Wow, that was a really…big…review, pizzachic. It was a very awesome review to read, believe me; I don't think I read a greater review with such feeling! xD Not to put down Mere or Pancake or Miss Shadoru or anyone, but yours struck me. Hard. I felt so awesome at that moment; I couldn't believe I could make someone feel that strongly for a character of mine. Thanks for that. And oh, yeah, you got the names wrong again. xD I think it's because you were excited to write your ideas down, so I think I'll leave it at that. xDD
Well, I figured that Miguel still 'lives' in the past, so to speak, Pancake. I mean, I used to dwell about my past (yes I've had a very disturbing childhood) and 'lived' in it (you know, dwell and be depressed, continuing the bad attitude thing that came from such) and I wanted that part to be a part of Miguel because it was an awesome personality characteristic I could work around/with. And yes, if you've re-read the past chapters, he is a player, and no, she's not, and you'll see soon how frisky Pearle can be.
To my guest reader, thanks for reading! I hope you have a good time seeing this story through! I just wish I could get your name though; there are a lot of guest readers out there. xD
Well Mere, I don't think there's anything I could say for now. I won't go all 'TMI' for the public for you, but I'd like to say congrats, and thanks. :)
Uwaaa, you guys might want to re-read the whole thing; I edited her education!
Whoops, long A/N! xD
Chapter Sixteen
He sat in the hotel room, his temporary quarters plunged into shadow. Beside him was his first love, sleeping soundly, tired after last night. He glanced out the window; the sky was lighting up already, but he couldn't see the east horizon; his windows faced the west. Just as her balcony did.
He felt sad that he turned Margo away, and even worse when he caught anger in her usually smiling brown eyes. He hadn't known why the A7 he'd come to love just turned away. But he wanted to know. He felt he should.
With that in mind, he slowly slid out of the bed and wrote a note, saying he'd be back. He put it where she can see it, and took off, heading for the Bernoulli home.
The sun still wasn't fully up yet when he got there. He knocked on the door, and as usual, Giacomo answered. But the usual calm façade of the butler was gone as soon as the Italian faced the Spaniard; it changed from calm to amazement to veiled anger.
"Signore Camino," he greeted flatly.
"Giacomo," Miguel replied, confused as to why Giacomo was acting like this. "May I enter?"
Giacomo scrutinized Miguel with narrowed eyes for a long moment, and the latter shifted uneasily. "No," Giacomo said finally, slamming the door in Miguel's face.
"Wh-Giacomo, wait!" he cried out, slamming the door open with such force the butler was thrown back.
The small forklift tried to block the larger car, but to no avail. He's fast; I'll give him that, Miguel thought for a moment as he pushed past, Italian curses flying at him. Miguel zoomed up the ramp, and the sliding door slid open. Apparently, she hadn't expected him to come by.
He didn't find her in there, but he realized her room seemed…off. Like something had changed. A closer look at her things proved his gut to be right.
Pictures were taken down, books were pulled out of their places in the shelves, the lot ending up in a neat pile to the side. She put a note for Giacomo, for the things to be thrown out.
"What are you doing here?" a voice said, one he never thought he'd hear cold, flat, angry and empty.
He turned to face the girl he'd left, and a pang of hurt, sharper than the pain of a ruptured line, sliced right through his chest. Suddenly his throat felt dry as he watched her.
She wasn't frowning, but he could see the ice in her dark brown gaze no blue iris can match. Her lips didn't even twitch like they used to, and she stood tall on her tires, daring him to say anything.
"I-I wanted to see you, actually," he stammered, his gaze lowered as if her were talking to a queen.
"What for?" she said in the same cold tone. "Was she that bad? That she actually bored you in bed?"
Anger surged through Miguel, hard and fast. "You've no right!" he roared. "You've no right to say that!"
"And you absolutely had no right to leave me for her!" her voice rang throughout the home, echoing through the halls and in the larger ballroom.
"I decide what I want to do with my life, not you!" he shot back. "Who are you to control my life? You're not my mother!"
Her eyes widened, and satisfaction flooded him. She was stumped.
She looked away as his gaze bore into her, and she shook her front slightly. "You promised, Miguel," she said quietly. He winced at the change of his name. "You promised you wouldn't leave me. You said you left her. You told me the only reason you stopped fooling around was because of me." Her voice lowered with tightness and sorrow. "You said you love me."
"But I do love you!"
She glanced at him, eyes brimming with sadness. "Why'd you leave then?"
The question stopped him dead in his tracks. Now he was stumped.
"I thought so," she murmured, front and eyes low.
"But I do love you," he repeated softly once he could move again, and he nudged her corner bumper with his. "I really do."
Her gaze flicked upwards to meet his, hope in her brown eyes. "Really?" A smile tugged at her lips.
He smiled at her. "Really. I wouldn't lie to you."
She chuckled, feeling the tears fall. She laughed quietly with her, relieved it was all over.
At least, for that moment.
"Don't you dare promise anything to her!" a voice growled, and both turned to face Francesco standing there with a full-blown brown glare. Marlene was there, and moved to pull the swayed cousin to the side.
"Rodrigo," Margo called softly as she was nudged away. Her voice rose in panic as she realized what was happening. "Rodrigo!"
"Margo!" he replied, but Francesco had sent Giacomo to hold Miguel back. This time, the butler was strong under orders. The grand tourer glared at Francesco. "What do you think you're doing?" he snarled.
"Stopping you from fooling her," Francesco growled, and Margo's pitiful cries stopped; only her sniffling remained.
"What?" Miguel was both shocked and enraged.
"I can see myself in you," Francesco told him. "A younger self, at least. What you're doing—I gave up on it well rough the same time I realized my love for Marlene." He didn't glance at Marlene, but his gaze was as stern as a father's. "And I haven't done it since." His gaze hardened. "You should realize, Miguel, that other women don't and won't matter once you've found her, and that you shouldn't take advantage of a girl's weaknesses."
Just then, there was a shrill cry to the side, and the men glanced to the women, where they found Margo's front pressed to MArlene's side, crying.
"You see?" Francesco's voice was quiet. "It doesn't help when you do that."
"How could you!" Margo sobbed, facing the car she thought had been hers just a moment ago. "How could you do such a thing; I trusted you!" Marlene didn't bother to push her cousin back.
"But I was telling—"
"No!" she shrieked. "I know what your'e doing," she snarled. "Francesco already shared some antics with me, and I'm not going to be fooled like all the others." She paused for a moment as dread slunk on his chassis. "Leave!" she cried out. "Leave, and never come back, since you didn't love me, since you don't' care for what I feel, since you don't' care that I love you!"
"But—"
"I will not be a man's accessory; I will not be considered a weakling, and I will not be taken advantage of!" she snarled as they were bumper to bumper, eyes glaring into his. "Now, labas, togliersi, sortez, herauskommen!" She narrowed her eyes. "¡Vete!"
His eyes widened. They all meant the same thing: get out.
"And don't come running to me, saying you're sorry."
He turned and fled, away from the family, and as he shot past the threshold of the front door, he swore he could hear her crying.
He returned to the hotel room to find Pearle there, and the Maserati rushed to him. "Rodrigo, I was worried about you!" she said, nuzzling him.
He smiled weakly. "I wasn't far."
She stared at him. "Are you tired?" she asked.
"A little, yes."
"Come, then; let's get you to bed." She led him to the mattress, but not even the cushions or her soft touch could relax his distraught heart.
If anyone asked him, he preferred Pearle's quietness instead of the A7's heavy emotions.
