adorable woman I spent the day with yesterday?”
“She’s right here.”
“The woman in front of me is acting like a cat in heat,” he said.
Adele felt the venom in his voice slide down her neck, making it difficult for her to breathe.
“How dare you?” She fought to hold back tears.
“Because you’re acting like a slut,” Ambrogio said.
The world slut was the last straw for Adele. Before she knew what she was doing, her hand connected with Ambrogio’s face, leaving a red mark where she slapped him.
“You can go straight to hell.” She swam the short distance back to the shore.
Her tears clouded her vision as she ran back to the umbrella where she startled a sleeping Felicità in her haste to grab her clothes.
“Dove vai, Adele?” Felicità asked.
“Mi fa male.” She didn’t want to put Felicità in the middle of a mess she made with Ambrogio.
“Perchè stai piangando?” Felicità said.
“È niente,” Adele said.
She couldn’t tell Ambrogio’s grandmother the reason for her tears; instead, she had opted to tell Felicità she was sick.
“Sto andando l’albergo.” Adele rammed her dress into her beach bag and started running.
“Aspetta Adele,” Felicità said.
Adele caught sight of Ambrogio behind her and increased her pace towards the taxi cab stand a few meters away. She jumped into an awaiting taxi with Ambrogio hot on her heals. Adele told the driver to go just as Ambrogio tapped on the glass. She cast him a heartbroken look through the back window.
Chapter 12
Too busy crying to care about modesty, Adele lacked the strength to cover up. Just when she thought she had squeezed out the last tear, a scene from the seduction fiasco took flight in her mind and the embarrassment caught in her throat, choking her. Blubbering at such an alarming rate, Adele’s lack of composure prompted the cab driver to suggest a trip to the hospital.
There wasn’t a band-aid big enough to cover the pain of rejection bleeding openly from her heart. No where but the Caribbean would traipsing around on hotel premises in a skimpy bikini be considered acceptable behavior. A fact Adele was grateful for.
She reached her cottage, intent on making inanimate objects the scapegoats for her idiocy. First to go sprawling across the room...her handbag. Adele winced at the crunching sound her sunglasses made when they connected with the floor. Just getting started, she channeled David Beckham and kicked her bed post, sending a bolt of pain racing through her foot.
Repentant for her actions, she belly flopped into her misery. When she was sure she could string a coherent sentence together, Adele called Robynne for some emotional support.
“I did what everyone said. I tried to seize the day, but the fucker was shaped funny. I think I have Carpel Tunnel Syndrome now.” Adele sniffled into the phone while recounting the details of her lackluster day.
“I can be on the next plane,” Robynne said.
“He told me to stop running, so I stopped,” Adele said.
“You roundhouse kicked him in the face and then waited for him to fall penis first into your vagina,” Robynne said.
“Was I too aggressive?”
“You’re not a bad girl. He was sampling nice, chicken-shit Adele on his kitchen counter like an all you can eat buffet,” Robynne said.
“Who turns down sex? I didn’t eat breakfast because I wanted to look good for him. What an asshole,” Adele said.
“You’re not the victim here. You’re the perpetrator. You’re the blue-ball bandit. What was he supposed to do, mount you on a public beach…in front of his
“She’s right here.”
“The woman in front of me is acting like a cat in heat,” he said.
Adele felt the venom in his voice slide down her neck, making it difficult for her to breathe.
“How dare you?” She fought to hold back tears.
“Because you’re acting like a slut,” Ambrogio said.
The world slut was the last straw for Adele. Before she knew what she was doing, her hand connected with Ambrogio’s face, leaving a red mark where she slapped him.
“You can go straight to hell.” She swam the short distance back to the shore.
Her tears clouded her vision as she ran back to the umbrella where she startled a sleeping Felicità in her haste to grab her clothes.
“Dove vai, Adele?” Felicità asked.
“Mi fa male.” She didn’t want to put Felicità in the middle of a mess she made with Ambrogio.
“Perchè stai piangando?” Felicità said.
“È niente,” Adele said.
She couldn’t tell Ambrogio’s grandmother the reason for her tears; instead, she had opted to tell Felicità she was sick.
“Sto andando l’albergo.” Adele rammed her dress into her beach bag and started running.
“Aspetta Adele,” Felicità said.
Adele caught sight of Ambrogio behind her and increased her pace towards the taxi cab stand a few meters away. She jumped into an awaiting taxi with Ambrogio hot on her heals. Adele told the driver to go just as Ambrogio tapped on the glass. She cast him a heartbroken look through the back window.
Chapter 12
Too busy crying to care about modesty, Adele lacked the strength to cover up. Just when she thought she had squeezed out the last tear, a scene from the seduction fiasco took flight in her mind and the embarrassment caught in her throat, choking her. Blubbering at such an alarming rate, Adele’s lack of composure prompted the cab driver to suggest a trip to the hospital.
There wasn’t a band-aid big enough to cover the pain of rejection bleeding openly from her heart. No where but the Caribbean would traipsing around on hotel premises in a skimpy bikini be considered acceptable behavior. A fact Adele was grateful for.
She reached her cottage, intent on making inanimate objects the scapegoats for her idiocy. First to go sprawling across the room...her handbag. Adele winced at the crunching sound her sunglasses made when they connected with the floor. Just getting started, she channeled David Beckham and kicked her bed post, sending a bolt of pain racing through her foot.
Repentant for her actions, she belly flopped into her misery. When she was sure she could string a coherent sentence together, Adele called Robynne for some emotional support.
“I did what everyone said. I tried to seize the day, but the fucker was shaped funny. I think I have Carpel Tunnel Syndrome now.” Adele sniffled into the phone while recounting the details of her lackluster day.
“I can be on the next plane,” Robynne said.
“He told me to stop running, so I stopped,” Adele said.
“You roundhouse kicked him in the face and then waited for him to fall penis first into your vagina,” Robynne said.
“Was I too aggressive?”
“You’re not a bad girl. He was sampling nice, chicken-shit Adele on his kitchen counter like an all you can eat buffet,” Robynne said.
“Who turns down sex? I didn’t eat breakfast because I wanted to look good for him. What an asshole,” Adele said.
“You’re not the victim here. You’re the perpetrator. You’re the blue-ball bandit. What was he supposed to do, mount you on a public beach…in front of his
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