As I travelled back home in the cab, I felt so naughty. Not just about what had happened last night or how forward I’d been again, but also because no one knew what I’d been up to, where I’d been and, most critically, with whom.
Even though the evening had been beyond amazing and I wanted to shout about it from the rooftops, I still wasn’t ready to tell Roxy or Bella. Of course, I knew they only had my best interests at heart, but I really liked Lorenzo and I was having fun, so I didn’t want to risk inviting their negative thoughts into my brain and bringing me down from this cloud. I just wanted to enjoy this high without judgement for as long as possible.
It was now Sunday morning. Normally at this time, I’d be on the huge terrace overlooking the Thames and a host of famous London monuments. That was undeniably beautiful, but the sight I had in front of me was, in my opinion, a million times better.
As I lay in bed, at the other end of the room was Lorenzo in the kitchen, cooking up an amazing lunch. He’d said today, we would dine like we were in Italy. He’d brought home some fresh pasta they’d made at the restaurant yesterday and had just taken the delicious crushed Florentine orange cake that I’d fallen in love with in Tuscany out of the oven, so the scent of fresh baking filled the flat, and currently he was whipping up a lobster risotto, which smelt divine.
He looks hot, he’s amazing in bed and he can cook? What’s not to love about this man?
We’d seen each other every evening this week. I’d met him after work, and despite being exhausted, he’d still put on a stellar performance at least twice. The same when I’d met him last night, and so far he’d already given me a good Sunday morning…
Today we’d be able to relax as he also had tomorrow off, and I’d already planned to join him. The team had proved a million times over that they could hold the fort without me. Plus, what better way to demonstrate that I was putting my work-life balance plan into action than by spending a Monday with this Italian god?
After a long and delicious lunch, Lorenzo put on some music and we relaxed on the bed, just holding each other.
‘So…’ I said, humming along to the song I instantly recognised as ‘Heartbeat’. ‘You’re a fan of the Eclectic Detectives?’
‘Yes?’ he said, frowning. ‘You know them? They are a great band. I like them very much.’
‘I love them too!’ I said, giving him a peck on the lips in appreciation.
‘You do, Sophia?’ he said, his eyes growing wide. You are the first person I have met who knows their music,’ he said.
‘Ditto! Who else do you like?’ I asked.
As he rattled off a long list, I couldn’t believe my ears. We loved the same music. Whilst he wasn’t keen on some of my more mainstream pop choices, lots of the lesser-known rock, jazz and UK soul artists I adored were amongst his favourites too.
‘This is lovely,’ I said, stroking his chest. ‘I could just lay here forever. Thank you for the amazing food. You are very talented. In more ways than one…’ I laughed cheekily and kissed him again firmly on the lips.
‘Prego,’ he replied, stroking my face.
‘And you don’t mind cooking on your day off?’ I asked.
‘For me, cooking is my passion, so it is not like work,’ he replied. ‘If it was, it would be difficult to be a chef because of the long hours. And cooking for you makes you happy, so it makes me happy too.’ He smiled, then leant forward, planting a kiss on my lips.
‘You’re amazing,’ I replied. ‘And also, much more relaxed than how I remember you in Tuscany. You were very, I don’t know… at times, you were moody. The last night we spent together, you were lovely, of course, but apart from that, you seemed unhappy and stressed. Whereas now you appear much calmer.’
‘It is because I am with you,’ he said, grinning, then kissing me again.
Hmm. Whilst what he said was nice, I sensed there was more to it than that… I knew I should just enjoy the moment and the time we were having together now, rather than look back to what had happened in the past, but I just needed to know what had happened before and why he’d stood me up in Florence.
‘Speaking of Tuscany and Florence,’ I said, stroking his chest again to help relax him enough to open up to me, ‘what happened that time we were supposed to meet? Why did you stand me up? Sorry, plain English: why did you not meet with me?’
I felt his body tense up as if he was uncomfortable with the question.
‘I told you, I had to work,’ he muttered quietly.
‘I know, but I’m confused,’ I said, sensing that I was pushing some buttons he didn’t want me to. ‘I’d asked you before what dates you were free, and you checked and said the dates were fine, so I booked the hotel and my flight. It was only when I contacted you a couple of days before that you mentioned work. Otherwise, you probably wouldn’t have even told me you couldn’t make it.’
‘Not true,’ he said, edging away from me slightly, causing my hand to fall off his chest. ‘I was going to tell you…’ He sighed. ‘It is complicated. My life then was complicated. It was a difficult time for me.’
‘So why didn’t you just explain that to me so I could understand?’ I asked.
He froze again. Why was I even pushing this? I knew I risked opening a can of worms and ruining what had started to be the perfect day, but it had been niggling at me for months and he’d made me feel so shitty that, before I got in any deeper with him, I just needed to know why he thought it was okay to reject me with just forty-eight hours’ notice.
‘Sophia,’ he said, sighing loudly again. ‘I’ve had a very difficult life. I am very damaged. I have had bad experiences. Especially with women.’ He paused. ‘It is a long story.’
‘That’s okay,’ I replied, edging closer then wrapping my arms around him again. ‘You’ve got a day off today and I have too, so you can tell me. I’m not going anywhere,’ I said defiantly. ‘I’ve got all the time in the world.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Lorenzo sighed heavily, unlocked himself from our cosy embrace and sat up on the bed.
His eyes bored into me as he tried to gauge whether or not he could avoid divulging the full story, but I had my ‘Fran’ on and gave him the I need answers and I won’t stop until I get them look, à la Liam Neeson in Taken.
‘Okay.’ He sighed again like he was mustering up the courage to talk about something painful. ‘I try my best to explain in English. So you remember I told you that I broke up with a girlfriend that night before we were together?’
‘Yes, I remember,’ I said as I also sat up in the bed and faced him.
‘Good. So I thought she understood. At first it was okay, because I worked with Taste for another week so I did not see her. You remember, I messaged you on the Friday and was happy? We talked for a long time on WhatsApp, no?’ he asked.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ I replied.
‘But then, after one week, when I went home, she came round and said we must try again. I told her I did not want to.’ His voice began to change. He sounded irritated. ‘We argued. I went to the toilet, I came back, I saw she was checking my phone because I left it on the table not locked. She went crazy and asked why I message girls, because she must have seen my messages to you. She hit me, kicked me. She always hit and punched me. All the time in our relationship. Because she knows I am a good man and will not hit a woman. She started to throw things. She went crazy and said I can never leave her.’
‘Fuck, that’s awful, Lorenzo,’ I said, trying to picture some crazed woman attacking him.
‘So I was confused,’ he said. ‘I did not know what to do. She stayed there for a few days. She was calm. But I was worried. I tried not to send messages because I was worried she would find a way to check my phone. Eventually, she left. I was happy. You messaged me about dates. I told you the truth. I was not working those dates. I wanted to see you. It was fine. She had gone. She left me alone. I thought, Good. It is over. But then she came back. I told her to leave because we had fi
nished,’ he said, scowling. ‘But she said we are not finished until I give her money.’
‘What? She tried to extort—I mean, she wanted you to pay her to leave?’ I said, horrified.
‘No, no. It is complicated,’ he replied, wriggling uncomfortably. ‘We were together for two years. When we met, my car broke and I did not have the money to fix it. She said, “Don’t worry, I will give you money for a new car,” as she knew I cannot work for Taste without a car as it is always far, you know, in the country, and I do not live in the city because it is expensive. So it is very difficult to work without a car. And without work, I have no money.’
‘Yeah, I hear that,’ I replied. ‘All the locations for the holidays seem very remote.’
‘Exactly, Sophia. So I asked her, are you sure? She said yes. I asked her later if she wanted me to pay her back. Perhaps a little every month. She said no. I am her boyfriend. It is a gift. No need to pay. I asked her many times, but always she said no. But then, she told me, before it was time for you to come to Florence, that if I don’t give her the money in one month, she will go to the police or take me to court and tell them I stole from her!’ The more he explained, the redder his face became.
‘But could she do that?’ I questioned. ‘What proof would she have? Would they really listen to her?’
‘I do not know, but she knows people. She is a dangerous woman. She has friends in the police and knows bad people. Anything is possible…’ His voice trailed off, as if he was thinking about what she could do. ‘Then she say she would also tell people I attacked her. That I went crazy and beat her. That I raped her. She started hitting herself in the face to show me what she could do,’ he said, whacking his cheek to demonstrate. ‘She told me she will contact Katherine at Taste Holidays and tell her that I am a violent man and should not be left alone with women. She said she would make me lose my job, as most guests are women and they would not want to risk their reputation.’
‘That’s fucked up!’ I said, shocked at his revelations and gently resting my hand on his. ‘Women like that make it so much harder for genuine victims to come forward and get taken seriously. What a bitch! So what did you do?’
‘I had no choice,’ he said, throwing his hands up in the air, causing mine to fall onto the bed. ‘I told her I would get her money. So, I had to call Taste and ask for extra work. I was lucky because another chef was not well and they needed cover, so I took the job. That meant I could not see you. I was sad because I wanted to see you. I wanted to explain, but I could not. That woman is crazy, I did not want her to know any more about you. It was not safe. I just had to work to pay her the money.’ He hung his head down, staring at the bed.
‘What then?’ I asked.
‘I worked every day. When I was not with Taste, I worked at a restaurant in Florence night and day. For one month. But it was still not enough. I was worried. My mother. She saw I looked tired and sad, so she asked what was wrong. I was not strong. I cried and told her everything. She offered me money. I said no, I cannot take it. But she said I must. So she gave it to me and I gave it to the crazy woman and she left me alone. I was free,’ he sighed, clearly relieved.
I sat there, stunned. I didn’t know what to say. It was all a bit like some crazy film. Violent ex-girlfriend threatening extortion and crying assault and rape? When I’d asked why he’d stood me up, I was expecting a more simplistic excuse, akin to ‘the dog ate my homework’ type thing. But not this.
I looked at him and could tell that even recounting the story upset him. He had tears in his eyes. And just like that, he lunged forward to give me a hug. He then rested his head on my shoulder.
‘I am sorry,’ he said as he lifted his head up to look me in the eyes. ‘I did not mean to upset you. I wanted to meet you, but I could not. It was too difficult. Even when I gave her money, I still worked hard for months to pay back my mother. I do not like taking money from people. Especially my mother. She is a wonderful woman. That is why I could not come to London when you asked. I worked, and I had too much in my head. I could not think clearly. I needed to focus on work and not on women.’
‘So you didn’t go with any women during that time?’
Gosh, Sophia. Is now really the time to be asking questions like that?
‘Yes,’ he replied honestly. ‘One, but it did not mean anything. It was just for—for release. I was stressed, I needed something,’ he said, bowing his head.
‘With a guest?’ I asked. I couldn’t help it. I needed to know.
‘No, no,’ he insisted. ‘I told you I do not do that. It only happened a few times,’ he said.
‘Well, you always look happy in your Facebook pictures huddling up to the guests,’ I said, voice tinged with jealousy.
Oops—just let the cat out the bag. If you Facebook stalk someone, you’re not supposed to actually let them know you’re doing it…
‘No, no,’ he insisted again. ‘It’s not like that. I told you. My ex-girlfriend was crazy. Once, I posted a photo on Facebook of Erica and me smiling with her hand on my shoulder in the kitchen. She was mad! She contacted Erica and said, “Do not touch my boyfriend or I will kill you”. She is crazy.’ He shook his head as if reliving the whole sorry incident all over again.
‘But maybe she wasn’t serious,’ I reasoned. ‘You know, lots of people say they’ll kill people, but they don’t really mean it.’
‘Sophia. With this woman, anything is possible,’ he emphasised again. ‘That’s why I only post photos with women who are like my mother or grandmother, because she did not feel threatened if I was with someone older.’
Ah, so that’s why he’s always snuggled up with the silver surfers.
‘I try to only post with older ladies. Like with your group on Facebook, I only posted a photo with Grace. Not with Fran, who is in her forties, yes? And not with you, because she would think you are pretty and go crazy.’
Everything was starting to make a lot more sense to me now.
‘So what is she like?’ I asked. ‘Your ex. Apart from being a madwoman, is she pretty? Why was she so insecure?’
‘Yes, she is a pretty woman. Brown hair and eyes. Good body. She is from the Ukraine. But is a very hard, cold woman,’ he said, grimacing. ‘Nothing I did was ever right. She did not like my food. When we had sex, she would push me away as soon as we finished. She did not like to hug or kiss. She did not show any feelings. She said I had a fat belly. Just like they did at school. She made me feel ugly and sad.’ He leant forward, resting his head on his knees.
‘It sounds like it was a very destructive relationship and you’re definitely better off out of it. I mean, you? A fat belly? Look at this…’ I said, pulling his legs down to lie flat on the bed before stroking, then gently kissing his gorgeous stomach. ‘Your stomach is beautiful. Perfect, in fact. Which must be difficult to maintain, seeing as you are a chef and spend all day cooking and tasting food.’
We both lay down again, and I continued stroking his stomach.
‘Thank you,’ he said as he rolled on his side to face me. ‘Yes. It is difficult. I am not naturally this way. I have to work hard to stay in shape. When I was younger, I was fat and the children said mean things. I had no friends and the girls called me ugly and said no one will ever like Lorenzo.’
‘You!’ I shouted with disbelief. ‘Ugly? I find that hard to imagine!’ He smiled, appreciating the compliment.
‘I hated school. But I loved food.’ He sat up in the bed again, excited to tell the story. ‘When I was sixteen, a—how do you say? Hospitality school came to my school to look for students. I went and learnt more about how to cook and respect food. I also started to exercise and I lost weight. I cut my hair. I fitted into better clothes. When I was twenty, the girls began to see me. So I admit, I went a little crazy and had fun with women. Lots of women…’ he said, smirking a little.
‘So you were a bit like a kid in a sweet shop!’ I said, laughing as I sat up beside him. He frowned as he tried to process and trans
late what I was saying.
‘Aha,’ he said as the penny dropped. ‘Yes, yes, Sophia. I understand. I was like a child who goes to buy caramella, yes. You reason—sorry, I mean you are right.’
‘I bet those girls that called you ugly are kicking themselves now,’ I said before realising that was another phrase he might not follow. ‘Sorry, let me rephrase: I bet those girls are sad that they called you fat.’
‘Ha-ha. Yes!’ he said, laughing again. ‘They try to talk and flirt with me on Facebook now. It is funny!’
That kind of made sense too. Probably why he had so many pictures of himself on Facebook. It was a kind of ‘Fuck you bitches. Look at me now!’ type thing. That’s right. Just call me Ms Freud, master psychologist.
He rested his head on my shoulder again. I stroked his hair. Now I understood why he’d seemed to crave hugs and affection when we were together in Tuscany.
‘Thank you for telling me all of this,’ I said, genuinely grateful for the insight it had given me into his life and what was behind his Florence no-show. ‘I know it can’t have been easy for you.’
‘It is okay,’ he said, kissing me gently on my forehead. ‘I know you are a good woman, and I know I upset you before. But that’s why I came to London now. My friend had a job for me in Paris. He said to go there. But I told him I wanted to see you. I did not know if you would speak to me again, as it has been a long time and I did not meet you, but I wanted to try. I felt what we had that night was special. I wanted to explore. See what happens.’
‘Well, I’m glad you came to London, Lorenzo,’ I replied as I stroked his beard. ‘I’m really glad you did.’
The Middle-Aged Virgin_A Chick Lit, Romantic Comedy Novel_Newly Single And Seeking Spine-Tingles... Page 32