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"Enzo doesn't want me here, Laurie." My voice cracks. "And honestly, I'm better off away from him. He’s... he’s so much older, so much more experienced. And we live on different continents. It’s just not practical."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes against the harsh truth. "I keep thinking about my ex, how similar this feels. Dad might be right."
There's a pause.
"Quinn," Laurie starts gently. "Just because your ex was a manipulative bastard doesn't mean Enzo is the same. You can't project one man's sins onto another."
She's right, but the fear of repeating history, of being used and discarded, clings to me stubbornly.
"I know, but it's hard. I'm not sure I can trust my own judgment anymore."
"Give it time, Quinn," Laurie says softly. "Give yourself some credit, too. You're stronger now, wiser. Whatever happens, you'll handle it. Just don’t run away because of fear."
“I just feel like I’m just amazing at making all the wrong decisions,” I mutter. “It’s not like I can just… fix this mess. I’m into the thick of it, and I’m getting shunned for it.”
“Honey,” Laurie’s voice softens. She can never see me too upset. “What matters more? Getting Enzo to be on your side, or getting your dad’s approval?”
I consider her words for a moment. “Both sound quite hard.”
“If you had to pick.”
I chew on my lip, and then sigh.
“To be honest, the thing that happened with my dad has really thrown a curveball my way—it’s killed whatever little chance I had with Enzo. Not that he seems to care much about me to begin with…” I mumble the last bit under my breath.
“So, if things were right with Enzo, you would have stood up to your dad?” Laurie asks.
“Maybe.”
I am downplaying it. The answer is a resounding yes.
"Your dad isn't the one feeling all this, Quinn. He doesn't know your heart. Only you know what's going on inside there. Don't let doubt cloud your feelings. You've fallen for Enzo for a reason."
I peer out my window, taking in the view of the Italian landscape.
"It doesn't matter, Laurie," I shrug. "It's time for me to go home. This Italian dream vacation is over."
With our call ended and my decisions laid bare, I’m not ready to surrender to sleep. Instead, I prop myself against the headboard, the glow of my laptop bathing me in cold light.
I log onto my social media and decide there is one last thing I need to do.
As I scroll through my latest posts, the sharp sting of public scrutiny bites at me. Several new comments catch my eye.
“What a loserrrrr. She has a sugar daddy for sure.”
“What happened to women having ambition? She gives us a bad name.”
“What would she have if she didn’t have a pretty face? LOL—this is why you need to stay in school, kids.”
I release a sharp breath. My fingers hover over the keyboard, an impulse to delete, to erase the negativity. I manage to clear some, but the words linger, a bitter aftertaste.
Is my professional life crumbling just as hard as my personal life has? The thought gnaws at me.
I start the live feed.
"Hi, everyone. As many of you know, I've been staying in Italy for the past few weeks, soaking in its beauty, its culture, and its spirit. But all good things come to an end, and it’s time for me to head home."
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