by Lauren Asher
He fists his hands by his sides as if he needs to restrain himself. “Don’t go. Please.”
I zip up my suitcase and tug it off the bed, ignoring him.
“Chloe, stop. Please.” His voice croaks. “You should stay here. I’ll go and stay somewhere else. I don’t give a shit.”
I halt, my hand frozen on the luggage handle. “What?” Why would he offer something like that?
“I want you to stay here. I know you don’t entirely believe me right now, but I do love you and I don’t want you staying in some hotel. This will always be your home if you want it. Plus, it gives you access to see Matteo at any time.”
“I don’t want that right now.”
“But you might, and at least you’ll be a short walk away. And it’s free.” He stumbles over his words, as if he needs to get them all out before I bolt for the exit.
I want to scream at him to stop being caring. It’s the last thing my vulnerable heart needs, but I give in. He hooked me with the word free.
“Fine. I’m going to stay solely because I need to save the money for my return ticket back home. That’s it.”
His head drops, but he nods.
“You’re actually not going to sleep here?” I still can’t believe it.
“No. I’ll go somewhere else.”
I nod my head and turn back toward my luggage. “Okay.”
He lets out a shaky breath. “Will you give me a chance to fix this?”
I don’t bother looking in his direction. “People aren’t like your cars. You can’t repair what’s too broken beyond repair.”
“I would’ve said the same thing about myself, but then you came along. I’m not going to tell you I’m sorry. I’m going to show it.”
I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. A wave of exhaustion hits me and my shoulders drop. Staying strong is taking its toll.
He lets out a sigh. His footsteps fade away into the distance. It doesn’t take long for the lock at the front door to turn. Instead of relief hitting me in Santiago’s absence, a wave of sadness washes over me.
I crawl onto the bed and curl into a ball. Today’s events weigh heavily inside of my chest. Just when I thought everything was going right in my life, God threw a bomb in my lap and expected me to disable it.
My dad is dead, Santiago knew and didn’t say anything to me, and the whole reason I came to Italy in the first place is pointless.
I don’t know what to do from here, but I do know one thing. I hate liars, and I somehow fell in love with the best one.
“Shut the fuck up! This can’t be real,” Brooke yells into her phone.
“Ugh.” I drop back onto my mattress, allowing the foam to swallow me whole. At least Brooke listened to the whole story before screaming. Down to the last detail, including everything about Santiago. From his deceit to him letting me stay in his home without him even living here.
“How is this even possible? The test can’t be wrong.”
I grip onto the loose thread of my raggedy pajama pants and pull. “They’re twins. Identical twins. That means they share basically the same DNA. It’s science.”
“It’s stupid.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true.”
“Fuck.” Brooke’s voice becomes nothing but a hoarse whisper.
“Yup.” I blink away the tears misting my eyes.
“What are you going to do now? Do you want to come back home?”
Thoughts flood my head. I can barely wrap my head around everything Matteo revealed to me, let alone decide if I should leave. Any thought about leaving is instantly replaced by ones of Santiago and how he kept the truth from me. How can I trust someone who pretended in front of my face that he didn’t know who Matteo really was?
Brooke sighs. “What are you going to do?”
“Pour wine into a baby bottle and cry myself to sleep?”
“And?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had enough time to think up a plan. You’re the first person I talked to after my life went from Disney Channel Original Movie to Chernobyl Diaries.”
She snorts. “Chernobyl Diaries was a terrible movie.”
“My point exactly.”
“Do you want to FaceTime?”
“Do you even have to ask?”
“Grab your favorite wine and your laptop. Let’s have ourselves a date night.”
My throat tightens. “Brooke?”
“Hmm?”
“I appreciate you. Just so you know.”
“Gross. Save the touchy-feely shit for the nine-inch dick you’ve fallen in love with.”
“People don’t fall in love with dicks.” I let out my first laugh of the night despite the clenching sensation in my chest at her words. Brooke always has this way of erasing my pain, even if it’s for a few hours.
“The person or the appendage? Because I have an argument for both.”
My laugh turns into a full-blown fit of giggles.
Slowly the ache in my chest lessens at the thought of Santiago deceiving me. Of course, I understand he didn’t lie outright, but withholding the truth is still considered deception nonetheless.
But why don’t I feel as angry or upset about Matteo doing the same exact thing? Is it because I’m too desperate for a connection with a father figure to care? Or is it because I willingly gave Santiago the opportunity to break down every single barrier left around my heart before he broke it?
God, I hate this back-and-forth argument going on inside of my head. No one warned me about what happens after two people fall in love. How once the credits roll, the rainbow disappears and the world is thrust back into the reality of rainstorms and ugly days.
But to be honest, what did I expect? I’m the one who fell in love with someone who built a relationship while deceiving others. There’s no one I should be angry at besides myself. I’m basically the idiot piglet from the “Three Little Pigs” who thought life was good in a house made of straw before the big, bad wolf blew the house down and proved me wrong.
Angry at myself more than Santiago, I rip the covers off my body and climb out of bed to gather my video chat supplies. I skip grabbing a glass and pick a bottle of wine, shutting myself off from any kind of Santiago or Matteo-related thoughts.
And together, I get drunk with my best friend while saving my pain for another day.
45
Santiago
I’ve never experienced a walk of shame quite like the one to a local hotel. I keep my head down, avoiding residents who might recognize me.
Leaving Chloe at my house alone was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in a while, and I’ve done a lot of difficult things lately. Knowing she was hurt because of my actions made the task nearly impossible. But she deserves my respect, and that starts with giving her space to calm down. I don’t blame her for feeling angry and needing room to process her life. She only found out her father is dead a few hours ago.
And rather than leaning on you for help like she should be able to, you fucked everything up. Good going, asshole.
I hate myself a bit more knowing she’s alone, probably crying herself to sleep tonight about everything.
The hotel employee gives me a key to my room on the first floor. I enter the small space and let out a sigh, throwing my bag in the corner. Not bothering with the bedside lamp, I settle into the bed.
“You had to go about ruining the one thing that brought you true happiness,” I whisper up to the ceiling.
Sleeping without Chloe feels odd. Like something in the world is amiss, and nothing can fix it. The bed is too empty, the sheets too cold. No position feels comfortable enough, no matter how hard I try.
I readjust my pillow for the third time, smacking it to the point where a few feathers fly out of the pillowcase. I lay back down and look up at the ceiling.
Damn, I wish I could be cuddling with Chloe in my bed right now.
My chest tightens at the idea.
Is it terrible that I hope she mi
sses me just as much?
I can only pray sleep comes easy for me because I can’t handle another guilt-ridden, restless night.
I might have told Chloe I wouldn’t sleep at my house, but she didn’t say anything against visiting. Semantics are my friend. Semantics are what’s going to get me the hell out of this mess I created for myself to begin with.
I use my key to unlock the back door. The early morning rays of sunshine peek through the windows, guiding me through the kitchen. No sounds alert me that Chloe is awake. She usually sleeps in on the weekends, until at least 10 in the morning, but I want to be safe. The last thing I need is for her to get mad because she found me lurking again. She trusted me to leave her alone here, and I plan on following through as much as I can.
After a few minutes of silence, I take the risk. With shaky hands, I place a vase of wildflowers on the kitchen counter. I grab the accompanying note I wrote from my pocket and place it beside the bouquet. While my letter is more of an apologetic one, I still hope it carries the same feeling.
If everything goes according to plan, she will read the note and show up at the meet-up place I mentioned. I only need one chance to explain what happened and how much she means to me.
It takes a lot of self-control to step out of my home again. If Chloe doesn’t forgive me soon, I’ll be stuck making wishes to win her back.
I check the time on my phone for the third time in the last five minutes. Chloe is already half an hour late for our meeting, and I’ve already worked a path through the grass after all my pacing. I’d call her to check in, but I doubt that would go over well.
Did she actually stand me up?
Did you really believe she would show up in the first place?
I sigh to myself as I lean against the tree where I first found her climbing all those months ago. What do I do now? If this plan didn’t work, what will? What if Chloe doesn’t want to deal with me anymore, but doesn’t know how to tell me?
I stare up at the branches as if they hold the answers.
A twig snaps, and I turn toward the sound. “Chloe?”
No one replies.
“If you’re there, I want to start off with saying I’m sorry.”
Crickets chirp in reply.
Great. My disappointment grows as minutes pass by and Chloe doesn’t show herself. If she’s not here, then what is she up to?
Curiosity gets the best of me. The idea of returning back to my hotel room without at least checking in on her doesn’t sit right with me. My decision is made purely because of my need to ensure she is alive and well.
Right. You just miss her, you lying piece of shit.
I cling to the shadows, using them to disguise myself as I walk toward the back of the house. Each room of the house is dark except for the bright lights coming from the back.
I keep my distance, securing a good angle to see inside of the kitchen. Note to self: Teach Chloe the importance of not leaving all the blinds open. Any creeper could see what happens inside.
Chloe has her back to me. She opens the oven, and a cloud of smoke billows into her face. She uses an oven mitt to clear the air.
Fuck. I didn’t consider how she’s a safety risk to herself and the house. If she keeps this up, she’s going to burn everything down before I have a chance to move back in.
Chloe clutches onto the pan. I wince at the black lump of something inedible crumbling in the center. She walks toward the trash bin and presses the pedal with her foot. The charred food drops into the bin, right on top of the flower stems poking out from the top.
Something cold seeps through my chest, replacing any warmth at seeing Chloe in the first place.
She threw away my flowers? What the hell?
Did she even bother reading my note or did it meet the same fate as the flowers?
Wow. I can’t believe she threw them out.
Instead of accepting defeat by her dismissal of my gift, I use it to fuel me. I was a fool in the first place for thinking a vase of flowers and a note would get her to give me a chance. Flowers and sweet nothings aren’t the way to her heart, and I should’ve known better. She’s always been unexpected, and I went with the most basic idea.
I take today as the challenge it is. I’m not the type to back down from oppositional forces. If I was, I wouldn’t have ever won a World Championship in the first place. Hell, I wouldn’t have started racing again after my injury if I wasn’t a fighter. Clearly, I underestimated my opponent.
Round one may have gone to Chloe, but I plan on winning the whole damn thing.
What do I get a girl who doesn’t care much for presents? How do I express I love her and I’m sorry through actions rather than words?
I jolt from my bed as the idea hits me. Chloe loves eighties romances, and I’m here to deliver. It’s time to channel my inner John Hughes and get to work.
The next idea takes an excruciatingly long time to complete. It frustrates me because I feel like I’m losing precious time getting her back. I don’t know how the fuck Chloe makes these damn embroidery circles as quickly as she does, but what must take her minutes takes me hours. I’ve earned a new appreciation for the designs she creates because this is hard as fuck. Threads constantly get knotted together and I stab my fingers with the needles more times than I can count.
The whole process is worth it. Chloe seems like the girl who appreciates something handmade. And nothing says “I’m sorry” quite like an embroidered disaster-piece. Sure, the design looks a little wonky but it was made with love. I’m sure if Chloe closes her left eye and squints with the right, it will look pretty damn good.
Seriously, I might be biased, but I would forgive whoever made me something as atrocious as this. Anyone can tell the person has no shame and is so hopelessly in love, they would create it in the first place. I’m a simpering fool who has nothing to lose and everything to gain by fighting for Chloe’s forgiveness.
I release a shaky breath.
Here goes nothing.
46
Chloe
In a half-asleep daze, I reach out for Santiago, only to be met with empty, cold sheets.
He’s not here because you told him not to be.
Yeah, well, he’s not here because he lied again.
The voices in my head battle it out.
You’re not being fair to him. At least hear him out. Would you have done something better than him if you were in that position?
Uh, I’d probably start with maybe not taking me out on a boat and pretending all is dandy in our little world. Sounds like a solid start.
I groan as I throw a pillow over my face and block out the world. Rationalizing Santiago’s actions sucks because I have no idea what I would’ve done if I was in the same position as him. And it annoys me more than I care to admit.
An emptiness fills me as I wake up and get out of bed. The house is eerily quiet except for my feet slapping against the floor as I walk through the rooms.
Despite everything, Santiago was way too nice for letting me stay here. It’s not right for me to accept his offer and force him to sleep elsewhere.
But he did hurt you. So there’s that.
Part of me is grateful for his absence. Besides him dropping off his present a few days ago, he hasn’t shown up. He hasn’t even texted me or grabbed an extra change of clothes. His silence surprises me more than I care to admit, and I don’t know what to make of it. Just like I don’t know what to make of his present the other day.
Did he think a vase of flowers would fix everything between us? It did the exact opposite. I spent the entire morning with a tightness in my chest every time I looked at them.
The visual reminder of us filled me with a different kind of sadness. And then I got mad that I was sad, and I stuck with anger because it seemed like a safer emotion.
During a flood of feelings, I ripped up the note and threw the bouquet away, only to instantly regret it. Beautiful things like flowers shouldn’t be destroyed because of anger. I took
my frustration at Santiago out on his gifts, and it’s not right.
It’s not that I don’t want to forgive him. I wish my heart wasn’t as vulnerable and forgiving as it is. And that weakness makes me frustrated because I want to forgive him despite everything, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
Do I love him? Yes.
Am I angry at him for hiding the biggest secret of my life? Absolutely.
Could I forgive him after he promised not to lie anymore? I’m not too sure.
But in the end, is a love built on lies really love at all?
“When you told me stories about you in the past, was that really about you or my dad?” I choke on the last word. The idea that my dad isn’t alive anymore takes some time to get used to. It’s like I’m stuck in a weird limbo—mourning a man I never met.
Matteo sits down in his leather chair and takes a sip of his coffee. I decided it would be better if we met at his house. Santiago’s home doesn’t feel right without him, and I can’t stand being there longer than I need to.
Is it fair that I forgave Matteo sooner than Santiago? Probably not. But some things take precedence, including learning whatever I can about my dad before I return to America. Because I am flying back soon. Right?
The tiny angel on my shoulder crosses her arms and pouts.
Yeah, yeah. Look where your good deeds got me.
Matteo offers me a hesitant smile. “Everything I shared with you the other day was about him. I’m sorry I’m not cool enough to go streaking through Milan. My brother was the wild child while I was more reserved.”
“A wild child you say?” Consider my interest piqued.
“Nothing could tame him. Whenever someone told him no, it was as if his brain rewired the word into a yes.”
“I’ve been told I can be a bit wild myself.” I smile at the connection to my dad.