Page 10 of Faking With The Frenemy

“Damn, that’s rough, Mikey,” he finally said after a long silence, gauging that I was finally done with my recital. “I’m sorry that had to happen to you, man. No one deserves such an experience, least of all you.”

I sighed deeply in response. I wasn’t the most promising man with women; I knew that. I had been unable to find time to create real relationships with women, and while it made me look heartless, it still didn’t change the fact that I was a real person with feelings and emotions. I was finding it hard to process the hurt I felt at her disappearance. When I thought about the reality that I would probably never see her again, I felt a real stab of physical pain strike me.

“What are you going to do now?” Thale asked, breaking the silence.

What will I do? I had asked myself that question a dozen times already. What could I do? Visit a sketch artist and have them recreate her image, then have a private investigator find her in Paris through her name and craft. I could do that, even if only to find out why she left me the way she did.

To what end? What did I expect to happen after I found her? She left me of her own will. Finding her would make no difference in the world. If she had wanted me, she would have stayed. She didn’t, so she left. I had to deal with that fact. It hurt to move on, and I knew it would be impossible to forget what we shared, but what choice did I have?

“Hello? You there?” Thale asked, his voice sounding worried.

“Yeah, yeah, I am sorry,” I replied. “Your question got me thinking. I guess I will do that a lot over the next few days. For now, I am heading to Tuscany to spend the day with Lorenzo and his family. I’ll come straight down to New York to see you and Ivanna afterward.”

“Alright then, it sounds like a brilliant plan,” Thale said. “Hey, take it easy, okay? Remember the one saying you used to tell me every time something bad happened?”

“Yeah…” I laughed softly. “Shit happens, so deal with it.”

“Damn right. You gotta deal with it.”

“I will, Thale, You know I will,” I replied, exhaling. “You should have seen her, man… you would have loved her.”

“I’m sure I would have,” he said, laughing. “Gotta go now, man, baby’s awake. Take it easy, yeah?”

“Sure thing, bye.” I got off the phone and reclined into the seat. While I still felt the sorrow nibbling at me deep inside, I felt worlds better after talking to Thale. He was right, of course. Sometimes, bad things happen. We just have to keep moving forward, putting it all behind us.

Over the past two days, I had silenced all notifications on my phone, ignoring work and the reins of Gates Conglomerates. Working was my go-to drug and coping mechanism, so I buried myself in it before I had to leave for Tuscany.

I nestled into the seat and turned on the internet access. The stream was immediate, and in a few seconds, my phone was buzzing and chiming with hundreds of notifications.

I smiled and dived into it, grateful for the distraction from the problems of my heart, if only temporarily.

5

Alessia

The bus ride from Milan to Tuscany took a little over three hours, but the miles seemed to disappear in a blur. It was still dark when the journey began, and I had to pay the driver a little token on the side to get him to leave earlier than scheduled. There were only a few passengers aboard, several of whom settled into sleep as the bus pulled away from the curb.

I looked at the sleeping passengers jealously. I had no hope of sleeping as peacefully as they were. It plagued my mind with my displayed selfishness. I took slim pleasure from the fact that Michael was a stern and busy man, and he would dismiss my actions as unusual. I lied, and the lie haunted me.

I spent the morning with my eyes on the passing scenery, distracting myself with views I had not seen in well over a year. I could not allow myself to think of what would go through Michael’s head when he woke up and found out I had left. I did not want to think of how much I had broken that lovely man’s heart. All for what? All for a lousy painting.

I shook my head, trying and failing to keep images of Michael Gates out of my head. The sun rose slowly in the sky as the bus merged east onto the Autostrada del Sole. City sights quickly turned into passing countryside as the bus sped eastward. It was hard to deny how beautiful Italy was, with its old towns and rich culture.

One of my favorite scenes on the road to Tuscany was the famous old city of Bologna. It was the last major stop before Florence and several of the passengers alighted there. I had visited the city several times as a child with my brother and dad. Memories of those easier days always triggered an overwhelming sense of nostalgia every time I passed through.

The stopover in Bologna lasted less than five minutes, enough time for passengers to disembark and for new passengers headed to Florence to get on. A middle-aged Italian man got on and took a seat beside me, bothering me by trying to make conversation. I tried to keep the irritation off my face, politely smiling when he gestured to the seat beside me. I resisted the urge to tell him that the bus was practically empty and he could pick from a ton of seats.

“Buongiorno,” he greeted in a Native Bolognese accent. “Come stai?”

I smiled and shook my head, imitating my most natural American accent. “I’m sorry, sir, tourist. No Italian.”

He smiled warmly and turned away, thankfully facing his phone for the rest of the trip and leaving me in silence. I longingly sighed as I watched the old town blow by. It over two decades, nothing had changed here. All the shops, houses, and cathedrals looked the same as all those years ago when I had visited as a child.

As the bus sped on, I made a mental note to spend a few days in Bologna before returning to Paris. Walking through the narrow streets, taking pictures, and drawing at leisure would be therapeutic. First, I had to get through the day with my overbearing family.

The bus pulled into the lot in Florence, the Tuscan capital, a few minutes past 9 a.m. As I stepped off the bus onto the pebbled road, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the familiar salty wind that blew in from the Tyrrhenian Sea.

For what it was worth, it felt good to be back home. Across the road, a man in front of a black SUV waved at me. I recognized him as my father’s driver, Alfredo, and waved back. He crossed the street and grabbed my luggage.

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