Page 131 of Forbidden

My girl flicks her hair off her face, and her eyes meet mine for a flash. She then slams the door, and speeds into the night.

I run through the sea of guests, and I hear Dante’s voice. “Lorenzo, wait!”

I ignore my friend, and I barge through a sea of dancers.

Finally, I make it off the yacht, and I ignore the banker’s offer for help.

There are no taxis around, so I force myself to sprint along the marina, towards our hotel. All I can think of, is how much I hate gold diggers.

Deep down what dominates that thought more, is how much I love.

And love her.

As I run through the night, I yell at the top of my lungs.

“Fuck!”

40

STORM

I should have followed my instincts, and as soon as I saw her flirting around Lorenzo day one here, I should have said something to him. I knew something was happening, and I knew the skank had been way too close.

It’s too late for that now, and I toss my things fast.

I put my important things into my small daypack, and I stay focused. I am still wearing the Dior dress, earrings and high heels, but I have no time to change.

As I throw the bag over my shoulder, I avoid the third call from Lorenzo.

I run from the room with my passport, and the few things I really need. Pausing, I pull off the high heels, and I sprint down the passage on the top floor.

Reaching the stairwell, I run down the marble steps two at a time. The cold marble is smooth, and white, and I hold onto the dainty expensive shoes for some reason.

I know there is a good chance he is now in the elevator, and I hope like hell, I can sneak out a side lobby door.

As I reach the lobby, I wipe my eyes and peer carefully out.

I slip on my shoes, lift my chin, and I walk like I am not breaking down inside.

As I sneak around the lobby wall, I stay as low key as possible. I pass behind people in dinner suits, sipping martinis, champagne, laughing and talking about movies.

After sliding out the large side door, I catch my breath, and slip into a French cab.

On the way to the airport, I book the next flight to Paris. Then, another onto NYC. The timing is tight, and I hope to make it. I have to get to the apartment in NYC and I must do it before him.

My eyes are puffy and red, as I look in the mirror at the airport.

I wash tears and makeup from my face, and I enter a stall. After pulling off the Dior gown, I yank on jeans, and a T shirt. I pause before packing the stunning black dress. The dress was a gift, and it can be a gift, again.

This time for someone who needs it, or who finds the right guy. I have no need for it, and it simply means pain.

I hang the Dior dress on the door, and I move fast.

After a short flight to Paris, I run for the next gate, high heels in my hand.

I board the jet for the long flight to NYC, and I booked a window seat. Here it will be safer to cry alone, and work out, how I messed up my life so bad.

I then do, and I let it all out.