“You won’t, especially not when I tell you who I brought with me,” he said.
“Enzo, I’m not interested in your whores,” I said.
“Good, because I don’t share. But Hope’s here, and I suggest you pull yourself together. It’s not respectable to let her see you in this state.”
I glared at him, then shoved him. “You think that’s fucking funny,” I said.
“Sure don’t,” he said.
Before I could lunge at him, he turned and walked toward the door.
I slipped back down in my seat, trying to hold on to the vestiges of the buzz my cousin had so effectively killed.
That was particularly cruel, which wasn’t like Enzo.
But to throw Hope in my face…
I hadn’t said anything, but Enzo wasn’t an idiot, and neither were the men.
Everyone could see that I was in a terrible state, and it wasn’t too hard to guess why.
For him to joke about that. To try to turn her absence against me was?—
“Nico, are you drunk?”
The surprised, soft voice sounded so much like Hope as I thought it was real.
But I kept my eyes glued to the table, not looking toward the sound, not ready to handle the disappointment.
It been two days, but that didn’t matter.
I understood Hope, knew what she wanted out of life.
Knew what she could never tolerate.
And that was why I had done what I did.
Killing though Federico had killed any fantasy she might have had about me.
Left no room for her to doubt who I was.
His death had killed the love between us.
I knew she could never tolerate a man like me and even though I wanted her, craved her, loved her more than anything, I couldn’t pretend.
I’d known she’d have to walk away, and soon, eventually, some day, I’d get over it.
“You are drunk, aren’t you?”
The voice somehow managed to be amused and irritated.
Still, I kept my gaze on the table.
Eventually I get used to her being gone, but until then, I’d console myself with drink and try to keep from embarrassing myself too fucking much.
“Nico!”
This time, the voice was accompanied by a hard shake of my shoulder, and at the contact, I looked over.