‘I don’t remember, Valentina. I was too little.’ Antonella offers her hands up to heaven. ‘And, you know, OK, I said that maybe she was right – they should have broken up . . . But to go off to Argentina . . . ? To walk out on us all like that . . . ? I said there was no excuse. But she claims that my mother’s new husband, my stepfather, wanted him out of the picture.’

  ‘Do you think that’s true, Antonella?’ Valentina leans forward, and Antonella drops her arms and looks at her forlornly.

  ‘I don’t know. I never heard that before.’ She looks troubled. ‘I’ve never got on with my stepfather, but then I don’t think he would have actually stood in the way of my father seeing us.’

  ‘Well, there are two sides to every story,’ Valentina says evenly. She has met Antonella’s stepfather and she dislikes him intensely. He is always ogling her.

  Antonella shakes herself as if she is waking herself up. She helps herself to more coffee and nibbles on the end of a piece of cold toast. ‘So, why did your father leave, Valentina? Why have you never seen him in all these years?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve no idea.’ Valentina hastily brings the subject back to Antonella’s father. ‘At least you’ve visited your father in Argentina. You know him now.’

  ‘Yeah, but he may as well be a stranger.’

  Valentina leans forward again. She has a sudden urge to confide in Antonella, despite the fact she is notoriously indiscreet. ‘I found something out recently,’ she says, pausing before continuing. ‘My father lives in London.’

  Antonella’s jaw drops open. ‘Mamma mia! That’s very exciting. Are you going to see him?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . I mean, like you say, we’re strangers. Is there any point?’

  ‘Come on; this is you. Remember Theo used to call you “Intrepid Valentina”?’

  Valentina winces at the mention of Theo’s nickname for her.

  ‘Of course you are going to go and see your father. Where does he live?’

  ‘Near the Finchley Road. That’s North London, isn’t it?’ She takes a breath and she can taste the bitterness of her anger. Antonella is right; why should she be bashful? She is a grown woman, nearly thirty years old. She deserves some answers now.

  ‘You’re right, Toni. I want to know why he never visited, nor wrote, nor took any interest in my life at all. I don’t understand it.’

  Antonella reaches forward and grips her hand. It seems that her hangover has made her more maudlin than usual, for Valentina can see tears sprouting in her friend’s eyes. ‘I think our fathers are men who are able to compartmentalise their lives,’ Antonella says. ‘And I guess we, as their daughters, were boxed up and put away on the forgotten-about shelf.’

  ‘Do you really believe that our fathers never thought about us? At all?’

  ‘Yes, I do. How else could they live with it? We are fatherless women, Valentina.’ Antonella pulls her hand away and wipes her eyes. To Valentina’s surprise, her friend’s face breaks into a big smile. ‘And, you know what? That’s OK, because there is nothing – and I mean nothing – worse than a Daddy’s girl.’

  Valentina nods in agreement. It is one of the few things that irritate her about her old schoolfriend, Gaby: the way she demands things from her father; and her Daddy always comes running to rescue her if she is short of money, or needs something done in her flat. Valentina and Antonella are the same: they have to put up their own shelves.

  Antonella’s smile fades and she groans.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Valentina asks.

  Her friend stands up, holding her head as if it is a delicate object. ‘I’m sorry, Valentina, I’m really suffering here. I have to go back to bed. I’m just not able to go shopping today. Do you mind going out without me?’ She laughs lamely. ‘Besides, you can go to that fusty old museum if I’m out of action. I just know you’re dying to.’

  Valentina sits in the café in the old Tate Gallery. She has already spent the morning trailing around the British Museum, trying to study the mummies in the Egyptian rooms, but she has been impossibly distracted by the events of the previous evening. Several times, she took out her phone and thought about ringing Theo. But what should she say? In the end, much to her delight, she didn’t need to call him, for he called her. Was she free for a quick coffee? Any chance she was near the Tate Britain, down on Millbank? She didn’t even consider being coy, and immediately agreed to meet him, racing across London from Russell Square to Green Park on the Piccadilly line, and then changing to the Victoria line to take her down to Pimlico. She is only in London for a few days and she is not going to turn down any opportunity to see Theo again. Besides, she tries to convince herself that maybe they could become friends. Could she be happy with just that?

  Valentina orders Earl Grey tea and scones. She slathers raspberry jam on to her scone and takes a tiny bite out of it. She is hungry and yet she is so nervous that eating is hard. She glances at her watch again. He is five minutes late. She feels guilty every time she thinks of Anita, yet she is only meeting Theo for a chat. Isn’t she? It is broad daylight, after all.

  ‘Valentina?’

  She jumps up, bumping the little table and knocking her teacup over, so that her scone is covered in milky tea. How did he manage to creep up on her like that?

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Theo says, smiling at her, the expression in his eyes so warming that her legs begin to buckle. ‘I’ll get you another one.’

  When he returns with their drinks, he takes the chair opposite her at the tiny café table. She can feel his knees knocking against hers. She focuses on his forget-me-not blue shirt. She dare not trust herself to look into his eyes again. Not yet.

  ‘So, how are you?’ Theo asks.

  ‘Good,’ she mumbles, suddenly unable to find the right words to express herself. She has to speak openly this afternoon. She can’t let him walk away today thinking that she doesn’t care about him, and yet the words have dried up in her throat.

  ‘And life in Milan? I hear you’re still hanging out with Leonardo; having fun?’

  She looks up at him, the torture in her eyes silences his teasing.

  ‘Valentina?’ he asks gently.

  ‘Yes?’ She leans forward and she can smell his Bulgari. Its aroma fills her with nostalgia. She is glad that he hasn’t changed his cologne. He might have a new woman but he still smells the same.

  ‘Did you know about my involvement with Anita Chappell before you came to London?’ He looks surprisingly serious. ‘Is that why you decided to exhibit at the Lexington?’ he asks her, studying her face carefully.

  ‘I had no idea about you and her!’ she tells him, feeling a little annoyed at his implication. One thing she is not is a stalker. ‘I was just as shocked to see you there, in the gallery.’

  He looks thoughtful for a moment, picks up his teaspoon and helps himself to sugar, slowly stirring it into his cup. ‘It seems to be the most incredible coincidence,’ he comments. ‘Seeing you again has really thrown me.’

/>   His words are so direct and honest. Her heart does a little leap of hope. She struggles to remain composed. After all, hadn’t the idea of London been to reinvent herself? To move on from Theo? And yet, as soon as Leonardo gave it to her, she had stored Theo’s number in her phone. She really can’t say what her intentions had been once she got to London. She never expected to actually run into him, and so soon. All she does know is how she feels, right now in this moment.

  ‘I’ve missed you, Theo,’ Valentina tells him.

  He looks at her and beneath his smile she can see his hurt. He rouses himself, leaning down and opening his briefcase. ‘The reason I called you is because I have something you might be interested in,’ he tells her, hastily steering them away from her admission.

  ‘Oh,’ she says, a little disappointed that he wasn’t ringing her purely to see her and for no other reason.

  ‘I recently came across an old dance movie from the late forties. Anita has a stack of old burlesque acts and modern dances on film.’

  Valentina tenses at the mention of her rival’s name.

  ‘Your grandmother’s maiden name was Maria Brzezinska, wasn’t it? And she was a dancer, right?’

  ‘Well, the name is right. But I don’t think she was a dancer.’

  ‘But she could have been?’

  ‘I suppose, though my mother never mentioned it to me. I don’t think she had any kind of creative career – just stayed at home and looked after the family.’

  ‘Did you know your grandmother?’

  ‘No; she died before I was born, in a plane crash.’

  Theo hands Valentina a DVD. Their hands brush and she can feel the hairs on the back of her neck tingling in reaction to his touch.

  ‘You have to look at this, Valentina. It’s amazing for its time. A contemporary ballet, choreographed by Kurt Jooss, called Pandora. I believe it’s your maternal grandmother dancing the role of Psyche. It was filmed in London in nineteen forty-eight.’