We’re in tune with each other.
It gets hotter each time.
But then I’d fuck her and be done with it.
Oh no, that’s not enough for me.
I want to talk to her.
Be with her.
Smell her.
Watch her work.
Hold her hand.
Sleep with her.
Kiss her.
Motherfucker! I’m so gone for my wife, it’s ridiculous.
“Do you know every time you get a text message, you smile?” Renzo drawls, enjoying himself.
“Fuck off,” I say as I type a response to Alessia’s message about pouring wine for a famous American football player who came for a wine tasting. She didn’t know who he was until after he was gone, and Edam, who is a big-time American football fan, told her.
“You never look at your phone in meetings…or rather, you used to not, but these days?” Renzo shakes his head in mock-annoyance. “You’re on the damn thing like it’s surgically attached to you. But then, when you’re in Bolgheri, and I reach out, I get crickets.”
I set the phone away and lean back in my office chair. “You done?”
He smirks. “You’ve fallen for your wife,” he states.
I smile. “Yeah. Big time.”
Of all the people in my life, Renzo is one I’ve never needed to lie to. With him, I don’t need walls or defenses.
“I miss her,” I confide. “I’ve never missed anyone in my life before, and I miss her. It’s very strange and yet feels very right.”
Renzo’s gaze turns gentle. “Love does that to you.”
“Speaking of falling in love”—I give my friend a long, pointed look—“are you seeing anyone, because I have a feeling you are.”
He shrugs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You’re fucking lying to me.”
He glances at me, the corners of his mouth tugging up in pure contentment. “It’s just…a good time.”
“Hmm.” I am not convinced, but I don’t push him. When he’s ready, he’ll tell me.
I look out of the window of my office and exhale. “I can’t sustain this.”
“You mean, living here and in Bolgheri?”
I nod. “But I can’t not be in the headquarters. Not when everything is still so fragile and new with the merger.”
Florence feels heavier each time I have to leave Alessia.
