“Duly noted,” Rose says, lifting her Bloody Mary. “Though, if you need a partner when you decide to kick his as, make sure to call me.”
I laugh even though it’s the last thing I want to do right now.
Francis still hasn’t given me so much as a phone call or text telling me the news. At this point, I’m wondering if he’s dead or being held captive somewhere.
After two years, I deserve more than this.
But my head is still wrapped around Giuseppe.
“He wasn’t thrilled when he found out about Francis and everything he has done for me.”
Rose raises her brow in acknowledgement. “Men can be weird about that too.”
“I mean, I hate the term sugar baby, but let’s face it, that’s what I was. Of course, it didn’t seem so tawdry when I thought it was actually leading toward marriage.”
“Let’s face it, men are assholes,” Rose laughs.
I frown but a smile forces its way through.
“Francis, obviously. Giuseppe?” I shrug. “I don’t know. I’d rather think it’s just cluelessness. Despite last night,” my body shivers at the memory of it. “He’s still that same stoic, adorably clueless Clark Kent he was before.”
Rose considers me with a smile. “You’re smitten.”
“What?” I say, snapping to. “I’m…well, he’s cute—sexy really, but it was just one drunken night of—”
Rose laughs out loud. “I swear I can almost see a blush on your face.”
“Well, so what?” I say pursing my lips. “I’m allowed some release, especially after what he-who-shall-not-be-named did to me.”
“Is that what he is? A release?” Rose asks, tilting her head to the side.
“No,” I say with a soft smile. “It feels…good, you know? In a way that it wasn’t with Francis. I feel…real for once.”
I think about our confessions last night, about wearing facades.
“But just how real were you with him?”
My eyes flash and focus on her. “What do you mean?”
“Does he know what you do for a living?”
“Well,” I frown, biting my lower lip. “It didn’t really come up. Not exactly. But what’s the big deal?”
A wrinkle forms in her brow.
“What? He knows what I’m like. We’ve lived across the hall from each other for a year now. He’s seen me come and go so he knows my hours. I doubt anything I add will be too scandalous. After all, Francis didn’t mind, he even loved it.”
“Men like Francis can afford to not mind, Honey. For them, being with a woman like you is fun, a lark. At least until they’ve had their fun with you. As you so abruptly found out the hard way.”
I frown and sip my mimosa, thinking about that one. My mind races back to lunch at Le Coucou. Francis’ description of the type of woman investors were looking for him to be with.
‘A woman who is a future head of business herself.’
“You said Giuseppe was a corporate lawyer?” Rose prods, pulling me back to the present.
I just nod, already knowing where she’s going with this.
“Those types are especially conservative,” she says with a bitter smile.
“Yes but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’d have a problem with him dating someone like me.”
“But would he? When he finds out? I suspect he knows how the game is played at places like that. The work matters, sure, but image matters almost as much.”
I didn’t reveal that part of last night to Rose, the one where Giuseppe exposed his vulnerabilities. Frankly, it’s no one’s business.
Still, all his talk about his image and how worried he was that the people he worked with would find out he didn’t live up to the one he presented every day.
I seriously doubt Honey Dewberry fits into that performance of his, as talented as I am.
“I never told you and The Girls why Jaimie and I broke up,” Rose says, drawing my attention again.
“What happened?”
“Eventually what I did caught up with him. At first he didn’t mind, kind of got a kick out of it. Then…his friends and coworkers found out. Considering he works in a field where it seems like a job requirement to go to strip clubs, it was pretty damn hypocritical. But that’s the kicker isn’t it? What they’ll enjoy in private isn’t the same thing that they are willing to introduce to their boss at the Christmas party.”
I think about the gala Giuseppe invited me to.
Even I preemptively assured him that I would “paint him in the perfect light.” Certainly no Honey Dewberry with early-morning “wardrobe malfunctions.”
Because it really is all about maintaining his image, isn’t it?
Rose reaches across the table and takes my hand.
“I’m not trying to burst your bubble, Honey, really I’m not. I just think you should tell him sooner rather than later. Better to do it before you invest too much of your heart in him, only to find it broken later on. Not all men are cut out for women like us.”
* * *
My brunch with Rose leaves me troubled the rest of the day. Even the double-feature show I watched at an independent movie theater just to pass the time couldn’t shake my unease.
They were showing Amelie and Priceless (Audrey Tautou was the running theme). The first will always make my heart do a little song and dance, but I hadn’t ever seen the latter.
As it turns out, Priceless was about a woman who has to decide between a wealthy man who doesn’t respect her and falling for a poor boy who will give her all he has.
A little too poignant for my current state of affairs. It did nothing except paint my reality in a stark light that revealed all the fine lines, pimples, and warts.
It’s dark by the time I limp back home, being that I still can’t work, dammit. That fact does nothing to brighten my mood, or solve my dilemma.
I should tell Giuseppe what I do.
That’s if he’s home from the office yet.
On a weekend.
On friggen Valentine’s Day!
My outfit was perfect
