◆ Dumped ◆

◇ KEL ◇

Packing his stuff into his luggage didn't take half an hour. They were mostly just shirts and pants, anyway. Enzo didn't even bring three pairs of socks, which meant he didn't intend to stay here in New York for longer than a weekend.

His phone kept him busy while I put his clothes into his travel bag. Enzo sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over, the flat-screen TV on the wall showing the evening news.

Then room service knocked on the door. The attendant brought in a small silver bucket with a bottle of wine submerged in ice cubes.

Red wine? Again? Enzo already drank three glasses during dinner.

I made a face as the attendant left the room.

Enzo took the cork off the black bottle while I zipped his luggage shut.

Why did he wanna get liquored up tonight? Because of his girlfriend? He hadn't said more than a few words since I walked in here. If he wanted to talk about something, why ignore me the past half-hour? Like he was the only one in this big hotel room.

The soft hum of the air-conditioning unit was drowned out by the voices of the news presenters interviewing an epidemiologist, who was expertly discussing the ongoing wildlife trade in Asia. I half-listened and half-pondered, sitting on the other side of the bed, my left leg resting on the covers.

Maybe Enzo wanted me to leave him alone now. Watching the news, he kept his back to me and clutched the wine glass sitting on his thigh. Fourth glass tonight.

Did he plan on drinking himself to sleep? I scowled. What did he really wanna talk about? I could tell he was about to hit the sack because of his yawns. So why drink some more?

I checked my phone for messages and new emails while he gulped the last of his drink. I kept an eye on him. When he started pouring himself another glass of wine, I couldn't help but sigh. "Enzo, come on..."

"Hmm?" He put the wine bottle on the nightstand and turned briefly to glance at me. When he saw my frown, he furrowed his brows, as if clueless as to why I called his attention.

Crap. Did that mean drinking five glasses of wine in two hours was a typical Saturday night for him? "That's your fifth."

At my poker-faced comment, he snickered and blankly stared at the half-full glass he held. "You want some?" he muttered, faintly grinning at me.

"You usually drink that much?"

"Erm... Lately, yeah."

"That's too much." I kept up a calm, non-judgmental tone as much as I could, even though his drinking reminded me of Miles whenever he got in the mood to hit it up while painting.

"Probably," Enzo sighed with a lopsided smirk. Then he took another sip of the wine before he finally put the glass on the nightstand, right next to the slim bottle.

I held back another scowl and got up from the queen-sized bed. I walked around it to grab the wine bottle and the half-empty glass. I caught his frown as I took the bottle out of the room. I left the glass and bottle outside the door, setting them on the carpet in the empty hallway.

When I got back in the hotel room, Enzo was standing by the bathroom sink, brushing his teeth. I stood by the door and watched him.

What exactly did he want to talk about? Issues with his girlfriend? Or his brother?

Yikes. Or did he want to talk about the Falcos?

The choices my brain came up with only worsened my curiosity while a slight awkwardness filled the room. "What's up?" I sighed, crossing my arms below my chest.

"Huh?" Enzo budged to glance at me and turned off the faucet. As he wiped his mouth and chin, I stared at his five o'clock shadow maintaining his deliberately unkempt look. It suited his dark and wavy hair. He always looked more mature than Miles, even though Enzo was only a couple years older.

Miles was more baby-faced, like Mrs. Falco, and he couldn't grow a full beard.

Ugh. More nostalgia. The image just reminded me of how much I missed him.

"Che vuoi dire?" [What do you mean?] Enzo squinted at me and wiped his hands with a yellow face towel.

"You said you wanted to talk." I almost frowned at his subdued question. If he didn't want to talk anymore, I should just leave. Call and wait for a cab. The drive to the apartment wouldn't take half an hour.

"You need to go home now?"

"Not really." Why wouldn't he just get to the point? "So what's up?" I stared at him.

Instead of answering, he just walked out of the bathroom. Enzo checked his phone for a minute or two. Then he put it down on the nightstand. Well, more like tossed it.

"You need me to leave?"

"It's gettin' late," he sighed.

Great. Deflecting again. I scoffed. Must he keep diverting the conversation? "Why not just tell me what's wrong?" I stood closer to the foot of the bed.

Biting on his lip, Enzo just stared at the pillows, his hands resting on his hips. Why was he avoiding having to explain his behavior tonight?

Some of it had to be my fault, though. I brought up the loan talk whenever possible. It was his least preferred topic of conversation, but I just couldn't let it go. "Hey."

"Sorry. I'm just..."

"Just what?"

He combed his hair back with his fingers, taking a deep breath as if he needed it. His upper cheeks already looked pinker than his lips.

I kept another comment to myself and stayed put. "You said you wanted to talk."

"Yeah."

"So talk to me."

"It's, erm... A lot. You don't have to... I just don't feel like, dumping all of it on you. Sorry." He cleared his throat and glanced to the door. "Berto will drive you home."

"No." I caught his forearm before he could head for the door to get his bodyguard.

Enzo stared at my grip on his arm, the hesitation drawing fine lines on his forehead.

"Let's talk. All ears," I coaxed. If I insisted, he would eventually open up. The selfish, more sensible thing to do was walk out of here, leave him here in his hotel room and be on my merry way home.

But he needed someone to talk to—definitely not another glass of wine. A dangerous habit he was not trying to break. Worse? It didn't seem to bother him at all.

"Is it her?" I asked in a calmer voice. "Libby?"

Enzo heaved a sigh and just stared at the covers, his lips pouting somewhat. He sat on the left side of the bed.

I turned off the TV. "Why?" I sighed when he didn't even budge. I stood in front of him. My legs almost touched his knees now, but he wouldn't even look up. "Were you arguing? On the phone?" I stepped closer.

Obviously he didn't want to discuss his problems with his girlfriend. But if he didn't get it all out, he would take out his frustrations on another bottle of wine once I left him alone in here.

"What? Something happen?"

"She called it off."

Off? Libby broke up with him? "Like, taking a break?"

"We're done," he murmured. Enzo scowled and placed his forearms on his thighs, hunched over, his dark brows creasing.

"Why?"

"She just wants..." He pinched the skin between his brows, then sighed louder.

"What?"

"Someone else."

Oh no. Shit.

That socialite cheated on him? When?

"Hold up. So... Why'd she call you?"

"To call off the engagement."

Engagement? I almost gawked at him, but I faked a straight face.

Wow. They were already engaged? Since when? And why keep it a secret? When did he propose to Libby?

Or maybe I just never cared to ask about their relationship. Yeah. I should have. "When did you propose?" So what if I sounded intrusive... I wasn't going anywhere until he explained the rest.

His pretty impressive drinking spree warranted it. "Last month." Enzo sighed louder.

"Oh."

He kept his gaze cast down. "She wants to marry the guy. Not me." A soft laugh paused his monotonous explanation. "He even got her pregnant."

What? Seriously? "Oh." Shit.

Enzo snickered, blankly staring at his clenched fist as if he wanted to hit something. "Yeah. Fuckin' bloody mess."

The heck?

So the woman cheated on him and got pregnant after saying yes to his proposal? Was she demented?

"Man, that's just...so below the belt." Pun not intended, I wanted to add.

But he already looked discouraged enough.

"Why'd she even say yes to you if she wanted to be with the other guy?"

"I'd tell you first if I find out." Enzo chuckled and shook his head weakly. His fake grin didn't even last two seconds. His attempt at humor didn't really say he felt a tad better now that we're discussing the issue.

But I still wanted to hear more. "When did she, um, tell you she's pregnant?"

"Three days ago."

Right. Ouch...

Fresh. Still too fresh.

Did he want to keep talking about her? I stood still in front of him with my arms crossed.

He stayed on the edge of the bed, then lifted his arms to put them around my hips. Enzo pulled me closer till he could hug me. The side of his face pressed against my ribs now.

With his arms wrapped around me, I tried to hug him back, somewhat cringing at how much I smelled of chlorine and sunscreen. I touched the back of his head. I could tell he wanted me to comfort him, so I stroked his soft hair when he hugged me tighter.

His warmth surprised me as much as his embrace. Perhaps it was just the concerning amount of alcohol in his system. He kept me in his arms while he sat on the bed, his forehead touching my chest. Then Enzo let out a sigh.

We stayed speechless for a moment. Did he feel a little better now? He seemed to like my quiet means of consolation, my poor attempt to ease his distress.

Almost a minute later and he still wouldn't let go. Enzo didn't loosen his hug even when I tried to take a step back.

I tried to pat him on the shoulder as non-awkwardly as I could. Not my strong suit, though...being this emotionally and intimately close to someone who wasn't my best friend or immediate family.

The shock and sadness just overwhelmed him, I supposed. Clearly he felt unimportant. Betrayed. I didn't blame him. If I were in his shoes, I'd probably do worse than drink myself to sleep every night.

Jeez. What a real piece of work his girlfriend was—well, ex now. Sad how some people were just that self-centered.

"I had no idea you proposed to her."

"We were keeping it under wraps," he replied monotonously.

"Then why say yes if she didn't really want to? I mean..."

He yawned and gave my hips a light squeeze. "Same."

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