Page 217 of Modern Romance November 2024 5-8

She turned the telly on. Storm Brigit and the destruction it was already causing dominated the news.

She flicked through the channels in the hope of finding a forecaster with a better prognosis for it. She’d settled on the most optimistic of them when she head Marcello’s footsteps coming down the staircase that connected the ground floor to the overhang behind her.

He refilled his coffee from the pot she’d brought from the kitchen into the living room, and made himself comfortable on the L-shaped sofa to the side of the one she’d taken.

‘Jeans?’ she gasped with faux horror when she clocked he wasn’t wearing a suit.

‘Do not tellTimeMagazine,’ he quipped.

‘They wouldn’t believe me.’

He met her stare and grinned. Along with his faded blue jeans, he’d donned a long-sleeved black top that enhanced his muscular physique. Not that he was over muscly. He didn’t aspire to be a bodybuilder or anything, but he liked to take care of himself and made regular use of the apartment building’s humungous gym and swimming pool.

‘Looks like we are going to be roommates for the next couple of days,’ he said, nodding at the telly and the optimistic forecaster still trying to convince New York that the storm was predicted to blow itself out within forty-eight hours when all the other forecasters were predicting three days.

‘Don’t tell Jenna or she’ll scratch my eyes out.’ Jenna was Marcello’s latest girlfriend. Victoria loathed her more than all the others.

‘That’s been over for some time,’ Marcello admitted, allowing himself a quick side-eye to see her reaction.

‘Oh, really?’ She took a sip of her coffee. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘No, you’re not.’

‘You’re right, I’m not.’ Eyes glued to the television, she added, ‘When did you end it?’

‘The day I walked in on her speaking to you like you were something she had trodden on.’ He’d been in one of the rare meetings he didn’t need Victoria to accompany him to. He’d returned to the office suite he shared with her to find Jenna with her palms down on Victoria’s desk sneering, ‘You’re just a no one secretary. It’s pathetic.’

Her gaze whipped from the television to him. ‘That was months ago.’

Three months to be exact.‘Sì.’

‘You never said.’

‘It was not important.’ He cast her another side-eye. ‘You never thought to ask why I stopped scheduling dates with her?’

She fixed her gaze back on the weather report. ‘Your romantic life is none of my business.’

‘I would not call it romantic.’

‘I don’t want to know what you call it,’ she said sweetly, then drained her coffee. ‘Who are you dating now?’

‘I thought it was none of your business?’

‘It isn’t. I’m just being nosy.’

He laughed. ‘I am not dating anyone.’ Hadn’t dated anyone since Jenna.

Victoria faced him with fake alarm. ‘Are you ill?’

He’d wondered that himself a few times in recent months. Since Marcello had moved to Manhattan a decade ago, in need of a fresh start and with a determination to put the pain of the past behind him, he’d been as relentless in his pursuit of women as with business, and every bit as successful. It helped that he’d arrived here having already accumulated a modicum of wealth and that he had a face and physique the opposite sex found attractive. It also helped that he wasn’t looking for a wife so wasn’t seeking a meeting of minds or any of that romantic stuff, which widened his dating pool considerably.

He’d done marriage. He’d done family. What he’d lost could never be replaced.

He knew he’d developed terrible taste in women and he didn’t care. It was better that way. If he was to date someone like Victoria for example, someone he greatly respected, who shared the same humour and with whom he could hold an entire conversation without either of them opening their mouths, then it would not be so easy to just send a text message calling things off. Not so easy to remain unmoved and ignore the outraged replies. Dating someone like Victoria would be much less drama in the short term but messier in the long run.

And so he stuck to his wide dating pool filled with shallow beauties whose lives revolved around themselves. Or had because all the shallow beauties he’d met in recent months had left him cold. He could too easily imagine them speaking to Victoria in the same way Jenna had. He could tolerate all forms of behaviour if a warm body was guaranteed but he could not tolerate that.

He hauled himself up from the sofa. ‘I am not ill but Iamhungry.’ Now that the drama from earlier was over and he was warm and dry again, his neglected empty stomach was demanding food. ‘Would it be unreasonable to ask the agency to send a chef over?’ he added tongue in cheek, referring to the agency Christina and Patrick employed the pool of domestic workers who worked their magic keeping his home clean and fresh. Top quality chefs were part of the agency’s services.

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