Heartless (19 page)

A
idy

“
O
h
, Wren, it’s beautiful.” I lift my hands to my mouth as Wren steps out of the dressing room at Blush Bridal on Madison Avenue Friday morning. Two weeks ago she passed by this shop and stopped in to try on an off-the-rack gown she spotted on a mannequin in the window. It was entirely on a whim and it ended up being the perfect dress for her.

“Can you tell?” Wren smooths her hand over her tiny bump.

This is her final fitting, and we’re here so she can try it on before she carries it out of the boutique. We’re all just praying it fits because it’s already been altered twice, and her big day is tomorrow.

Well, it’s not exactly a
big day
, per se. Wren and Chauncey will get hitched City Hall-style with me as their witness, and then we’ll all reconvene at Luciana’s on Fifth with a small group of friends and family.

“It honestly just looks like you ate a bunch of tacos before you came,” Topaz says, glancing up from her phone.

Wren laughs. “Why tacos?”

“Um, why
not
tacos?” she fires back, like the answer should be obvious.

“You can’t really tell,” I say.

“I’m showing so much earlier than I did with Enzo.” Wren tilts her head, examining her reflection from every angle in front of a trifold mirror. “I’ll be fourteen weeks tomorrow.”

“How’s Chauncey’s mom taking everything?” I ask.

“In stride,” Wren says. “Her excitement is overriding everything else right now, so she hasn’t freaked out about us throwing tradition out the window and doing everything out of sequence.”

“Good,” Topaz says. “Tradition is for the weak.”

Wren’s dress has a slight empire waist and tiny lace cap sleeves. She’s wearing a small veil attached to a Jackie O-style hat, and it’ll cover half of her face, stopping just beneath her nose.

“You’re going to look so chic and classic,” I sigh. “You need a red lip and a chignon and you’re golden.”

Wren gives me a thumbs up as the attendant pulls and gathers fabric in her hands, checking measurements and tugging select areas into place.

“What kind of flowers are you going to have?” Topaz asks.

“Roses,” Wren says. “Classic red.”

“Love.” Topaz grins at her phone, firing off a text.

“Who are you texting?” I ask her.

“Oh.” Topaz looks up, her gaze flicking between Wren and me. “Just this guy I met last week.”

My left brow inches upward. “Why haven’t you told me about him yet? What’s his name? How’d you meet?”

She rests her phone in her lap, sighing. “I met him at a photo shoot and his name is Gianluca. And I hadn’t told you yet because I thought it was a one-time thing, but he’s been blowing up my phone all week wanting to see me again.”

“Let me guess, you’re freaked out and he’s pushing you away because he’s too available,” I say.

Topaz nods, mouth forming a straight line. “Pretty much.”

“Do you have a picture?” Wren asks.

“Just Google ‘Gianluca.’ He’s this world-class fashion photographer,” Topaz says. “He’s a real Renaissance man. He plays guitar. Writes poetry. Even makes these little grainy eight-millimeter films in his spare time. The man travels all over the world and he knows Western Europe like the back of his hand.”

“Are you bringing him to the reception on Saturday?” Wren asks.

Topaz freezes for a moment. “I wasn’t planning on bringing a plus one.”

“You can,” Wren says. “And you should. He sounds interesting.”

“I feel bad.” Topaz looks directly at me. “Aidy’s not bringing anyone. We were going to be each other’s dates.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “Really. You should bring him if you want to bring him.”

I haven’t seen Ace in five days now, and I know it isn’t a lot of time, but it feels like an eternity. He blew up my phone Sunday into Monday, and on Tuesday I took a last minute red-eye to L.A. All it took was a single phone call, and a friend of a friend lined up some work for me out there. Some Netflix show is filming beginning next month and lasting six weeks, and their makeup artist dropped out at the last minute. My friend raved about me and the producers wanted to see my work in person, so I hopped on the next flight out there and came back the next day, job offer in hand.

As I unpacked my things that night, I realized my phone had been radio silent since Monday. Either Ace was giving me space or he was letting me go. Either way, there was something heavy and final in the silence, and if I listened heard enough, I was pretty sure I could hear the sound of not one but two hearts breaking.

It made the most sense if he was letting me go. I’ve read the journal I found on his doorsteps. I saw how much that man loved the girl with the violet eyes. She showed up at his door, and I saw the way he reacted. Sure, he told her to leave, and he got angry, but the root of anger is almost always love.

You don’t react that way if you don’t still care about someone. Simply the sight of Kerenza made him nearly punch a wall.

I think about that moment, and the moment that followed when I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened had I stayed. And then I tell myself I’d be playing second fiddle the rest of my life, living in the shadow of the woman Ace will always love a little bit more than any other.

“I don’t even know if he’ll want to go. He just met me. He might think I’m crazy asking him to be my date to a friend’s wedding reception.” Topaz’s gaze hones in on the lit screen of her phone once more. She fights a smile, firing off another text.

“If he’s texting you this much, he’s obsessed,” Wren says. “He’ll totally go.”

Topaz rolls her eyes, groaning. “Fine. I’ll ask him. Just promise you two won’t embarrass me. He’s really, really cool, and all I can think about is the last time I brought a guy around, you and Wren got drunk and started pulling up pictures on her phone from when I had that really awful pixie cut and went through that black lipstick phase. Never heard from him again after that, and I actually kind of liked him.”

“Lucky for you, I’ll be sticking to sparkling cider this weekend, so . . .” Wren pats her belly before turning to me. “Aidy, you’re awfully quiet over there. You doing okay?”

“Yeah, just thinking about next month,” I lie. “The big move.”

“Ugh, I’m so jealous.” Topaz crosses her legs and turns to me. “You have no idea how lucky you are to get to live in L.A. for six weeks. You should take me with you because I could really use a change of scenery. I can trade in the Chrysler building for palm trees, and I wouldn’t even think twice about it. We’d be back in time for Thanksgiving, too. Lord knows I can’t miss my Macy’s parade.”

I rub my lips together and take a deep breath. “I don’t know if I’m coming back.”

“What?” Topaz’s face crinkles. “I know you talked about moving out there, but I never thought you were serious about it.”

Shrugging, I say, “I want to build Glam2Go on the West coast, and with it still being in its infancy, I don’t want to delegate that to someone else. And there’s more work out west than there is here, we all know that.”

“Yeah, but . . .” Topaz’s shoulders slump. “This is all happening so fast.”

I glance over at Wren. “You can blame Fertile Myrtle for that.”

“Hey.” Wren shoots a sharp look my way.

“Are you happy with the fit?” the attendant asks my sister. She nods, and the woman helps her back behind a silk curtained dressing room.

“You sure it’s okay I’m bringing a date?” Topaz asks, reaching for my hand. We had lunch together last Monday, and I spent the entirety of it venting to her, holding back tears, and justifying my actions while she gave me some rare, undivided attention. She knows the state my heart is in right now.

“Yes,” I say with a little more force than the last time. “Do it. Bring him.”

Topaz exhales, her stare hardening. “You should call him.”

“What? No.” I don’t hide my annoyance. We’ve been over this. And she agreed. He’s obviously still in love with Kerenza. He hasn’t let go yet.

And he lied.

It’s easier this way, anyway. I’m moving. This makes things a lot less complicated. Besides, it was nothing more than a glorified summer fling, and summer flings aren’t meant to last.

At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself all week.

My stomach twists, the way it’s been doing all week every time I think of him. There’s been a heaviness in my chest, and it seems every other hour I find myself on the verge of tears over the most trivial things, like not being able to get the lid off the peanut butter jar or accidentally dumping out a brand new jar of Laura Mercier setting powder.

The fact of the matter is that I haven’t been myself all week. There’s no effervescence in me anymore. I’m not smiling or hopeful.

The fact of the matter is, I read the journal, I found the man, I got my answers, and for better or worse, I’m forever changed because of this experience.

I even threw the journal away yesterday, which was trash day. That thing is gone, buried in a pile of garbage in some landfill somewhere.

Forever.

And I refuse to dwell any longer.

People fall in and out of love every day.

Promises get made.

Hearts get broken.

Life goes on. Ace said it himself.

“You guys ready?” Wren emerges from the dressing room, her dress wrapped in plastic and slung behind her shoulder. “I’m starving. Where are we eating?”

Life, most definitely, goes on.

But it doesn’t stop me from missing him so hard my chest hurts.

A
ce

S
ix days
.

Six days ago, I held her in my arms for the last time.

Had I known it was going to be the last time, maybe I’d have held her a little tighter, a little longer.

I’m a mess.

I haven’t had a proper meal in days.

My face is covered in a thick shadow of facial hair.

And I’m not proud to admit that I’ve been watching Aidy’s Instagram makeup tutorials because I miss the sound of her laugh, the way her smile lights up her face. The way she rolls her eyes at herself and sticks out her tongue when she trips over her words.

Today is Wren and Chauncey’s city hall wedding, and tonight is their reception. I was supposed to go as Aidy’s date. We were supposed to celebrate together. I’m not a huge fan of weddings but I was excited to go there, to be with her, because for some completely insane reason that’s lost on me, I can’t get enough of this woman.

I’ve been told before that I’m too intense.

That I love too hard.

That I refuse to let go.

And for the longest time, I was convinced that was my greatest downfall. I trained myself to let go. To back off. But something tells me I’m going about this all wrong with Aidy.

She’s a feather.

And she needs a rock.

Peeling myself off the sofa, I suck in a deep breath and head to the shower.

I have to see her tonight.

I have to get her back.

* * *

M
y face is clean-shaven
, and I stare ahead at my somber reflection as I straighten my tie. Showing up at Wren’s dinner may be in poor taste, but I’m not sure when I’ll see Aidy again. She hasn’t taken my calls or texts. She didn’t answer the door when I stopped by Monday. Or Tuesday. She needs to hear me out, and at this point, I figure I have nothing to lose because I’ve already lost it all.

I give myself a final once-over and head down stairs to the front door, my heart nearly stopping when I see the outline of a shadowy figure on the other side. For a split second, I think it’s Aidy, coming to get me. I imagine I’ll open the door and she’ll waste no time telling me she’s missed me all week and that we should stop this nonsense. I can practically feel the softness of her hand sliding into mine, and I can almost taste her cherry lip gloss on my tongue.

Only the closer I get, the more I realize the shadowy figure on the other side is a lot taller than Aidy and a lot willowier. I watch as she reaches for the doorbell, and then I yank the door open, startling her.

“Alessio. You frightened me.” Kerenza places her hand on her chest, which has got to be an empty cavity by now because this woman has proven herself to be coldblooded and void of an actual, beating human heart.

I don’t apologize.

I’ll never apologize to Kerenza. For anything.

The worst thing I ever did to this woman was love her so damn much it sent her straight into the arms of my goddamned best friend, of all people.

“Leave.” My nostrils flare, and my jaw locks. I force the door shut, only it catches when Kerenza places her heeled foot in the way.

“Before you say another word,” Kerenza starts, “I just came here to ask for five minutes of your time.”

Scoffing, I fold my arms. “I’m going somewhere. I don’t have . . . time . . . for you or your fucking games.”

“I get it,” she says, her wild violet eyes watering. “You have every right to hate me. I’m not here to contest that.”

“Then why the fuck are you here?”

I stare into the eyes of the woman who once begged me for an engagement ring because she couldn’t possibly go another minute without bearing my last name. The woman who planned a beautifully elaborate wedding, at my expense, and then left me at the altar like a fucking schmuck in front of hundreds of friends and family. The one who ran off with my childhood best friend; the one she’d been fucking in secret for months, or so I later found out.

Kerenza breaks down into tears, which I’d realized over the years was nothing more than a manipulative tactic. Any time she wanted attention or sympathy for some first world problem of hers, she’d break down into tears, collapse into my arms, and beg me to hold her.

If Kerenza were an actress, she’d have an entire case full of Oscars and Golden Globes.

After a while, I stopped playing into it. I stopped giving her what she wanted, and I began meeting her faux tears with distance in hopes that she’d learn it wasn’t the way to get what she wanted. I’m assuming that’s when she started directing her affections toward my best friend.

She’s nothing but a narcissist. Kerenza is selfish and wicked, someone who schemes in order to control the lives of everyone around her, bending and persuading until she gets precisely what she wants, and then she walks away with her targets convinced everything they did was of their own free will.

“Did you get the journal?” she asks, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. “I left it on your steps a couple months ago.”

Dragging my hand down my face, I tuck my chin and drag in a heavy breath.

“I took it from him after we broke up,” she says. “I . . . I thought maybe it would show you . . . I just . . . I just wanted you to see how much he loved me.”

“Of course. It’s all about you.”

“And why I chose him over you.” Kerenza reaches for me, foolishly expecting me to need comfort from her of all people, and I back away.

Peering at her, brows furrowed, I spit my words, “Why? Why the fuck would you think it mattered a year later?”

Her red lips form an O shape, and her narrow brows meet. “Because . . . because you fell apart after . . . after everything that happened. I mean, you basically became a recluse. I destroyed you, Alessio. And I feel awful for that. I’m trying to right this ship. I’m trying to give you closure, because clearly you needed it.”

Wearing an incredulous smirk, I drag my thumb across my lower lip and stare at the sidewalk behind her.

“Really?” I ask. “Really, Kerenza?”

She says nothing, only stands up tall with ironclad confidence. Funny how those tears of hers dried the second she realized they weren’t working on me.

“You didn’t destroy me,” I say. “Let me make that
extremely
clear to you.”

Her eyes soften, as if I’ve hurt her feelings, which is pretty damn hilarious because I’m not sure she has any.

“You leaving me on our wedding day, in front of four hundred thirty-two guests, was classic fucking gold. I mean, seriously, go big or go home, right? And then finding out you’d been fucking my best friend behind my back for months? That was the icing on the $15,000 wedding cake we never did get a chance to enjoy,” I speak through gritted teeth. “But my anger this last year? My bitterness? It’s always been directed at myself.”

Kerenza seems confused, her lips dancing and then sealing.

“I never should’ve gotten in that car,” I say, jaw clenched so tight it hurts. I’d rented a 1957 Austin-Healey convertible, white with a red interior. The car was Kerenza’s idea after she’d seen a photo shoot in some wedding magazine, and me, being the ignorant schmuck that I was, wanted to make her happy, to give her the wedding of her dreams. After our wedding reception, we were going to drive off, dragging tin cans and one of those God-awful “Just Married” signs behind us, waving at our friends and family and kissing as we rode over the hill past the venue. Just like we’d planned since we were kids. Instead, I left the church, yanked the bullshit signs off the back of the classic car, and sped off in the direction of my best friend’s Martha’s Vineyard retreat where he was staying during the wedding weekend.

I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was only seeing red.

In the fraction of a second, I’d lost my childhood sweetheart.

And a man I’d loved just as much as if he were my own blood brother.

I wasn’t going to take it lying down, watching everyone sit around feeling sorry for me, listening to
Zia
Maria-Teresa telling me to go on a solo honeymoon because that would
really
be sticking it to them . . .

I had to see them. I wanted to look into his eyes. Slam him against the wall. Spit in his face. Beat the shit out of him because at the time, it seemed like a good way to transfer the intense pain that was coursing through my body.

And then, when he was lying on the floor in a pile of his own blood and vomit, looking like the fucking piece of shit he was, I was going to inform him that he was
dead
to me.

Losing Kerenza hurt like a bitch.

But losing my best friend, my
brother
, hurt a hundred times worse.

My hands gripped the wheel hard as I sped through the windy Provincetown highway that led to his place. I wasn’t watching my speed, though I know I was flying. And before I knew it, I was literally flying. The car caught a hairpin turn on a road I was unfamiliar with, and when I woke up, I was lying in a hospital room hooked up to machines, consumed with the worst physical pain I’d ever felt in my life.

The next thing I knew, my mother was frantically yelling in Italian and running off to get the doctor, and within the twenty-four hours that followed, I was told that my right shoulder was shattered in five places and more than likely, I’d never pitch a baseball again.

“This past year,” I say carefully. “I haven’t been mourning you, Kerenza. I’ve been hating myself for getting in that car, believing that you two were worth the trouble I was getting myself into. We were best fucking friends, he and I. Closer than brothers. And you took that away. The two of you did. Together.”

“See, this is why I wanted you to read the journal,” she says, almost smiling. “I wanted you to see that it wasn’t easy for me. He documented everything. His love for me was different than yours. You loved me too much, Alessio.”

“Goddamn it.” This is what I get for arguing with a narcissist. “You’re not. Fucking. Listening.”

Kerenza’s head tilts, her tongue slicking along the part of her lips. She looks like a confused cocker spaniel, her dark hair all wavy and loose around her shoulders. I used to think it was endearing, and now I can hardly stand to look at her.

“Alessio, I just want you to know that I regret my decision every single day,” she says. “Knowing that my actions caused your life to be turned upside down is not lost on me.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“He represented excitement and adventure. He was shiny and new,” she says, her eyes lighting. “He traveled the world. You traveled to stadiums. He loved me with everything he had, never holding back. Your love terrified and amazed me. It felt like home. You were my anchor, Alessio. I just didn’t want to be tethered. At least not at the time.”

I glance at my watch. “Are we done here?”

“Why? You have somewhere you need to be?” She chuffs, like she’s insulted I don’t want to stand here and let her wax poetic about the good fucking thing she once had and how she screwed it up by being a heartless fucking bitch.

“Save it, Kerenza. At the end of the day, I never should’ve gotten in that car. I never should’ve come after you two, because the fact of the matter is you and Gianluca? You were perfect for each other. Abso-fucking-lutely perfect.”

Kerenza’s jaw drops and she stands, blocking my doorway.

“Move,” I growl.

She swallows, blinking quickly and glancing at a passing couple on the sidewalk. She turns back to me.

“Did you read it?” she asks. “The journal.”

“Fuck. No,” I say, everything starting to make sense for once. Can’t say that I blame Aidy now. I’ve seen the way Gianluca writes, and I know he has a penchant for hyperbole, and anyone who knows him knows he doesn’t mean half the things he says. He’s a lot like Kerenza that way. Even their eyes are matching shades of bullshit. “But my girlfriend did, and apparently she thinks I wrote all that lovey-dovey shit about you. And god damn it.” My fists ball as everything finally makes sense. “She thinks I’m still in love with you.”

Kerenza’s lips twist into a satisfied smile, which doesn’t surprise me in the least.

“God, you really are a heartless bitch.” I scoff, using my body like a force field as I pass through the doorway and lock up behind me.

I leave Kerenza on the steps, and I don’t look back. Focusing on the journey in front of me, I make my way to Luciana’s on Fifth.