It had been a few weeks since I started my Italian lessons with Lorenzo, and I had gotten pretty comfortable around him. He was a chill guy, and we'd developed a bit of a friendship beyond the formalities of the job. So when he suggested that we hit up a club one evening, I didn't think much of it. A night out sounded like a good way to blow off some steam. I'd been working hard to fit into this new world, and a break sounded perfect.
"You know, Signor Tristan," Lorenzo had said earlier that day with a grin, "you've been making great progress. Why don't we celebrate a little? There's a club I know in the city. The drinks are good, and the company is... very good."
I laughed, shrugging. "Why not? I could use a night out. Just don't let me drink too much, alright?"
Lorenzo smiled, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. "I'll make no promises. But I guarantee you'll enjoy it."
That evening, we made our way to the club. It was in the heart of Milan, nestled in the backstreets where the city's nightlife truly came alive. The neon lights flickered overhead, casting a cool blue glow over the cobblestone streets as we stepped out of the car. Music thumped from inside, and I could already hear the crowd buzzing with energy.
Inside, the place was packed. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, alcohol, and perfume, and the music pulsed through the room, making the floor vibrate beneath our feet. There was a bar along one side, and a dance floor in the middle, already crowded with people moving to the heavy bass.
"Come," Lorenzo said, leading me toward the bar. "We'll get drinks first."
I nodded, following him through the sea of people. The energy of the place was infectious—everyone was here to have a good time, and it felt like the weight of the past few months was slipping away, at least for the night. I ordered a drink, something strong and cold, and leaned against the bar, watching the crowd.
Lorenzo clinked his glass against mine. "Salute!" he said, grinning.
"Salute," I echoed, taking a long drink. The alcohol burned going down, but in a good way. It loosened me up, made me feel lighter.
We made our way to the dance floor after a few drinks, the beat of the music pulling us in. Lorenzo was right—the place was filled with hot Italian girls, all of them dressed to kill, their laughter mingling with the music as they danced and drank. It was easy to get lost in the atmosphere, to let the energy of the club take over.
At one point, a group of girls started dancing near us, and one of them—this stunning brunette with dark eyes and a figure that could stop traffic—caught my eye. She smiled at me, moving closer as we danced, her body swaying in time with the music. I smiled back, feeling the buzz of the alcohol mixing with the heat of the room.
I didn't think much of it at first. People danced close in clubs, that was just how it went. But as the night wore on and the drinks kept coming, I could feel her moving closer, her body pressing against mine. She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear as she whispered something in Italian that I didn't quite catch.
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Sorry, I didn't catch that."
She smiled, her dark eyes glinting with mischief. Then, without warning, she leaned forward, her lips aiming for mine. I saw it coming at the last second, and instinct kicked in. I dodged, pulling back quickly, my heart racing.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I said, holding up my hands. "I'm taken."
Her smile faltered for a split second, but then she recovered, laughing it off like it was no big deal. "Mi scusi," she said, backing off slightly.
I nodded, feeling awkward as hell. "No worries. Just... yeah. I've got someone."
She shrugged, smiling again, though there was a hint of disappointment in her eyes. "Capito. It's all good."
I gave her a polite smile, but inside, I was ready to get the hell out of there. The night had taken a weird turn, and I didn't want to stick around to see where else it could go. I glanced around the club, looking for Lorenzo, and spotted him talking to someone near the bar.
I made my way over, dodging through the crowd. When I got close, Lorenzo looked up, his expression curious. "Tristan? Leaving already?"
I nodded, still feeling the heat from the close call on the dance floor. "Yeah, man. I think I'm calling it a night. I'm not really feeling it anymore."
Lorenzo frowned slightly, concern flickering across his face. "Did something happen?"
I hesitated, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. "Nah, nothing serious. Just... I think I've had enough for one night."
He studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. I understand. Let me call a car for you."
I nodded, grateful that he wasn't pushing the issue. As much fun as the night had been at first, it was time to go. The excitement of the club had turned into something uncomfortable, and all I wanted now was to get out of there.
Lorenzo made a quick call, and within a few minutes, a car was waiting outside the club. He walked me to the door, the cool night air hitting me as we stepped outside.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Lorenzo asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
I nodded, managing a small smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... not in the mood anymore. Thanks for showing me the place, though."
He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course. If you ever want to come back, just let me know."
I gave him a nod and climbed into the car, feeling the tension in my shoulders start to ease as we pulled away from the club. The night had started off fun, but it had taken a turn I wasn't expecting.
As the city lights blurred past the windows, I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over me. I was in a strange world, surrounded by new people and experiences, but one thing was clear: I wasn't going to lose myself in it. I had Vanessa, and no matter how wild things got, I wasn't about to mess that up.
***
I arrived back at Vanessa's mansion that night, feeling drained from the weird turn the night had taken. The ride home had given me time to clear my head, but now that I was back in the mansion, something felt off. The lights were dim, casting long shadows across the marble floors, and the house was unusually quiet.
I found Vanessa in the living room, sitting on one of the large, luxurious couches, a glass of wine in her hand. She didn't look up when I entered the room, just kept staring at the glass as she swirled the dark red liquid around and around. The atmosphere was heavy, like the air itself had thickened. I could tell right away that something was wrong.
"Hey," I said softly, walking toward her. "You alright?"
She finally looked up, her dark eyes locking onto mine. There was something hard in her gaze, something that made my stomach tighten. "Tristan," she said quietly, setting the glass down on the table in front of her. "I need to ask you something."
I could feel my pulse quicken. "Sure. What's up?"
She stood up slowly, crossing her arms as she walked over to me, her eyes never leaving mine. There was an intensity in her gaze that made me uneasy, and I could feel the tension building between us.
"Do you love me?" she asked, her voice low, almost a whisper.
The question hit me like a punch to the gut. I hadn't expected that. My throat went dry, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. But then I saw the vulnerability in her eyes, the uncertainty hidden behind her usual confidence. She was waiting for an answer, and I knew I couldn't hesitate.
"Yes," I said, my voice steady. "Of course I love you."
Vanessa stared at me for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. She tapped the screen a few times before holding it up to me, her lips pressed into a thin line.
I frowned, confused, as I looked at the screen. It was a photo—me, at the club with Lorenzo. But that wasn't what made my heart drop. In the photo, I was standing with the girl who had tried to kiss me earlier, and the way the angle was captured, it looked like we were a lot closer than we actually were.
"Vanessa, wait," I said quickly, panic rising in my chest. "That's not what it looks like. We never kissed. It was just a camera angle thing. I swear—"
Vanessa's expression darkened, and she snapped. "I don't want to hear another word from you, Tristan!"
Her voice cut through the room like a knife, sharp and cold. I froze, my heart pounding in my chest as I stared at her, completely caught off guard by the sudden shift in her mood.
"Vanessa, please," I said, trying to stay calm. "You have to believe me. I didn't do anything. She tried to kiss me, but I pulled away. I told her I'm taken."
But she wasn't listening. She stepped closer to me, her eyes blazing with anger. "Do you think I'm stupid, Tristan? Do you think I don't know what's going on when I see something like this?" She held up the phone again, jabbing the screen with her finger. "I trusted you!"
I shook my head, desperate to make her understand. "No, Vanessa, it's not like that. You know I would never—"
"I said I don't want to hear it!" she snapped, her voice rising. "You're lying to me, Tristan! I can see it in your eyes."
I felt my stomach twist into knots. "I'm not lying," I said, my voice shaking with frustration. "Why the hell would I lie to you? You mean everything to me."
Vanessa's face twisted with a mix of hurt and fury. "Then why were you with her? Why were you even in that position? If you love me so much, why were you out there with some random girl, Tristan?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words got stuck in my throat. The night had been a mess, but I hadn't done anything wrong. Still, the way she looked at me, the way she was convinced I'd betrayed her, it felt like I was losing her in real time.
"Vanessa, I didn't do anything," I said again, my voice pleading. "I pulled away. I came home. I didn't let anything happen."
But it was like talking to a wall. Her anger had already taken over, and she wasn't hearing any of it.
"You think that makes it better?" she hissed. "You think coming home after some girl throws herself at you fixes everything? I don't want to hear your excuses, Tristan. I don't care."
I felt my chest tighten, my heart pounding against my ribs. "Vanessa, please. You know me. You know I wouldn't hurt you like that."
She glared at me, her jaw clenched, tears brimming in her eyes but refusing to fall. "I thought I did," she said coldly. "But now I'm not so sure."
I stood there, completely helpless, watching her retreat into herself, putting up walls that I couldn't break through. My mind raced, trying to figure out how to fix this, but nothing I said was going to make a difference right now. The damage had already been done—whether by the photo or by something deeper, I didn't know.
Vanessa turned away from me, her back rigid with tension. "I need space," she said, her voice quieter now but still laced with anger. "Just... go. I don't want to look at you right now."
My heart sank, but I knew there was no point in arguing. She wasn't going to listen to me, not tonight. I had to give her time to cool off, to think things through. Maybe then, she'd see that I was telling the truth.
I took a step back, my legs feeling weak beneath me. "Okay," I said softly, my voice barely audible. "I'll give you space. But, Vanessa... I love you. I didn't do anything wrong."
She didn't respond, just stood there with her arms crossed, staring out the window as if I wasn't even in the room.
With a heavy heart, I turned and walked out of the room, the weight of the moment pressing down on me like a ton of bricks. I didn't know what was going to happen next, but one thing was clear: I was losing her, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Q: What would you do if you were Tristan?