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.”