Tiago's Love Page 7

  I set the phone down, cut a small portion of lasagna, and slide it onto the plate. I pick up a fork from a drawer and a napkin and set everything on the table before I fill a glass with water, place it next to my plate and slump into a chair.

  “Now, I’m good,” I say as I drag my phone closer. “How about you? How are things over there?”

  “Good. We’re going to Ed’s place tonight. Daria and mom and dad arrive on Saturday. They’ll bring the kiddos too.”

  Chewing on my food, I look at her.

  “That’s great news.”

  “Yup. The big reunion. I’m so nervous,” she says, smiling wryly.

  “Don’t be. I’m sure everything will be okay,” I say gesturing with the fork before I take another bite.

  She laughs.

  “Look who’s talking. You didn’t even bother to come home for Christmas.”

  “Are you holding it against me, now?” I ask grinning. “It wasn’t because I didn’t want to see you, or my parents or yours, for that matter. I’ll be traveling to Colorado in a few weeks anyway.”

  “I hear you.”

  She looks down again.

  She seems a bit disappointed.

  “What about Tiago? Any news from him?” I ask, smiling casually as I pick the glass of water and bring it to my lips, hiding my face behind it.

  She looks up at me.

  “Nope.”

  It’s my turn to drag my gaze down as I stick my fork in my food.

  “He’s not part of your family reunion, I guess...” I mutter before I bring the piece of lasagna to my mouth.

  “No,” she says laconically. “Things are not that good between him and James,” she adds in response to my questioning look.

  “Not because of me, I suppose.”

  She gestures at me.

  “No, no. Of course not.”

  “Have they talked since that night?”

  “No.”

  “I see...” I murmur, looking down, concealing my expression again.

  A call flashes on my screen.

  “Oh...” I breathe out.

  “What?”

  “I have to take this. It’s my ex. He’s been calling me for the past three days.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow to let you know how it went. Merry Christmas. And kiss everybody for me.”

  “Okay, I will. Merry Christmas to you too. Good luck tonight.”

  I end the call and answer my phone just as it rings for the fourth time.

  “What’s up?” I ask, pushing out of my chair and lifting the plate from the table.

  “Hey. Merry Christmas,” Andy says with a cheerful voice.

  “Same to you,” I say, chewing on the last piece of lasagna before I toss the plate in the sink.

  “Where are you?”

  I freeze, suspicion flowing through my blood.

  “Why are you asking?”

  Why do I have the feeling that he knows exactly where I am.

  “Are you home in Colorado?”

  “No. You?”

  “I’m here in New York.”

  “How come?”

  “No reason to go home. You?’

  “It’s none of your business,” I say, grinning faintly.

  He laughs at the other end.

  “It’s not a joke,” I say.

  “Seriously, Eve.”

  “Seriously. I like New York this time of year. It’s quiet, not much traffic and I have time to catch up on things.”

  “What are your plans for tonight?” he asks all of a sudden.

  I can’t say I’m surprised.

  “I have a date.”

  Perfect silence comes from the other end.

  “You asked me. I gave you an answer,” I say, wondering if he’s still there.

  “On Christmas Eve?”

  His voice sounds different, tinged with disbelief.

  “What’s wrong with Christmas Eve?”

  “Are there any places open?” he tosses at me, a pang of irony tinging his voice.

  “I don’t know about ‘any places,’ but the Le Bernardin is open,” I say as I swivel around and prop my backside against the kitchen sink.

  “The Le Bernardin, huh?”

  “Yup.”

  A few moments of silence slip by.

  “Why are you asking anyway?”

  “Um... Never mind.”

  “Okay,” I say curtly.

  “Actually,” he starts, nervous.

  “Yes.”

  “I wanted to invite you to my place. A few friends come over.”

  “Uh-huh...” I say distracted.

  Another few seconds of silence pull away from us.

  “Would you like to come? Maybe when you’re done with your date?” he asks with a hesitant voice.

  “Um... No. I don’t think so.”

  I pause for a moment.

  He doesn’t comment, so I find myself talking again.

  “It’s going to be too late.”

  He ponders.

  “Who is this guy anyway? Is he the same?”

  “The same?”

  “The man I saw you with that evening?”

  I stay silent.

  “The one I saw coming to your place?”

  “You mean you?” I ask jokingly.

  My joke is lost on him.

  “There are many men who come to my place. Can you be more specific?”

  I say it jokingly, but my words throw him for a loop.

  He stays quiet for another moment.

  “Okay. Whoever you had in mind, it’s not him,” I say, eager to help. “It’s an old friend.”

  “How come you two...?”

  “He’s single and in town for a few days and he wants to spend some time with me.”

  “In town for a few days? Where does he live?” he mutters, puzzled.

  “He lives in Monaco.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “How about you? How is Marcella doing?”

  “Uh... Marcella. Yeah... She’s okay,” he says, my question throwing him off for good. “Listen, I gotta go now. Can I call you later?” he throws at me dismissively.

  “Sure.”

  With that, I hang up and put the phone down.

  I take a long breath and slowly, I release the air, hoping that my tension would dissolve.

  I fill another glass with water and take a seat at the table again.

  My eyes fly to the window where my gaze follows the slow dance of the snowflakes through the air.

  Within moments, I slacken in my chair as I get filled with deep, heart-wrenching sadness.

  Why all the good things go to hell so fast?

  How can life close chapters in a split second?

  How can anyone survive sudden, excruciating pain without losing their mind?

  And above all, why?

  Weeks ago, I met a man who was everything to me. Perhaps, I didn’t show my heart to him as much as I could’ve, or maybe I failed to express my feelings with my humble words, but he filled me with every emotion that I craved.

  For a brief time, he felt like a dream.

  To me, he was a dream.

  He was warm and thoughtful and romantic. He was hot and sexy. He was everything. And he gave me everything I needed.

  That’s why I fell for him.

  He knew how to make me happy. And despite what sages say, people can make other people happy, just like that.

  But he seemed happy too. That’s what made our story plausible. The entire dream believable.

  He told me things nobody one else had told me before, and I believed him because everything made sense.

  He showed me his heart and gave me a glimpse of his mind and his profoundness, and I was so happy and felt so privileged to get to know him intimately.

  Beyond the smoothness of his skin and the fire of his eyes and his tempting body, he let me touch the man inside him.

  He earned my trust. And trust made all that possible
.

  Trust made me smitten with him, fascinated with him. Captivated by him.

  Trust was the blood and life of our connection.

  And I trusted him regardless of the plot holes in his story.

  I trusted him in spite of that meek voice inside my head that tried to convince me to look at him with cynical eyes.

  I pushed reason to the side because I wanted to believe him. And he helped me to do just that because he needed me to believe his story too.

  But why?

  He could’ve had me anyway.

  I was easy. Gullible. Vulnerable. Famished. Craving affection. Crazed for human touch.

  I was all that and yet he didn’t need me. He could’ve passed on me.

  Let me go.

  Not waste his time with me.

  Not try his charm on me, or his magnetism–– his power of compelling.

  He said to me we’d take it slowly.

  Because he knew me. Right there and then. The moment he set his eyes on me for the very first time, he knew more about me than I’d ever known about myself.

  He knew what I missed out on and what hadn’t worked for me in the past.

  That’s what made everything possible.

  So he gave it to me. The perfect combination of luring affection, and addictive sex. He gave it to me in small portions and then in bigger ones until he knew I was entirely his.

  He even warned me that he wanted me to lose my head over him.

  Oh, yes, he did…

  Because he knew there was a catch.

  He wasn’t who he pretended to be. Of course, he needed me to be head over heels in love with him.

  I stare blankly at the window as the flurries spin quietly in the air, touching the glass from time to time, my mind wandering far away.

  All my dreams of finding my true love have been shattered.

  All my dreams of finding my place and settle with the man I love have turned to dust.

  The more I think about it, the more I realize that all there is out there is a war zone filled with broken dreams and crushed hearts while men and women play an addictive game called love.

  And here I am now, joining them too.

  11

  EVE

  Quietly, I pull out a couple of dresses from my walk-in closet.

  One is the color of freshly whipped buttercream and has a sleek design, featuring a slim fitted silhouette, long sleeves, a wrap skirt, and a hidden side zipper.

  The other is a beautiful shade of dark cobalt blue. It has a generously scooped neckline, a pencil skirt and back zipper.

  I hold then against my complexion and study them in the mirror.

  The cream one makes my face look pale. I choose the blue one, and slowly slide it on.

  Smoothly, I roll it down over my lingerie set, comprised of a low cut, red lace bra, and matching satin panties.

  Once I zip my dress up, I slip my feet into a pair of heels and twirl in front of the mirror.

  My shoes are scarlet like my red set, not that I’m planning on showing my underwear to anyone tonight.

  I check the time and peel my coat off the hanger.

  He must be getting here any moment now.

  David Moore picks me up at seven-thirty sharp.

  The flicker in his eyes tells me that he likes what he sees.

  I’ve straightened my hair, used a few layers of mascara and a deep shade of red lipstick.

  Close to eight o’clock, we enter the restaurant.

  I shed my red coat and leave in the coatroom before the hostess leads us to the table reserved for us.

  People toss surreptitious glances at us as we walk across the room. I’m not sure whether their interest has anything to do with me or the man who accompanies me.

  His blue eyes glimmer with a warm smile. A silver-gray tie and a dark suit complement his complexion and his white dress shirt.

  Minutes later, we get seated at the table.

  The sommelier nears us and goes with us over our wine choices before the waiter takes our order.

  Soon after, we begin to talk as we delight ourselves with the delicious food.

  An hour later, we finish eating and find ourselves tasting more wine, our conversation shifting from business topics to leisure, particularly to living in New York and traveling.

  He’s well-traveled–– that was never a secret, and he enjoys sharing stories from the time when he lived in Asia.

  The more he paints a picture for me, the more I know about him, and yet, the less I learn about his private life, and harder it is for me to figure him out.

  This is quite uncommon for me.

  Normally, I’m pretty good at reading people, although I’m not so sure anymore since I failed to figure out Tiago.

  The sommelier pours more wine into our glasses when a couple enters the restaurant. At first, nothing grabs my attention.

  The man and the woman wait for the hostess to show them to their table, and for a moment, I only get a glimpse of the woman’s face.

  She is pretty, her blonde hair long. She looks younger than me and fashions a black lace dress that flatters her slender silhouette.

  I move my eyes back to my plate and my glass of wine, only to catch movement at the corner of my eye a moment later.

  At first, I register the hostess, the same woman who walked us to the table, and then the blonde.

  David tilts his head up and lifts his gaze when the man who accompanies the lace-clad woman passes by our table too.

  Recognition flashes through my companion’s eyes.

  I don’t even realize the extent to which this could and would affect me until he pushes his chair back.

  “Tiago? Tiago Rossi?” he asks as he rises to his feet.

  With great effort, I avoid choking on my wine.

  I force myself to swallow and not spill my drink on my dress.

  By the time, I swing my gaze up too, the two men lock eyes and shake hands. The blonde woman takes a step to the side and spins to face them and also me.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Colorado with James, ” David says, observing him through his lashes.

  Clad in a black suit and matching shirt with sleek shoes and no tie, Tiago looks devilishly good.

  His raven hair has a slight sheen to it, his dark green eyes harboring a captivating smile between the trimming of his thick lashes. His skin seems to have a slight touch of bronze or maybe it’s the reflection of his dark attire.

  Whatever it is, his appearance is reminiscent of the hot bodies of the summer, not the cold pallor of the winter.

  The eyes of the woman tucked at his side, attest to how much his magnetic, sensual appearance affects her.

  She drinks him in with her big brown eyes, her lips parted in utter admiration.

  “You remember Eve Malone,” David says, smiling–– although reserved, and gauging Tiago’s reaction.

  David seems to know much more than he reveals.

  Tiago turns a blank gaze to me.

  “Yes, sure,” he says not cold yet not genuinely warm either.

  He looks through me as he nods a greeting.

  Courteously, he introduces his companion as well.

  “Andrea. A friend.”

  The woman and I connect hands.

  David turns to him.

  “Would you like to join us for dinner. It’s Christmas Eve after all,” he says with a friendly voice.

  My stomach shrinks into a ball.

  The idea of having Tiago across from me or even next to me makes my chest tight.

  “Sure,” he says casually after he looks at Andrea as if he wants to make sure that she is fine with it.

  The little gesture feels like a dagger in my chest.

  I suck in a short breath as I go through a little moment of panic.

  The last thing I expected this evening was Tiago Rossi, and his very new ‘friend’–– or so I like to believe, having dinner with David and me.

  I know that it’s enti
rely my fault, taunting him and daring him to come, but I never thought he’d do it.

  Who does that?

  I sure wasn’t prepared for this, and now that I have to deal with it, I have to get a hold of myself as quickly as I can.

  I can’t afford to have a meltdown in front of them.

  As they get seated at the table–– Tiago across from me, and the woman across from David, it dawns on me that this is going to be the norm from now on.

  I have no idea how close he’d get to James, or if he’d ever be in better terms with him. Whether he would or would not has little relevance after all.

  Right now, he is part of my circle of friends–– see David Moore, and chances are that I will see more of him whether I like it or not. And whether I enjoy seeing him with other women or not.

  I don’t know if things would’ve been different had I decided to come clean and blew his cover. For sure, he would’ve gotten in even bigger trouble with James.

  Rain might’ve had mixed reactions about the whole story, but I don’t think she would’ve understood why I kept it a secret for so long.

  Not to say that she would’ve definitely gotten angry with Tiago for misleading me and playing me.

  In the end, I can’t figure out who I actually tried to protect when I decided to keep it a secret.

  For sure, I panicked, and I wanted to protect myself.

  I felt a lot of guilt, and I felt ashamed, and I couldn’t deal with the fact that I had to reveal the story to the people that mattered the most to me.

  It was terrible all around.

  Had I decided to tell them the truth, it would’ve been bad for both of us–– Tiago and I. That’s why I thought that keeping it a secret would protect us, but this... I didn’t envision this.

  And this is not much better.

  In fact, it feels so much worse.

  For the first few minutes, my eyes don’t leave my plate or my glass of wine. It’s when the conversation gears toward the woman’s life story that my ears perk up.

  She’s a college freshman at the Fashion Institute of Technology in Manhattan.

  Where did he find her? And so amazingly quickly?

  At least, I’ve known David for some time.

  Maybe he’s known her for some time too.

  Perhaps, she was the woman he had a date with the night he greeted me in his hotel suite and started to pretend that he was Christian.

  My head explodes.

  Secretly, I lift my gaze and sort of study him, unwilling to meet his eyes.