365 Days

by Blanka Lipinska

“A very interesting choice of music for a nightclub,” I said.

  “As you’ve noticed this is a club, not a disco.”

  I turned around and pressed my buttocks against his crotch, gently swaying. Massimo grabbed me by the throat and pushed my head into his shoulder.

  “You’ll be mine. I promise you that. And then I’ll take you when and where I want.”

  I laughed flirtatiously and slipped down the pedestal, heading toward the table. One of the men pushed himself to his feet and grabbed me by the wrist, pulling me to himself. I lost my balance and fell face-first into the sofa. The man pulled up my dress and clasped his hand on my buttock, slapping it and shouting something in Italian. I wanted to get up, hit him on the head with a bottle, but I couldn’t move. As some point, I felt someone dragging me by the arms along the soft fabric of the sofa. I raised my eyes and saw it was Domenico. I turned my head, noticing Massimo, who was holding the man who had been groping me just a moment ago by the throat. He held a gun in his other hand, pointing it at my unfortunate admirer.

  I wrestled out of Domenico’s grip and rushed toward the Man in Black.

  “He didn’t know who I am!” I said quickly, stroking Massimo’s hair placatingly.

  He roared something in response, and Domenico jumped toward us, grabbing me again, but this time tightening his grip so I couldn’t escape. Don Massimo turned his head to a man standing next to the sofa, and a moment later all the women were gone. As we were left alone, he pushed the man he had been holding by the throat down to his knees, aiming the gun at his head. The sight made my heart start thumping wildly. I could see the scene that had taken place on the driveway. It was still too nightmarish for me. I faced Domenico, huddling my face against his shoulder.

  “He can’t kill him,” I yelped, certain that a man couldn’t be murdered in cold blood in a public place like this.

  “Oh yes, he can,” the young Italian replied very calmly, holding me tight. “And he will.”

  I felt all blood drain from my face when I heard the horrific sound of a gunshot. My legs buckled and I started to slide down Domenico’s chest. He held me tighter and called something out. I felt myself being lifted and carried somewhere. The music died, and my body hit soft pillows.

  “You like to leave with a bang, don’t you?” I heard Domenico saying and pushing a pill under my tongue. “Now, now, Laura, calm down.”

  My heart was pounding like crazy, but soon it started slowing down. Then the door to the room swung open and Massimo barged in, with the gun stuck behind his belt.

  He kneeled by my side and stared at me, his face a mask of fear.

  “Did you kill him?” I asked in a whisper, praying that he didn’t.

  “No.”

  I breathed out and turned onto my back.

  “I only shot off his hands. He won’t be touching you again,” he replied, getting up and passing the gun to his assistant.

  “I want to go back to the hotel. Can I?” I asked, trying to stand up. The mix of the pill with the alcohol made the whole room whirl. I swayed and fell back to the pillows.

  The Man in Black held me in his arms and hugged me. Domenico opened the door, through which we went to the back office, then to the kitchen, and finally to the back exit. There was a limo waiting there for us. Massimo stepped in, still holding me in his arms. He placed me in a seat and covered me with his jacket. I fell asleep huddling against him.

  I regained consciousness back at the hotel, hearing Massimo fighting with the laces of my boots, swearing like a sailor.

  “There’s a zipper on the back,” I whispered, my eyes half closed. “You didn’t actually think anyone would be able to tie those shoelaces each time…”

  Massimo raised his eyes and sent me an angry look, pulling the boots from my feet.

  “What did you think, coming dressed like a…” He trailed off.

  “Finish the sentence,” I growled, irritated, instantly awake. “Like a whore, you mean. Isn’t that what you were going to say?”

  The Man in Black balled his fists. His teeth were clenched, and the muscles of his jaw worked.

  “You like whores, don’t you? Isn’t Veronica proof of that?”

  His eyes grew empty—devoid of emotion. I stopped talking, pursing my lips and waiting for a reply. Massimo didn’t speak, but I could see his knuckles whitening, his fists squeezing tightly. Finally, he shot up and sat astride me, his legs around my hips. He grasped my wrists and lifted my arms above my head, pinning them to the mattress. My chest started heaving frantically as he brought his face close to mine, then thrust his tongue inside my mouth. I moaned, writhing beneath him, but I was not going to fight him this time. I didn’t want to. His tongue pushed inside me, deeper and deeper and harder.

  “When I saw you dance…” he whispered, pulling away from me. “Fuck!” He dropped his head, hiding his face in the crook of my neck. “Why do you do this, Laura? Are you trying to prove something to me? Checking my limits? I decide what they are. Not you. Or maybe you want me to take what I desire? If that is so, I’ll do it.”

  “I was having a good time. Wasn’t I supposed to have a good time?” I asked. “Now get off me, I need a drink,” I added.

  He raised his head, sending me a surprised look.

  “You need what?”

  “A drink,” I repeated, crawling from under him as he loosened his grip and fell to his side over the mattress. “You’re getting on my nerves, Massimo,” I muttered, and walked over to the table, pouring myself a glass of amber liquid from a carafe.

  “Laura, you do not drink spirits. And after taking your medication and all the champagne you’ve had at the club, this is not a good idea.”

  “I don’t drink spirits?” I asked, raising the glass. “Watch me, then.”

  I tilted the glass and downed it in one gulp. God, it tastes bad, I thought, wincing. My dislike of spirits didn’t stop me from pouring myself another glass. Plodding to the terrace, I turned my head and sent the Man in Black a look. He was watching my little show with his head propped on his arm.

  “You’ll regret this, girl!” he called out when I left through the door leading outside.

  The evening was wonderful—the heat had dissipated, and the air seemed fresh, even though we were in downtown Rome. I sat on a long sofa and gulped down another sip of my drink. Sometime later, as I finished it, I felt drowsy and sleepy. My head swam. I usually didn’t drink spirits, just like Massimo said. Now I knew why. The spinning in my head made walking difficult—not to mention finding my way through the door. I squeezed one eye shut, focusing hard to appear in control of my body, intending to go back to bed. As gracefully as I was able, I stood up and grabbed the doorframe. Massimo could be watching. An instant later I realized I was right—he was lying in bed with a laptop on his legs. He was naked, not counting the tight-fitting CK boxers. God almighty, he’s too beautiful, I thought as he raised his eyes and looked at me. My drunken brain was suggesting that I slowly drop my clothes, and leave him to himself. I took a step forward, fiddling with the shoulder strap of my dress, letting it slip off. The dress slid down my body and landed on the floor. I wanted to smoothly raise my knee and disappear into the bathroom, but at this point my legs had another idea. My right ankle got tangled in the dress, while my left foot stepped on the fabric. I fell to the carpet with a yelp and burst out in nervous laughter.

  Massimo materialized above me, like that first night when I had bumped into him at the club. This time, he didn’t lift me by the elbows, instead taking me tenderly in his arms and laying me on the bed, checking if I had hurt myself in the fall. When my hysterical giggling finally died down, he sent me a worried look.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Take me,” I whispered, pulling off the last elements of my attire. As the white lace thong slid down to my ankles, I lifted a leg and snatched the piece of underwear between two fingers. “Take me now, Massimo!” I crossed my arms behind my head and spread my legs wide.

  T
he Man in Black sat still, staring at me in his intense way, and a slight smile illuminated his face. He bent over me and kissed me lightly on the lips, covering me with the duvet.

  “I told you it was a bad idea for you to drink more. Good night.”

  His reaction flustered me. I attacked, lifting an arm to slap him again, but either I was too slow or he was too fast—he caught my wrist and tied it to the pillar of the bed just like he had before, when Veronica had been doing her show. Then he jumped on the bed, and before I knew it, I was strapped to the bed, thrashing wildly.

  “Let me go!” I yelled.

  “Good night,” Massimo repeated, leaving the room and turning off the light.

  I was woken by the summer sun shining through the window. My head was heavy and throbbing with pain, but it wasn’t my biggest problem—I couldn’t feel my hands. What the hell is happening? I thought, my eyes shooting sideways, taking in the straps tying me down. I jerked my hands, but the sound of metal scraping against wood nearly made my brain burst. I wailed silently and took a look around. There was nobody there. I tried remembering what had happened last night, but the only thing I could recall was my pole dance. I groaned, thinking about all the things that must have happened when we got back—Massimo must have gotten what he wanted. How else would I have ended up like this? Now the only thing I could do was die of shame and hangover. A few more minutes of self-pity, and I started to think more logically. I fiddled with the locks with the tips of my fingers, but whoever had designed my trap had made sure that freeing myself on my own was practically impossible.

  “Fuck, shit, fuck!” I swore helplessly. That’s when I heard a quiet knock on the door.

  “Come in,” I said haltingly, fearing who I would see at the door.

  It was Domenico. I can’t remember being this happy in my life. The young man froze and watched me for a while, clearly amused. I dropped my eyes to see if my breasts were visible, but I had been covered with the sheets very meticulously.

  “Don’t just stand there! Help me out!” I growled, irritated.

  The young Italian walked over and freed my hands.

  “The evening was a success, I gather?” he said, lifting his eyebrows.

  “Give me a break.” I covered my head with the duvet. I wanted to die.

  When I took a peek under the sheets, I realized I was naked.

  “Oh no,” I yelped.

  “Massimo left. He has a lot of work, so you’ll have to bear with me. I’ll be waiting in the living room with breakfast.”

  After thirty minutes, a shower, and a bunch of Tylenol, I sat at the table, sipping tea with milk.

  “Have fun yesterday?” Domenico asked, putting his newspaper down.

  “As far as I know, not really. But judging by the state you found me in, I did have some fun after we returned. Thank God I don’t remember any of it.”

  Domenico burst out in booming laughter, nearly choking on his croissant. “How much do you remember?”

  “My pole dance. Nothing more.”

  He nodded understandingly. “I have to say, that dance of yours is hard to forget. You’re very flexible.” He grinned.

  “Ugh… kill me,” I groaned, my head hitting the table with an audible thump. “But first tell me what happened next.”

  Domenico raised his eyebrows and took a sip of espresso. “Don Massimo took you to your room and—”

  “Fucked me.”

  “I doubt that, though I wasn’t there. I met him a minute after we returned and then saw him leaving the room and going to sleep in the second bedroom. You know, we’re family, me and Massimo, and he didn’t look”—Domenico searched for the right word—“satisfied. And after a night spent with you, I believe that is how he would have looked.”

  “Oh my God, Domenico! Why do you torment me so? You know what happened. You can just tell me.”

  “I can, but it won’t be as fun.” The expression on my face must have told him I was in no mood for jokes right now. “All right. You got drunk and got naughty, so he tied you to the bed and went to sleep.”

  I sighed with relief. I couldn’t stop thinking about what had really happened, though.

  “Oh stop it, you. Eat something. We have a lot to do today.”

  We only spent three days in Rome, but I didn’t see Massimo even once the whole time. After our night at the club, he had disappeared without a trace, and Domenico wouldn’t talk about it.

  So we spent the whole time together, with Domenico showing me the Eternal City. We ate together, shopped together, and went to the spa together. Was this how all our trips would be?

  When on the second day we were having lunch in a breathtaking restaurant with a view of the Spanish Steps, I asked him, “Will he let me work at all? I can’t just sit around, waiting for him all the time.”

  Domenico kept quiet for a long while, before replying. “I can’t speak for Massimo. I don’t know what’s in his head. So please, Laura, don’t ask me about these things. You have to remember who he is. The less questions, the better.”

  “Goddamn it, I have a right to know what he’s doing! Why he isn’t calling and if he’s even alive,” I growled, dropping my fork with a loud clink.

  “He’s alive,” Domenico retorted gruffly, avoiding my eyes.

  I grimaced and returned to my meal. On the one hand, this life was as comfortable as it got, but on the other, I wasn’t the kind of person who just wanted to sit around doing nothing. I wasn’t a trophy wife. Especially since Massimo wasn’t even my man.

  On the morning of the third day, Domenico and I had breakfast as normal. His cell phone rang, and the man excused himself and left the table. He talked for a couple minutes before returning to me.

  “You will leave Rome today, Laura.”

  I sent him a surprised look. “We’ve only just arrived.”

  The young Italian smiled at me apologetically and headed toward my closet. I downed my tea and followed him.

  A few minutes later, I tied my hair in a high ponytail and put some mascara on—I was getting more tanned by the day, which meant I needed less makeup. Each day, the temperature outside reached eighty-five degrees. Without knowing where we were going, I put on dark blue denim shorts and a scanty white top that barely covered my small breasts. Today’s outfit was a bit of a declaration—I refused to be elegant. Besides, I dropped the underwear. As for shoes, I picked my beloved Isabel Marant wedge sneakers. I put on sunglasses and grabbed a bag when Domenico walked into the room. He stopped, rooted to the spot, and gazed at me for a while.

  “Are you sure you want to go out like this?” he asked awkwardly. “Don Massimo won’t be happy.”

  I spun on my heel nonchalantly, slid my glasses halfway down my nose, and shot him a disdainful look.

  “What makes you think I care? After he left me for three days?”

  I turned my back on him and went to the elevator.

  My absurdly expensive watch told me it was 11 a.m. when Domenico showed me the car I would be driven in.

  “Aren’t you going with me?” I asked, pouting like a little girl.

  “I can’t, but Claudio will tend to you during your trip.” He shut the door and the car drove off. I felt alone and sad all of a sudden. Was it possible I was missing Massimo?

  My driver, Claudio, who doubled as my bodyguard, was not too talkative.

  I grabbed my phone and dialed Mom. She seemed calmer now but wasn’t too happy when I told her I wouldn’t be joining them this week.

  When we finished talking, the car took a turn off the highway, and a few minutes later entered a town called Fiumicino. Claudio drove steadily, expertly navigating the narrow, picturesque streets in the enormous SUV. At one point, he hit the brakes, and I saw we were in a large port filled to the brim with luxury yachts.

  An elderly man dressed all in white opened the door for me. I sent the driver a questioning look, and in response, he nodded to me, allowing me to step out.

  “Welcome to Porto di Fiumicino, L
aura. I am Fabio and I will take you to your boat. Follow me.” The man gestured at me.

  When, after a short while, we stopped to board the yacht, I raised my head and gaped. Before me was the Titan.

  Most boats in the port were white, but this one was a cold steel gray, with tinted windows.

  “The yacht is nearly three hundred feet long. It has twelve guest cabins, a Jacuzzi, a cinema, spa, gym, as well as a large pool and a helicopter pad.”

  “Not too shabby,” I mumbled, picking my jaw up from the floor.

  When I entered the first of six decks, I found myself in a grand living room, only partially roofed. It was elegant, but very minimalistic. Most of the furniture was white with steel-gray details. The floor was made of glass. Then there was the dining room and the stairs to the bow and the Jacuzzi. Most tables were laden with vases filled with white roses. I focused on the one without any flowers. Instead, there was a gigantic ice bucket filled with bottles of Moët Rosé.

  Before I finished the tour of the deck, Fabio showed up next to me with a glass filled with the champagne. Did they all think I was some kind of alcoholic, my only way of dealing with free time being binging on champagne?

  “What would you like to do before we set sail? A tour of the rest of the yacht? Some sunbathing? Or maybe you’d like lunch?”

  “I’d like to be left alone, if that’s not a problem.” I put my handbag down and headed toward the bow.

  Fabio nodded and left me. I stayed on the deck, observing the sea, slowly downing my glass. Then I had another one, and one more, and so on until the bottle was empty. The hangover I was still suffering from started dissipating, but only because I was drunk again.

  The Titan left port. As the land disappeared over the horizon, I could only think about how I regretted ever visiting Sicily. I dreamed of not meeting Massimo and not becoming his savior. I could have lived my normal life in my normal world instead of sitting here, caged like a bird.

  “What the hell are you wearing this time?” I heard the familiar voice behind me. “You look like—”

  I spun and nearly bumped into Massimo, who was standing right behind me, just like when we had first met. I was pretty tipsy already, and I stumbled, falling to the sofa.