“Grazie.” I kiss both her cheeks.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take the day off?” she asks as I head toward the staff area at the back of the large showroom.
Although I am fluent in Italian, thanks to my language degree from NYU, we mostly speak English for Gemma’s benefit. Gemma is from Liverpool, and she started working here eight months ago. She didn’t know a word of Italian when she first arrived, but she came highly recommended by a London gallery where she had worked post-graduation. She knows a few words now, but we have gotten into the habit of speaking English for her benefit. Gemma is three years younger than me, and I have taken her under my wing—she’s good people and a good friend. We have found a little ex-pats crew to hang around with and some Italian friends too.
“Heads-up,” Gemma says, emerging from the staff room carrying a small, gift-wrapped box. “I have it on good authority that Giorgio will be dropping by shortly to surprise the birthday girl.”
A groan leaves my lips. Gemma is casually dating one of Gio’s friends, and I’m hoping it won’t become awkward. I ended things with Gio six weeks ago, after a few months of dating, but he seems determined to win me back. He’s a charming, good-looking guy. An architect with his own firm. I like him, and I would have been content to date him for a while longer if he hadn’t started talking about marriage and telling me he loved me countless times a day. I realized it would be unfair to string him along, when I know I won’t ever return those feelings, so I broke it off. But he seems to think he can change my mind, and nothing I say deters him.
“Speak of the devil,” Gemma mutters under her breath, jerking her head over my shoulder.
Smoothing a hand down the front of my sleeveless knee-length teal silk dress, I turn around and smile at my approaching ex. He looks handsome, as usual, in his gray suit and light-blue shirt. Warm brown eyes latch on to mine as Gio closes the distance between us, carrying a bottle of champagne and a cake box. “Bella.” He leans in and kisses me on both cheeks. “Happy birthday, Sydney.” His English is precise, perfected at the best local private school and supplemented with personal lessons.
“Thank you, Gio.”
He hands me the gifts one at a time, and I thank him profusely while stating he really shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble. He already sent me flowers, so this is definitely overkill. Still, it’s super sweet and very indicative of the kind of man Gio is. Someday, he will make some woman very happy. I wish it could have been me, but I can’t force feelings where they don’t exist. I would insist on refusing the gifts, but that would hurt him, and I can’t do it.
“You’re a good friend,” I say, licking my lips as I ogle the delicious freshly baked cake from my favorite bakery.
He frowns momentarily before his features smooth out. “I was hoping to take you out for dinner tonight.”
My heart sinks. Guess there is no avoiding an unpleasant conversation. “That’s a lovely thought, Gio, but I’ll have to decline. I already have plans.”
“Perhaps another time?”
“I don’t think so,” I softly say.
“You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,bella.” He brings my hand to his lips and gently kisses my fingers. “I appreciate your honesty. I had to try.”
“I meant what I said, Gio. It’s not you.”
“It’s the American. The one who broke your heart.”
My cheeks pink. I told him that in confidence, and I don’t appreciate him blurting it out in front of my colleagues, even if I know there was no malicious intent. At least I didn’t give him Jared’s name or tell him the hot drummer from Ruminate is the one who ruined me for all others. That would have been infinitely more embarrassing.
“Yes. I wish you all the best, Gio. Thank you again for the gifts, but I need to get ready. The doors open in twenty minutes.”
“Take care, Sydney.” His shoulders slump as he walks away, and I feel like the world’s biggest bitch.
“He’s a decent guy. I’m glad he finally got the memo,” Gemma says, the words coming out clipped and nasally in her distinctive Scouse accent. She cocks her head to one side. “What American was he talking about?”
I knew she wouldn’t let that go.
“Just someone from my past. He’s not important.”
Her lips twitch. “If you say so.”
“I do.”
Deciding to drop it, at least for now, she takes the champagne and cake box from my hands. “At least we’ve got champagne to toast the birthday girl with later before we head out on the town.” Waving the bottle in the air, she waggles her brows, and I wonder what mischief she has planned for tonight. I gave her free rein to organize my birthday night out because she loves event planning. “I’ll put these in the fridge.”
The morning flies by, and the gallery is busy. Though most are just tourists browsing, we sell one of our bigger pieces, by a new local talent who is going to blow up fast, which is cause for additional celebration.
Francesca is busy on calls with a couple of VIP prospective clients, so I’m flitting around the gallery, attending to a million and one things, while I try to nail down the final details of the big exhibition we’re hosting in six weeks.
