Page 41 of Nine Years Gone

“Luci, I—”

“Don’tLucime, Marialena. Look, I love you. You’re my best friend, but a spade is a spade, and you fucked up. Now own it and go make it right.”

“I want to, but I don’t know how.”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe talk to him instead of running away.”

A long sigh escapes me. “Touché.” I slurp the remaining liquid in my glass.

I decide to walk home from The Pour House. It’s a mild night, and I need fresh air. Before turning left, I pull my iPod Touch out of my purse, pop my earbuds in, and hit play on Adele’s “Someone Like You.”

How I’ve missed my city. Being back is like seeing an old friend; she welcomes you with open arms. Boston is big city life with a small-town feel. She’s old-fashioned yet contemporary, traditional yet chic. A perfect blend of old and new thrives here.

Boylston Street is relatively quiet tonight, and as I stroll home, I can’t help but look up at the Prudential Tower lighting up the sky. The Back Bay is one of the areas I love most with all of its coffee shops, boutiques, and restaurants. When I was in college, I would be in this neighborhood often because the Boston Public Library is in Copley Square. Luci and I would spend hours studying in the Bates Hall reading room. It seems like a lifetime ago.

Luci’s words hit me hard: “You fucked him up pretty bad.” Although I know I hurt the only man I’ve ever loved, I didn’t think he was that messed up over it. I mean, he’s married, has kids. Ugh, just the thought of him belonging to someone else makes me nauseous.

The encounter at DeLuca’s replays in my mind. I couldn’t even string a sentence together. It’s the Massimo Effect. He’s like a magician who’s had me under his spell since the first day he sat down at my bar, cocky and arrogant, but oh-so sexy. I still remember the day I met him as if it were yesterday.

Thirteen Years Ago

Cutting limes and fruit for the garnish jars that sit on the bar is what I hate most about bartending. When I hear the front door’s open chime, I stop the knife mid-cut and raise my eyes. Massimo enters the Florentine and struts his way through the restaurant. He’s wearing sunglasses, smiling as he greets the hostess, then saunters the length of the bar following its curve until he slides onto the last stool next to the servers’ station. My eyes follow him the entire time. When he walks, he commands attention. His tall frame is lean, arms firm, the black ink on his upper-left arm peeks out from his solid black T-shirt snug around his biceps.

When he sits, I gait over to him and his friend, placing two cocktail napkins onto the bar. “Hi guys, what can I get for you?” I ask, smiling at them both, but Massimo is speaking with his friend when I arrive.

At the sound of my voice, he looks up, staring me straight in the eye, and says, “Hi.” The silence hangs between us. Our gazes remain locked on each other for what seems like an eternity.

His friend breaks our trance by saying, “We’ll take two Jacks, neat, please.”

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Massimo asks.

I adjust my glasses to center them across the bridge of my nose. “Lena,” I reply, in an attempt to flirt but fall flat when my voice cracks with nerves. He chuckles at that.

“Hi, Lena, I’m Massimo, and this is Dom,” he says, gesturing to his right. “It’s nice to meet you,” he continues, extending his hand. I look down at his hand for a few moments before it clicks that I have to extend mine back.

“Nice to meet you too,” I respond and place my hand in his, giving him a delicate handshake. Our hands remain joined there, across the bar, for longer than any handshake should last.

“Hey, Cassanova, let her get our drinks, will ya?” Dom says to Massimo.

I pull my hand back. “Excuse me,” I say, “I’ll be right back with your drinks,” and spin away to break the spell before I start drooling all over the place.

For the rest of the night, I feel like a dog in heat circling that area of the bar as much as I can. Every time I approach that corner, I can smell him. His unique scent is alluring, and it makes my skin tingle. The sound of his voice gives me goose bumps, causing my legs to squeeze together from the wanton desire he’s creating in me.

He and Dom sit at the bar for about two hours. Massimo steals glances at me throughout the night, smirking when our eyes meet. After they settle the tab, I say goodbye. Massimo rises and steps to his left to stand before the servers’ entrance to the bar area, extending his hand. I move closer, taking his hand, and look up at him towering over me. I’m five-foot-eleven, and he’s a few inches taller than me. It’s rare to find a man taller than me, especially one as good-looking as him.

He kisses me, cheek to cheek, first my right side, then my left. Before letting go of my hand, he looks into my eyes and says, “Lena, thank you. I’ll be back to see you soon. You can count on it.” He drops a kiss on the backside of my hand before letting go. He turns, walks the length of the bar and out the front door while I stand frozen in place under his spell.

That night I went home, and while I showered, I masturbated to the thought of Massimo and the dirty things I wanted him to do to me.

The mere memory of that night has my panties wet. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. I crushed our relationship when I walked away from him, from our life, from our flawed future. Guilt and regret have dominated my thoughts every single day for nine years, and they’re still raw emotions within me as if it was not nine years past. The heartache and tears today are at the forefront, just as intense as on day one, if not more.

Regret is a feeling that I hate. It seeps into my skin, permeates throughout my body, breeds self-loathing, and weighs me down. I usually don’t regret the decisions I make but instead suck them up, accept them, and learn from them.

But this decision—to leave Massimo nine years ago—is loaded with regret and weighs on me like a ton of bricks, despite my knowing it was the right decision for him. It’s dragged me down, made me bitter, and has been eating away at me from the inside, one day at a time. No matter how hard I’ve tried, I cannot get over it or accept it.

I need to make this right somehow, find the key to my redemption.

CHAPTER 14

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