by Xavier Neal
Trying to wrap my mind around how he was here one second and lost, literally, in the blink of an eye the next, is still one of the more difficult things for me. I wanna pick up the phone and call him and can’t. I keep waiting for him to appear in the doorway of my room and he never arrives. I find myself starting to ask Beni can we have him over for dinner because it’s been too long and begin to bawl when I have to remind myself he's gone. That life has to move on without him.
That I have to move on without him.
That I have no family left to merge with this one.
“Should we play fetch now?” Beni asks as though he can sense the turn my thoughts have taken. “Does the…thing…,” his hand motions towards Tank, “know how to play fetch or will we have to train it?”
A crooked grin appears on my lips. “How do you know so very little about dogs?”
“Why would I know anything about dogs? We didn’t have them growing up, and they aren’t a commodity I currently profit from.”
My head bobs at the valid point he’s made.
“But, much like prenatal care, I am making an effort to learn.” Our eyes lovingly lock. “Per te.”
For you.
Another wave of warmth washes away the melancholy mood that was beginning to settle on my shoulder leading me to quietly state, “And, I’m thankful for it.”
Beni lets one corner of his mouth kick upward.
“Per te.”
At the addition, I’m flashed a full smirk. “I hope our son or daughter gets my Italian accent.”
“Oh…fuck you,” I playfully snap back before we both erupt into laughter.
The once alienated sound is given the chance to spread itself over and over. We unclip Tank from his leash and take turns tossing his favorite neon green ball across a more open portion of what we call a backyard. He tramples over flowers. Runs into bushes. Knocks over garden décor. I cautiously keep waiting for Beni to complain about the mess or how untidy the activity is, yet it never happens. He merely focuses his attention on challenging me to innocent throwing competitions that don’t stay civil for long.
“This isn’t Scrabble, Mia Bella,” my fiancé trash talks at the same time he sheds his suit jacket for better range of throwing. “This is real physical activity. With all of my love and respect…I will always best you.”
“Do you even know how to play sports or just know what they look like on TV?”
He snatches the ball out of my hand on a mirth-filled fussing, “Quella bocca su di te, lo giuro...”
That mouth on you, I swear...
Beni pulls his arm back to launch the object forward; however, I reach around from behind and pop it out of his possession. It bounces on the ground twice, exciting Tank at the prospect of catching it, before I gain control. He grumbles something unhappily in Italian at the attack and lunges my direction to take it back. On a surprisingly graceful spin, I manage to dodge being captured. Laughter falls from us both but doesn’t deter his efforts in retrieval. My weaker legs prevent me from turning it into a friendly chase, which is what prompts me to abruptly roll the ball away for Tank to chase. The fact I no longer have the ball doesn’t matter to my fiancé. He continues his efforts to collect me into his arms until they’re wound around my waist holding my back to his front. Giggles are attached to wiggles that inform me if I need to get away, I truly can, and the conscious choice to provide me with that option only has me leaning into the missed embrace more.
His head falls onto my shoulder.
His lips angle themselves towards my ear.
Although his words are faint, they still felt as strong as ever. “Ti amo, Mia Bella.”
Without overthinking, without over worrying, without the slightest hesitation, I whisper back, “I love you, too.”
Once more, fear is forced into the back of my mind, so that happiness can have an opportunity to shine bright like the morning sun.
I know we still have shit to work through as individuals…
As a couple.
As a family.
I know there’s still challenges to face and emotional battles to be won, but at least I know we’re on the same side.
That we’re in this together.
At least I know that he really doesn’t love me any less even when my anxiety tells me he should.
Chapter 11
Leaning back into the chair that sits at her bedside, I playfully sigh, “I feel as though I should be offended by your enjoyment of the one thing that wasn’t completely homemade.”
Chantal slowly sucks butter off her thumb forcing me to adjust in my seat to prevent my dick from making an unwanted appearance.
Fuck, I miss that tongue of hers.
How hard she would suck.
Dipping my balls in her cum-filled mouth once or twice before she’d swallow.
I shift a second time to the side and sip at the wine in my possession in hopes of drowning those thoughts.
When she’s finally finished, she sassily questions, “Did you make the wine that I’m almost certain went into the sauce.”
“It was a white wine, alcohol cooks out, so you and the baby are fine.”
“Mmhm, but did you make the wine? Was it homemade? Did you cook with homemade toilet wine?”
Disgust darts into my glare. “No.”
“What about the butter? I’m assuming your recipe used butter. Almost everything you cook uses butter.”
“Lo ha fatto.”
It did.
“Was it homemade butter? Did you whip the cream or whatever weird shit it is people do to make butter in the comfort of their own home?”
“No.”
“Oh. Alright then. And, did you make the flour that was used to bread the chicken, Little Red Hen? Did you gather the grains and grind those bitches up?”
The narrowing glare she’s given receives giggles.
“Technically speaking, there were many things that weren’t homemade, so the fact I love the garlic bread the most shouldn’t hurt so much.” More snickers are slipped into the air at the same time she reaches for the piece on my abandoned plate. “See what I did there. I was helping. I was helping you feel better.”
Mirth can’t hide itself in my tone. “Is that what you were doing? Helping, Mia Bella?”
“Helping myself to more bread,” she teases between bites.
It’s impossible not to stop, smirk, and soak in every little bit of her when she’s like this.
Yesterday morning was the first time I had heard the familiar sounds of her beautiful laugh. I was prepared to spend the day doing whatever I could to give it back the permanent residence it deserved; however, the walk wore her out, which put her back to sleep where she, unfortunately, had some sort of nightmare. She woke up screaming. Again, she completely shut down. Didn’t speak much and barely ate. It wasn’t until the middle of the night, mere seconds before I had drifted off, did I get another piece of the woman who had life in her eyes. She thought I was asleep. I didn’t give her any clue that I wasn’t. Chantal stroked my cheek softly, whispered asinine apologies for being what she has deemed broken, and ended with an Italian “I love you”. I’m not entirely sure what pained me more – to pretend I wasn’t aware of the affections or that she only felt comfortable giving them to me when I wasn’t conscious. When I couldn’t return them.
Nevertheless, when she awoke this morning, she seemed in slightly better spirits. After her visit with Dr. Gregory, who insisted she start to eat more and Miss Paschen, who talked to her about the steadiness of her vitals, she asked could we go on another walk. I immediately delayed my first meeting of the day to fulfill the request. We walked, hand in hand, slowly. Talked casually. It was as if it was our first date all over again except, instead of fancy attire, she was in silk pajamas and a long coat. I decided then and there I’d make us dinner. I spent my meetings multi-tasking while leaving Miko to work from her room while gossiping about the terrible show they’re both invested in. He slyly kept me posted on he
r mood. He even tricked her into getting more acquainted with Dario by having him sit in the room with them to become invested in the series. By the time I was finished working and cooking, they basically had their own watch-party and I felt I was crashing. I opted out of complaining to enjoy the beautiful sight of her open mouth laughing. I observed the joy radiating off of her naturally, again, and chose to bask in it rather than be upset I hadn’t had the chance to spend more time in it. Oddly enough, I was prepared for us all to eat together while watching the dreadful drama, yet she asked could we dine alone.
Her desire was immediately met.
This meal is the first she’s openly expressed wanting to have together.
It’s progress.
I am more than content with progress.
Perhaps her wounds – mentally and physically – aren’t completely healed, but this indicates that they are healing.
That our connection is healing.
First us.
Next the order that has been disrupted.
“My apologies that I was unable to spend more time with you today, Mia Bella.” The glass in my possession momentarily meets my lips for a drink. “There were too many fires to put out and barely enough moments.”
“Should you not be allowed to cook anymore?”
Her continued teasing ignites another smirk.
“Really though.” She shoves the remainder of the bread into her mouth. “What’s going on?”
Hesitation to tell her anything for fear of needlessly stressing reigns supreme. I whirl the end of the wine in my glass around in hopes that my silence will have her surrender her care to the subject, but she simply continues to stare on in silence.
Expecting an answer.
Demanding one.
“There have been some calls regarding…the status of our engagement.”
She glances at the piece of jewelry. I'm thankful she doesn’t take off even when sorrow seems to overwhelm her. “What about it?”
“Where are we with plans that should be in motion by now? Where is the official announcement? Where is the approved media coverage? When should they expect an invitation to an engagement party? Why haven’t we had one yet? Etc, etc, etc. Different queries come from different families, and the varying time zones they’re stationed in make juggling their conversations around those of Bennett Enterprises somewhat complicated.”
Chantal thoughtfully hums in response and nudges the tray table towards me to remove.
I promptly put my glass down to clear the object away. “Those answers are far from important at this time, Mia Bella. Possono aspettare.” During the relocating of our dishes to a designated area near the door for pick up by the house staff, I repeat my point in English. “They can wait.” Our eyes meet again once I’m finished. “Your recovery is more important than whether or not we’ll have a spring or fall wedding.”
Her expression is harder to read than I expect.
“Sì?”
She begins to fidget with the edge of the blanket creating discomfort I don’t like.
“Right?”
“How um…,” her fingers tug at the fabric in her possession, “how is work? Did Julianna get the publicity issue handled?”
My lack of answering resumes.
“What about the expansion project in Nova Scotia? Did the financing proposal get approved?”
I slide my hands into my pockets to assist in holding onto my composure.
It hurts to not be able to discuss these things with her, especially considering I could use the extra set of eyes prior to signing on the dotted line for the very thing she’s asking about. However, having the information, exposing her to more stressful elements is not a good idea.
Not now.
Not when her progress is so fickle.
“Did New York take my suggestions for cost cutting efforts after I reviewed their books to help get them the redecorating budget they were requesting?”
Denying myself the urge to smile grows difficult.
When the hell did she even find time to do that?
And, why am I not surprised that’s why their second proposal was more appealing?
Why am I not at all shocked she was on top of everything required of her and things that merely lightened my stress load?
“Can you…hear me or have I turned into Maxx on the Netflix show where I’m talking to the audience Zack Morris style for their amusement?”
I stop at the foot of her bed at the same time I reply, “Posso sentirti.”
I can hear you.
“Okay then, why aren’t you answering me?”
My lips seal shut again.
To my surprise, her tone grows firm. “Rispondimi per favore.”
The demand to respond given in another language is what warrants a retort. “No.”
“Excuse me?”
“You do not need to worry about office matters at this time.”
“But-”
“Your focus needs to be on improving your health.”
“But-”
“Caring for our child.”
“But-”
“That’s all that should concern you for the foreseeable future.”
Chantal’s mouth cracks open as anger crackles in her gaze, yet something unknown snaps it shut.
Backs her down.
“I’ll be out of town for…,” the sentence is difficult to finish, “about a week. Dr. Gregory and Miss Paschen will continue their care in spite of my absence.”
The formal use of both of their names is an effort I consciously make when discussing them in their professional intended purpose as opposed to the personal one that occasionally occurs. It’s become my subtle distinguishing action to indicate when we’re discussing them in medically necessary forms and when it’s purely conversational.
My announcement is proceeded by her wordlessly inching down underneath the covers.
“I will be leaving you in the most trusted hands I can.”
She barely nods her understanding.
“Dario will be left behind here to assist in the process.”
This time there’s no reaction.
Desperation to keep her from completely boxing me out pushes me to state, “I’ll be out of the country. Would you like me to bring you something sweet back? Perhaps something soft and chewy. In the famiglia of taffy since taffy is an American delicacy.”
Chantal makes a noticeable effort to smile, but sadly, it never reaches its full potential.
Unfortunately, I know exactly what’s next.
She’ll shut completely down to the point she blankly stares off not acknowledging anything or anyone.
I take the pending defeat on a half-hearted grin and make one last effort to connect before my departure. “You look like you’re ready to rest, Mia Bella. Would you like me to fix your blanket?”
The pause presented threatens to obliterate the hope I let myself build. Her brown stare grows glossier with each passing second and the ache it always causes spreads wider. Eventually, I’m offered a partial nod that prompts me to rush to her side, damn near knocking over the glass of wine I left on the floor. Chantal rolls onto her side to face away from me, and I force myself to swallow the lump in my throat that the action creates. I carefully dust away the breadcrumbs that missed her mouth onto the floor while mentally noting housekeeping needs to come in right away to tend to it. Afterwards, I pull the thin, light blue sheet up to the middle of her torso, the black down comforter to her hip, and smooth out the ruffles near her feet. A sense of panic prepares to pierce her gaze yet is banished by me leaning over and placing the remote near the arm her head is resting on. Comfort immediately blankets her body as well as my own to see her in a settled state.
I place a gentle kiss on the side of her forehead prior to quietly whispering, “I love you, Mia Bella.”
Her eyes close indicating that our time together is over.
Our brief stint in bliss has concluded.
Disappointment follows
me out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen area where Miko and Dario are eating.
“Housekeeping and medical personnel are the only ones allowed in there before morning,” I state to the man Miko believes can replace him. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” He stands with the intention to abandon his meal to take his post, an expected action I appreciate him not needing direction to take.
“That’s a bigger feat than you’re thinking,” my cousin chuckles on what will be his final bite of the chicken scallopini I prepared for dinner. “Aunt Giavanna is not as harmless as she looks.” The final forkful is followed by a quick chew and swallow. “Team her up with Mamma and you better have your eyes and ears open from here to Paris.” He wipes his hands on his napkin at the same time he rises from the dinner table. “They once took Uncle Benedict’s vintage Porsche out for an afternoon spin and somehow nicked one of the headlights. Not only did they magically keep him away from the vehicle until they could have a specialist come in to replace the light, but they also then convinced him that the reason they were randomly washing and detailing it was because they were trying to mix up their exercise routine rather than to wash away the evidence of their muddy adventure.” Amusement paints itself into his expression. “They’re fucking amazing.”
“Housekeeping. Medical personnel.”
The emphasized reiteration receives an immediate nod.
He makes his way back to where Chantal’s room is located while the two of us exit the structure altogether.
About four steps away from the building, Miko teases, “Should we bet on how long it takes for Dario to crack under Aunt Giavanna’s persuasione?”
“Se si rompe, lo ammazzo.”’
If he cracks, I'll kill him.
“È un po 'estremo.”
That's a bit extreme.
There’s no counter out of me as we move forward.
“And, you’re scontroso again.”
“I am not grumpy.”
“You are.”
“I am not.”
“Fine. Grouchy.”
The mocking causes me to send a scowl his direction.
“Your mood swings as bad as hers.” Mirth prances into his expression. “Sei incinta anche tu?”
