by Lacuna Reid
I haven’t cried in years. Not since after my father’s funeral, and I wasn’t even crying for him. That alcoholic bastard didn’t deserve any tears… no… I was crying for my mother and all the violence she endured at his hands. I was crying for the child that I was… beaten black and blue by the man who was supposed to care for me…
Is that still what I’m crying about now? Did my fucked-up childhood mess me up so badly that I can’t really love anyone?
I take my hatchet and begin chopping kindling, but it’s no use. Nothing will smash away the feeling of shame that crashes down on me.
Mira…
I’ve fucked it up, haven’t I? How is she ever going to trust me now when I’ve been such an asshole to her on more than one occasion?
At least, she has the others, who can be sweet with her, who can cuddle her and love her and make love to her and stick around to be there and hold her.
My heart and body both ache for her now. For the first time in my life, I wish I could be the kind of guy who could have lain there with her, on the shore of the lake, and looked into her eyes… I wish I had wrapped her in my arms and stroked her hair softly. I’ve never wanted to be that guy before and the urge surprises me.
I throw down the hatchet and dive onto my mattress instead, which is still out on my deck from last night when I was enjoying the view of the night sky… thinking of Mira.
Why must she invade my mind like this… invade my life?
I’m angry… but the truth is, I welcome the invasion. I want her. I need her. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’d do anything to keep her here and in my life… I’m really just angry at myself… and as the anger passes, I’m sad, sad for that little boy who I once was and for the happy childhood he never got to have; I’m still haunted by the vacant expression in my mother’s face. Even after we ran away from my father, she was never whole again, never present, as if his violence had permanently shaken her loose from her body. I only went to the funeral to make sure it was true – that he was dead – that it was over. My mother had died years before, though it would be fair to say that she hadn’t had much of a life for many years before then.
The wounds are deep, and I know they’re holding me back, making me into an arrogant cock because that’s the only way I know how to protect myself from more pain.
Can I ever heal enough to get close to Mira?
It feels like an impossible feat… I don’t know if I will ever be whatever it is, she wants me to be… but for now, I make a vow to myself… to work on being kind… if I can’t be the perfect boyfriend, the least I can do is not be a total dick.
Chapter Eighteen
Mira
A few days after the blindfold incident with Theo, I’m relaxing in my room one afternoon after cooking a big lunch for some of Gino’s guests when there is a knock on my door.
“Who is it?” I call.
“Marina,” the familiar voice says, “and a few others. We have a delivery for you.”
“Umm…” my mind races with thoughts of Cliff and what he could be up to now. “Who is it from?”
“From Theo,” Marina says through the door. There’s a slight teasing lilt in her voice, as if she might suddenly break into a round of Mira-and-Theo-up-a-tree.
I open the door to see Marina and about six other staff helpers all carrying bags and boxes.
“What the…”
“Gifts from Theo,” Marina says. “He hopes you like them.”
They come into my room, deposit all the dozens of packages on the bed and floor, and then promptly leave.
The boxes and bags all contain beautiful things – items of clothing, beautifully crafted in silk and cashmere and angora and Italian cotton. They look stunning and feel wonderful in my hands, and I’m confused until I remember how Theo ripped the strap of my dress. He must be trying to make it up to me… but this is excessive.
Every item is gorgeous – skirts and shirts and dresses and a couple of pairs of very nice linen pants… all in the colors I like to wear – dark greens and reds, purples and golds, and a few blue and black colored items. There is even some sexy lingerie, which sends a tight feeling straight to my crotch, imagining what the guys might do to me in those... I love these things… but for some reason, all I feel is pain and anger…
My emotions are churning in my chest and I can’t explain them. I just know that as much as I want these beautiful things, I can’t possibly accept them.
I immediately go to find Theo. He’s in his study as usual.
“Thank you for the kind gesture… but it’s too much,” I say.
“It’s nothing,” he replies. “I just want you to be comfortable, to have what you need here.” He frowns at the look on my face. “I’m sorry if it’s not what you wanted…”
I sigh. “It’s… it’s very generous, and… it’s all gorgeous. I mean, if I had the money, sure I might choose clothes exactly like this… it’s just that I don’t want to feel like I’m being kept like a pet.” A very fancy pet…
“What do you want then, Mira?” Theo says in his rich gravelly voice. A jolt of desire shoots through me, and I know exactly what I want right now…
“I don’t just mean in this moment,” Theo says, a slight smile playing on his lips. “I mean for this life. What are your aspirations? What do you want to give to the world? I know that you love food…”
No one has ever asked me this before… not really. When my father asked me what I wanted, I think he had one or two life plans in mind that were acceptable and they all involved roles in his company. He certainly didn’t want me to be a chef. He made that clear enough… and then there was Cliff, who only wanted to keep me as a pet. He even chose my clothes – pink and pastel twin-suits and other gross preppy things that were never even close to my own style. No wonder I reacted this way to Theo’s generosity.
Theo is not Cliff… he’s not trying to take away my power, he’s asking me what I want, for a change.
I feel something shift inside me – a seed of an idea – one that I don’t even recognize exactly what it is until well after it’s sprouted… sharing what I love – that connection… I love food because it’s so real – essential – because it has the power to maintain our lives and also to transcend. Flavor has the power to transport me – take me places in my mind and body. Food is art for me. Food is life. I do want to share that with the world. I just don’t know exactly how yet.
Theo looks at me. A sad smile plays across his mouth. “I can have the clothes donated to the local charity shops if that’s what you wish, Mira. I didn’t give you a gift to upset you,” he says.
“No…” I reply. “Don’t do that. I want to accept your gift. I really do. I just need to get my head around it all. It’s really thoughtful of you, and I do appreciate it… and you’ve given me so much more…”
Theo smiles, more warmly this time. He steps forward and wraps me into a hug.
“Thank you,” I say into his shoulder.
After a few moments he steps away. “I mean what I said before, Mira – think about it – think about what you want to achieve and then talk to me about it – and Gino and the others. We might be able to help… not… not to treat you as a pet, but as a friend and… as the special person you are to us. We all want you to be happy. That’s the most important thing.”
Theo steps back, away from me. His expression is stony. It’s like a wall comes down between us.
“Why do you do this?” I ask him. “Why do you go so distant?”
Theo looks out towards the window. “I know… you have feelings for the others too, Mira.”
I nod.
“I need some time to process.” Theo says. “It’s probably best if we keep our distance for a while.”
I leave Theo’s office. It’s obvious that he wants me to go, but I feel so conflicted. I’m disappointed at his request for space, especially because I want to finish what we started a few days ago… but at the same time, I’m kind of excited at w
hat he’s suggesting – that it’s alright for me to be with the guys… all of them!
In some ways it seems so wrong… it goes against a whole lot of social norms, I mean… what would my father think? But at the same time, I don’t give a fuck what he or anyone else would say. This is my life and I can’t really see a better way around it.
I’m developing serious feelings for four different guys at the same time, and I can tell the feelings are mutual. Despite Theo’s aloofness, I find him so compelling, it’s almost painful to resist him and his sophisticated allure. I don’t know how I could choose between him and Elias, who is so sweet and down-to-earth, or Gino, who is so suave and charming and drop-dead-gorgeous, or wild, free Helio, who drove me crazy at first, and not in a good way, but who I’m just starting to unravel and I can’t wait to find out more about him and what makes him tick.
I go back to my room and I can barely move for all the boxes and bags – all the clothing that Theo bought for me. It’s nothing, he said. Sure… nothing… just elegant and gorgeous items that probably cost more than my chef’s salary in New York.
I pull out a forest green silk dress with an empire line and deep V neck. I can’t help but try it on. The soft fabric feels luxurious against my skin and when I look in the mirror, I feel like a princess.
It’s like Christmas. I take the items out, admiring each one, and hang them in my wardrobe.
There are several angora shawls and some cashmere sweaters in dark blue and green and gold. Everything is in a simple style… which is kind of my thing, but much, much more elegant and expensive than any other clothes I’ve bought in my adult life.
I can’t help but compare these gorgeous things and how much I like them to how much I loathed everything that Cliff or my father bought for me. My father dressed me in pink taffeta, and Cliff wanted me to dress like the wives of his business associates, so it was all casual sailor stripes or pencil skirts and matching jackets in pastel tones. I hated all of it. At least Theo, in his generous gesture, figured out the kinds of things I would actually want to wear, with Marina’s help, I’m sure.
I finally finish hanging the new clothes in my wardrobe.
I’m tired, but I also feel really satisfied in seeing them all here in my gorgeous new apartment.
I shower and then put on a pair of plum colored silk pajamas from Theo that look and feel divine.
I could get used to this…
Chapter Nineteen
Mira
A few more days go by and I’m quite busy in the kitchen, cooking for a few smaller functions and preparing for the big dinner party that Gino is planning at the end of the month for key business contacts.
There seems to be more work in the kitchens than ever, and I barely have time to talk to the other guys except for Elias, who is often in the kitchen with me.
Occasionally, we share an intimate smile or casual touch. We are careful to only let it linger for as long as it’s not going to make the helpers uncomfortable. Elias is incredibly sweet and thoughtful, and much shier than I realized. More than once, I wish I was back at his house with him, under that tree or in his bed… but I shake myself. I need to keep things professional and not turn into a sex-crazed maniac and lose my dream job!
The whole time I’m doing other things, I keep thinking about the past life regression that Gino has booked for the end of the week. I can’t wait to find out more. I hold off on reading more books, because, as Gino says, it’s better not to influence it. I don’t want any pre-conceived ideas to get in the way of discovering more about what’s going on here and what my purpose is in all this.
On the morning of the past life regression, I struggle to choose an outfit.
“Wear something comfortable,” Gino had said.
I try on three different dresses before opting for shorts and a t-shirt and hoping Gino isn’t planning on taking me anywhere fancy for dinner afterwards. I throw a plain black minidress that’s only slightly too small into my backpack, just in case.
On my way down, I pass Marina at reception. She smiles warmly, and I greet her, matching her smile. I have to admit, I was threatened by this beautiful woman with gorgeous caramel curls and deep golden eyes, if only because I was so attracted to her bosses that I worried she was competition, but that doesn’t seem to be the case, and she has been lovely and exceedingly helpful to me whenever I’ve needed anything.
Gino is waiting outside the lobby, talking to Victor, the El Cielo manager. The older man has a strange look in his eyes when he sees me, and I realize that, despite being here for weeks, I’ve hardly said two words to him.
Victor always seems to wear a suit, even on a hot day like this, and there’s something uncomfortable about him, a stiffness to his demeanor. Somehow, he manages to be even more aloof than Theo, and that’s hard to beat.
As soon as Gino sees me, his attention drifts from Victor and lands entirely on me. I don’t miss the fact that Victor scowls, and that makes me like him even less, but Gino is looking at me with those stunning green eyes and I quickly forget all about Victor.
Gino embraces me and then walks over to open the car door.
“This looks like a fancy car,” I say, smiling as I get in. “What is it?”
“Alfa Romeo,” he tells me, and the sound of him speaking Italian, even just the name of the car, sends sexy shivers down my spine. He scoots around, jumps into the driver’s seat, and we begin our little road trip.
“Did you bring snacks?” I ask.
“Hah – of course not. Italians don’t eat in cars. That’s what restaurants are for.”
I laugh but Gino is dead serious.
“Fast food is practically illegal where I come from, mi amore. I kid you not.”
“Really?”
“Notice the distinct lack of cup holders.” He waves his hand around the car, and he’s right; no cupholders in sight.
“So, what do we do if we get hungry?” I ask, “Or need coffee?”
“The trip is not that long, surely,” says Gino. “We will be driving for only an hour. But whenever you wish, we could stop, take some time, have lunch. I assumed you had breakfast.”
“I did.”
“Excellent. So, just let me know whenever you wish to stop.”
“It’s nice,” I say, looking out the window as we drive past vineyards and fields. “It’s like there’s all the time in the world… so, why have fast food.”
“Exactly. Italia knows how to respect time. Time is for pleasure.” He gives me a wink, and a shiver runs through me again. I glance at Gino’s profile as he drives, trying not to stare too obviously, but clearly failing.
“What is it?” He asks. “Is there something on my face?”
“No, it’s just… I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a classically good-looking man in my life.”
Gino chuckles. “I will save that close to my heart, mi amore. It’s good to know you find me attractive, and also, I can tease the others that I am better-looking.”
He laughs again.
“Please don’t,” I say. “You’re all gorgeous in different ways…”
Gino nods, but he still keeps that smug smile on his face, like the cat who ate the cream.
We stop for lunch in a little vineyard outside of Barcelona. The instructions from the hypnotherapist are to have a light meal beforehand, so I order a salad that comes with goat’s cheese and walnuts, which turns out to be fresh, crisp, and exactly what my body needed. Gino has the tortellini with sage butter and hazelnuts. It smells amazing, and when Gino offers me a taste from the edge of his fork, I can’t resist… How can one possibly refuse the most handsome man in the world – especially when he’s Italian and offering me pasta? It tastes heavenly.
We refrain from wine because Gino is driving and because it’s another instruction from the hypnotherapist, but Gino does taste a few of the proprietor’s best vintages and buys several cases on our way out.
It must be nice having so much money, you can buy expens
ive local wine by the case.
“They are originally Italians,” Gino explains to me on the way back to the car. “So, it’s okay.”
“And I thought Theo was the arrogant one, being French and all.”
“Hah – Theo is only half French. His mother was Spanish.”
“I didn’t know that,” I say, wondering what else I don’t know about my tall, dark, handsome, intense, and constantly aloof lover.
“Not that either compare to the majesty of Italia.”
I laugh at Gino, realizing his patriotism is half jest and half absolutely earnest.
“I have to agree with you that Italian food is right up there,” I say. “But what would Italy be without the tomatoes, eggplants, and capsicums that came from South America.”
“That is our talent, cara mia,” Gino says, and my heart melts. “We take the humble stone and carve a masterpiece. That is what it means to be Italiano.”
I can’t argue with that, after all, isn’t Italian known to be the most beautiful language in the world? I make a note to ask – even beg – Gino to speak Italian to me next time we are up close and personal.
The hypnotherapy session is not until 2:30 pm, but we arrive half an hour early at the office, which is tucked above a bakery. Gino comes in with me, though he insists that he will wait at reception while I have my session, to give me more privacy. I fill out some forms from the receptionist and then sit with Gino, holding hands. His palms are so smooth that I can’t help but imagine how silky they would feel all over my body.
Just before it’s time to go in, Gino turns to me, and there’s a look of concern in his eyes. “Remember Mira,” he says. “We are not the same people in our past lives – not exactly. Our souls are the same, but our bodies and the trauma of our lives both shape and influence us to whomever we become.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Just be aware,” Gino says with a pleading look, as if he’s asking me for forgiveness. “… and please be compassionate. I don’t know what life you will come across, but if you see us in a different time, in a different body, remember it is both us and not us. I believe we are here to learn and that each life is a new opportunity to learn and grow.”
