Lucy Greene and Enzo Russo find each other in a twist of fate and instantly desire takes them over.
But as the real world creeps in around them, it seems that fate has played a trick on them.
Lucy Greene is on her year abroad in Italy when she mee...
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When Enzo walks through my apartment door, he fills the space with his broad frame.
"Hello, Lucia," he mumbles as he bends down and presses a chaste kiss to my lips. I move to deepen the connection but he pulls back with a sigh.
"Are you ok, Enzo?" I ask as I follow him to the kitchen.
He helps himself to a beer and the flops down on the sofa. Shrugging sullenly, he cracks open the can and takes a long swig. Feeling the strange atmosphere in his mood, I unsurely walk over to him, but when I sit down, I keep my distance.
"What's happened?" I try again, all I get in response is a shrug and a sigh.
"Nothing, Lucia, leave it."
Again with the name that isn't my name. Why won't he call me Lucy?
Normally it doesn't faze me, but today, it feels like a dismissal.
"Fine." I snap, storming up from the sofa and stomping into my room.
I make sure to slam the door behind me and then lock it. I haven't seen or heard from Enzo all week and this is how he's behaving.
In all honesty, I wouldn't mind him being like this, so long as he explained why. Right now he's just being sullen and moody, and I don't have time for him.
I have an essay due in two days. Now, originally I had given this evening up to spend with Enzo but now, now I'm going to get started on it.
This plan, of course, back fires spectacularly in my face because every two minutes, my concentration wanes as I listen out for Enzo.
Am I pissed with him?
Yes.
Do I still wish I could be spending the evening with him?
Yes.
Finally, after almost an hour of writing the same sentence for my essay, a thud sounds against my door.
Crossing my room, taking a moment to pick up a stray sock or two, I open the door.
Slumped against the wall, obviously drunk, is Enzo.
"Lucia!" He slurs and I bristle at the name, but decide to let it slide tonight.
"Enzo." I huff, my tone reflecting my done in mood, "what are you doing?"
He begins to mumble something in fast Italian, so fast that even I am unable to discern it, before he starts in English.
"I-I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm an asshole."
"Yes," I sigh as I bend down and take his arm, "you are."
After much grunting and struggling on my part, Enzo ends up sprawled out on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
