“Anyone home?” asks Michael, peering inside.
I dry my tears with the back of my hand, relieved the darkness hides my eyes, which are swollen with tears.
“No,” I mutter.
“So who just answered, then?”
“I don’t feel like playing anymore, Michael. In every sense.”
“But I’m not playing,” he replies. “May I?” he asks, pointing to the space next to me.
“There isn’t room for two,” I reply dryly.
“There is if we squeeze.” He ignores me and crouches to enter. His presence makes the cabin seem microscopic, our bodies pressing together more than they should.
“That was a low blow from you tonight,” I mutter, my throat still catching on my tears.
“I know, but needs must.”
“What do you think you got out of it?” I ask.
“Your attention.”
“Why do you need that? You already have the attention of every woman in the world.”
“But not yours, and that’s all I’m interested in.”
Every sentence is a gut punch. “Words, Michael. They’re just words. Oh, by the way, nice song choice. You’ve ruined one of my few pleasant memories of us.”
“I don’t think I ruined anything. In fact maybe I managed to tell you something I otherwise would have kept inside.”
“Like what? That you had at least two girlfriends in London? Not one, not two, but three!”
“I didn’t think I needed to tell you, because I didn’t even consider them to be girlfriends. Sure, I was having sex with both of them at the same time for a while there. Which makes me a classic ...”
“Asshole,” I say venomously.
“It’s true; there’s no other way to put it. But I’m not proud of it, if you care to know.”
“What I care to know is why it would be any different with me!”
“Because, if you haven’t noticed, I didn’t chase after anyone else. Not Danielle, not Sheila, just you.”
“And that’s supposed to be enough for me?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? For making a fool out of me or for getting caught?” I reply harshly.
“For disappointing you. Look, if you need to interrogate me about all my past relationships before you believe I’m serious, then that’s something I’m willing to endure.”
“I don’t have that much time,” I snap.
“Maybe I haven’t been clear enough, so let me be more direct: I feel something for you, Elisa, and it’s not just physical attraction. It’s physical, too, but it goes deeper than that. It’s something I’ve had inside me all my life. I’m ready to take a hit from you, but there’s something I have to confess. When I was seventeen, I was in love with you and never dared tell you because I was embarrassed. I was an idiot, which is not an excuse but a reality, and I always let myself be influenced by the fact that you—”
“That I was fat and ugly?” I prompt him. “That you didn’t want to be the boyfriend of the village loser?”
“That you just saw me as a friend,” he corrects me, making me feel stupid and superficial. “I didn’t want our friendship to end, so I kept my crush to myself and, like at the end of every summer, I went back to London. But then I realized I’d missed an opportunity, and I decided I’d tell you when I came back the next year. It’s just a shame I didn’t know that summer would be my last in Tuscany. I couldn’t have foreseen the old count’s poor health and his son’s aversion to teenagers.”
