Athena Grace (currently being re-written)

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solivagant
Definition: someone who wanders or travels the world alone, solitary adventurer
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Athena Grace

The man in front of the currently renovated building opened the door for me without a question. I walked into what would be a reception for the hotel once finished. I look around taking in the colour pallet and what the Ferrari's have chosen for their new hotel.

"Ms Ricci? A voice from my right called out. I turned to look at a man that without a doubt is a Ferrari. He stilled for a second as if in shock. Weird, I told Sophie to tell them I would visit to start working on the restaurant.

"I told my assistant to tell you father i would visit" i say as i approach him

"No i was expecting, sorry i don't know what came over me. Right this way" he leads into the large room he came from.

"I'm Alanzo Ferrai by the way" he says with a shy smile, holding out his hand. There's something oddly comforting about him.

I smile back and shake his hand "Athena Ricci, pleasure to meet you Mr Ferrari"

"Oh please, my father is Mr Ferrari not me. Call me Alanzo" he walks towards a table they have set in the middle of the room with a punch of folders on them. With Ginevra written on most of those said folders.

"Then call me Athena, Alanzo" I never let someone in doing business with call me by my first name but there's just something about him that makes me want to let down all of my walls.

He smiles really big before clearing his throat. "So how do you want to start this?" i ask him

"Well, none of us really work with design or anything to do with a restaurant to be honest. We hire people to do the design part, I mean we do the architecture of the building but not the design but when you said you liked to be personally involved in the design and everything to do with the restaurant we thought we should help out." he explains

I tell him I can do this with my team and not take up their time but he shuts me down saying he would be happy to help. So we start first by choosing a colour palette for both the restaurant and a matching one for the rest of the hotel.

All of the Ferrari hotels have the same colour palette. White, gold and a little spark of another colour that is different throughout every restaurant. I told him that I wanted to do a deep green and with small sparks of gold throughout the place. He quickly agrees and says the third colour cac be green.

From there we move to the materials of the floor, they should match at least the reception area. We work well together, fast and for someone who has never designed anything he has great taste.

We sit and work for what feels like half an hour but really it's been several hours. I feel like I could talk to him for hours more. Hes comforting, i'm not sure why i don't even know the guy.

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Once I finished with Alanzo I drove back to my office because I forgot some papers for my meeting later today.

When I walk into my office to my surprise, Dominic is standing behind my desk looking out the window. He has his back to me but I know it's him. Hearing the door close he turns toward me.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, walking to him. I took a closer look at him, noticing his cut lip and a bruise forming on his cheek. "What happened to your face?"

"Nothing" he shakes his head and turns back to looking out the window.

I leaned against my desk, the cool wood pressing against my back, grounding me in the chaos swirling in my mind. This scene was such a deja vu from almost all of our conversation that I couldn't take it.

There he stood, just a few feet away, his back turned to me. The tension in the room was thick enough to slice with a knife, and I could almost taste the bitterness hanging in the air. I always hated this about him. How he could shut me out so completely, leaving me grappling with words unspoken and feelings unshared.

"Why are you here?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly, half-choked by frustration and half-defeat. The echo of my words slipped into the silence. I knew he heard me. But he remained resolutely still, his posture rigid.

I'd seen glimpses of who he could be—warm, funny, and fiercely protective. But those moments were fleeting; they flickered like a candle fighting against a strong wind. At the same time, I was cognizant of the fact that he genuinely claimed to love me. The contradiction churned within me, creating a whirlpool of anger, sadness, and confusion.

Love can't coexist with such coldness, can it?

Every time I peeled back the layers to reach out to him, I felt like I was met with a frigid expanse, a vast emotional desert where nothing bloomed. I remember pleading with him, begging for anything—a glance, a touch, a hint of vulnerability—but it felt like I was reaching into darkness. The harder I tried, the more distant he became. I could see the walls he built, each brick another barrier he placed between us, and I felt so helpless trying to dismantle them alone.

With his back still turned, I couldn't help but look at him, yearning to understand the man I fell for. The broadness of his shoulders that once drew me in now felt like an obstacle separating me from the warmth I craved.

It was maddening to think that I was so close to him physically but still so far away emotionally. My heart ached as I allowed the familiar weight of hopelessness to settle in my chest.

"Why do you always do this?" I asked, desperation leaking into my tone. "You always manage to make me feel so fucking alone." I might not miss the man I dated, but I do miss my best friend.

His silence became a living thing, filling the room with an oppressive energy. As I stood there, my heart racing and my palms sweaty, I wanted to scream, to cry out, to do anything to shatter the distance. But at that moment, all I could do was hope that maybe, just maybe, he would turn around and answer the question I've asked way too many times.

But he didn't. He never did. And that's what hurt the most—realising that no matter how hard I tried to connect, he was so entrenched in his own darkness that he couldn't even find the light within himself.

Then finally he turns, bringing his hands to hold my face in his hands. The soft and tender act makes me flinch.

His thumb softly caresses my cheek. His eyes soften looking in mine, and I can't. I just can't.

Why does he always have to do this?.

"I'm leaving for a while. I'm not sure when I'll be back." he says, still looking in my eyes. And I look into his for a completely different reason. I'm looking for the man I used to love. The one that made me feel loved and cherished. For the man who was my best friend. The one that i used to tell and everything and would tell me everything.

There's no trace of him though. His eyes move to my lips for a second or two before he lowers his head. He's going to kiss me. I can't. I can't do this with this man again.

I move out of his hands and take a few steps back. He stares at me for a minute. Doesn't utter a word and leaves.

For the love of fucking god.

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I'm not in a clear mind to be in a meeting for several hours. So I sent a gmail to Mr Ferrari. Mentioning I'm sick and my thoughts about the progress we made today with his son. And about wanting to first finish the restaurants in the US and later on continue with the ones in Italy. I don't bother and wait for a response. And go home and sleep.

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(Edited)