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“So, what do you say? Let me buy you a drink?”
I clear my throat. “That’s sweet of you. But I’m kind of already seeing someone.”
He doesn’t do a great job at hiding his disappointment.
“Oh, well… I assumed… There was no ring on your finger.”
“Don’t worry. It’s an honest mistake.” I smile, hoping that he’ll leave me alone now.
It’s the classic excuse, even if in this situation, it’s a half truth.
Iamseeing someone, even if it’s just temporary. A part of me wonders what Alessio’s reaction would be if I told him who it is.
Scandalized? Disgusted that he just tried to hit on someone who’s seeing his dad? Embarrassed?
I bite my tongue, knowing better than to make things more complicated than they already are just to satiate a curiosity.
“Well, I guess that’s that.” He pushes his hands into his pockets. “Lucky guy.”
“Bye, Alessio.”
His presence, as annoying as it was, was at least a momentary distraction. Now that he’s gone, I’m back alone with my thoughts.
Which have somehow taken the turn for the worst.
Sighing, I pull my phone out. Nothing like some doom scrolling to distract me.
But as I scroll down my feed, I’m met with more awful comments.
“God, don’t these people have a hobby?” I mutter to myself.
I don’t really understand what I’m doing wrong here. It’s not like I changed up my content or the way I present myself online. The bad comments have only increased in numbers.
Honestly, what the hell is going on? My life is going down the drain.
First, it was the comments, and then the incident with Enzo.
At this point, I’m waiting for something worse to happen. Bad things happen in threes, right?
An unknown number flashes on my screen, and I already know it’s Liam calling from a different phone. The area code matches.
“There it is,” I mutter. “The third thing.”
I put my phone on Do Not Disturb and decide to step out for some fresh air by the pool.
It’s not like my day could get any worse, and I need to clear my head anyway.
But as I begin to walk out the door, a hand stops me.
Thinking it’s Alessio again, I turn to tell him off, sternly this time.
“You’re Quinn, right?”
It’s the drunk guy from the wine tasting event. Silvano. I’d heard his name being thrown around, often surrounded by gossip.
I freeze, worried that he’s about to cause a scene like last time.
“You don’t have to look so scared,” he assures. “I’m sober this time. Promise.”