365 Days

by Blanka Lipinska

  Then I went to the garden, where I first kissed Massimo. I found another black envelope on the canopied beach sofa. Inside, an invitation to our wedding and the few words I wanted to hear: I love you. I pressed the envelope to my chest and went back to the house in search of my friend and Domenico. I found them standing on the terrace of the bedroom located at the end of the corridor, not far away from my old room. It appeared that they both liked each other.

  “Champagne for late breakfast,” Olga said, rising a glass of Moët Rosé. “Your mafioso did his homework.”

  She pointed to a huge vase filled with ice, with several bottles of my favorite drink sticking out. Domenico shrugged apologetically, passing me a glass of tomato juice.

  “I ordered two nonalcoholic sparkling wines from France, but they won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, sitting in a large white armchair. “I can do without alcohol for a few months.”

  Olga pushed herself into the seat, pressing me into the armrest.

  “Why, though? If you’re about to get married and Massimo knows nothing about the child, you should pretend everything’s normal. A bit of champagne-flavored sparkling water won’t kill you.”

  I was afraid of the thought of having to rearrange my whole life, fully submitting to the needs of someone who hasn’t been born yet. And that was just the beginning. I knew the most difficult part would come in a few months.

  “Domenico, I’d like to have lunch in town. Would you book us something?”

  He poured another glass for my friend and left.

  “Why didn’t you tell Massimo about the kid?”

  “As long as he doesn’t know, I have a choice. I didn’t want this child, Olga. But I also know I won’t be able to get rid of it. Besides, Massimo was just about to leave, and I didn’t want him to change his plans because of me. I’ll tell him after the wedding.”

  “You think he’ll be happy?”

  For a moment I stayed quiet, looking out to the sea. “I know he’ll be. You could say that this unplanned pregnancy was his plan.”

  I grimaced, shrugging, while Olga kept staring at me. “The fuck does that mean?”

  I told her how I got the “implant” and about our first night on the yacht, explaining why he had lied to me. I also told her that this had all happened during my fertile days, and about the test that had shown nothing.

  “So I think, however stupid this sounds, that I got pregnant when we made love for the first time.”

  Olga sat in silence for a couple of seconds, mulling over the story, before taking a sip from her glass and saying, “I don’t want to sound like some crazy fortune-teller, but you know these things don’t happen very often. So maybe it’s fate? Maybe it just had to happen? You used to tell me everything in life happens for a reason. Have you thought about a name yet?”

  “It all happened so fast, I haven’t had the chance yet.”

  “Polish or Italian?”

  I looked at her, trying to come up with an answer. “I don’t know yet. I’d probably like both at the same time, but I’ll wait for Massimo. Let’s not talk about this anymore. Come on, let’s grab something to eat.”

  We spent the afternoon talking and reminiscing about our childhood. We had always known that we’d become mothers someday, but the plan was to… well, plan it, instead of counting on a happy accident. It was late when we returned home, and Olga was clearly tired.

  “Come sleep with me tonight,” I said, making begging-puppy eyes.

  “Sure thing, darling.”

  I grabbed her by the hand and pulled her with me upstairs. She stopped, dumbfounded, as soon as we entered my apartment.

  “Ho-ly shit,” she said with that natural charm of hers. “How much money does he have, Laura?”

  I shrugged and took the stairs to the mezzanine.

  “I don’t have any idea, but probably a fuckload. It’s really a bit overwhelming, but I got to tell you one thing—you get used to all the luxury real fast. I’ve never asked him for anything, though. I didn’t have to—he gets me everything I need.”

  We sat on the bed, and I pointed to the opened door leading to the closet. “Want to see something really excessive? Go in there. You could buy a couple of apartments in Warsaw if you sold those clothes.”

  I followed Olga through the door. The light flashed on, revealing the enormous space in all its glory. The wall opposite the door was lined with shelves filled with expensive shoes—Louboutin through Prada. There was a rolling ladder affixed to the shelves, allowing me to pick even those pairs that were on the very top. In the middle of the room there was an illuminated cabinet with watches, sunglasses, and jewelry, and above it hung a gigantic crystal chandelier. The interior of the room was black, the individual sections divided by tall mirrors. My things took up the right side, and Massimo’s the left. There was a comfy padded leather armchair by the door to the bathroom. Olga collapsed on it, shocked.

  “Fuck me. I don’t know what to say, but I can’t say I feel sorry for you.”

  “Me neither, but sometimes I just think I don’t deserve all this.”

  Olga got up from her seat, walked over to me, and placed her hands on my shoulders. What are you talking about?” she exclaimed, shaking me. “Laura, you’re with a millionaire, you love him, and he loves you! You give him all that he wants, and now you’re going to have his child. You don’t need to be as rich as he is to give him what he wants and needs. And if he wants to buy you all that stuff, where’s the problem? You’ve got to change your attitude!” She wagged a finger at me. “For him, spending ten grand is like buying bubble gum. Don’t try to compare your finances to his. It’s a whole different world.”

  That actually sounded pretty logical.

  “If you had as much cash as he has, wouldn’t you want to buy him everything?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “So you see? Just be grateful for what you get and stop overthinking it. Now let’s get to sleep, Mommy. I’m exhausted.”

  CHAPTER 20

  The next day we had breakfast too late to even call it that. We spent the morning in bed, doing nothing until noon.

  “You need to do me a favor,” I said, rolling to the side to look at Olga. “I’m going to see a gynecologist today, but the visit has been booked in your name, so you’re the patient. At least officially.”

  Olga sent me a skeptical look, raising one eyebrow.

  “I don’t know how deep Massimo’s control reaches. The plan is to tell him that you forgot your birth control pills and we had to go to the clinic. That way he won’t be suspicious of our visit to the clinic, if he checks where I am.”

  Chewing a sweet roll and washing it down with coffee, Olga said, “You’re out of your fucking mind, you know that? He’ll learn about everything, but we can do it your way. Whatever.”

  “Thanks. We’ll go to Taormina after my checkup. I want to buy my maid of honor some clothes. Besides, I need a wedding dress myself,” I said with a smile. “You know what that means?”

  “Shopping!” Olga exclaimed, kicking her feet in the air, the sweet roll sticking out from her mouth.

  “Massimo gave us a credit card, and we’re supposed to wipe the account clean. I’m a bit afraid of how much we’ll find there. Anyway, I’m going to call him now. I need to get this done.” I headed toward my favorite divan.

  The Man in Black bought the story about Olga’s pills, only making sure it wasn’t anything serious aside from the birth control. He swiftly switched subjects, starting to talk about our wedding. He said we wouldn’t have a wedding party and that it would be a very private ceremony. At the end, he fell silent. Completely unlike him.

  “Everything all right, Massimo?” I asked, suddenly anxious.

  “Yeah. I just wish I were home already.”

  “Only three more days and you’ll be back in Taormina.”

  Silence was my answer. Finally, he sighed and whispered, “It’s not about the place, but the fa
ct that you’re not with me. Home is where you are. I don’t care about the building, Laura. Especially since we also have an apartment in Palermo.”

  We—it felt so good when he said it like that. I’d really started missing him, but only realized that when I’d dialed his number.

  “I need to go, Laura. I might be off the grid until Friday, but don’t worry. Use the app in your phone if you feel the need.”

  I returned to the table, hugging the phone.

  “You really love him, don’t you? That’s a new one,” Olga said, rocking on her chair. “You hear his voice over the phone and you suddenly look like you’d give him a blow job through the receiver if only that was an option.”

  “Oh shut up and come on. Let’s find something pretty in my closet. After we’re done with the gynecologist, we’re going to spend some cash, so let’s look like Vogue babes.”

  Rummaging through my things took us too much time. If not for Domenico, I would have been late to my appointment.

  We stopped in the doorway, ready to go out. I put on the same boots as before, the black ones, with a black bandeau dress. Olga chose the “rich hooker” style, putting on the shortest possible high-hipped white Chanel shorts that barely covered her butt and a top of the same color. To finish it off, she selected a pair of enormously tall Giuseppe Zanotti stilettos with golden insets, plus a pair of white-rimmed sunglasses. We didn’t look like a pregnant girl and her broke friend, that’s for sure.

  Dr. Ventura was surprised when two women entered his office. I explained quickly that I needed my friend’s support, as my fiancé had left. The gynecologist accepted her presence during the examination, which took place behind a privacy curtain anyway. When we were finished, I put my clothes back on and sat down next to Olga. The doctor scanned through some papers after putting on his glasses.

  “You are definitely pregnant. Six weeks, it seems, considering the sonogram and the tests. The fetus is developing correctly, your results are acceptable, but I’m a bit worried about your heart disease. There may be some issues during the birth. We need to consult a cardiologist and change your medication. Also, no stress for you, young lady. No strong emotions and anxiety,” the doctor said sternly, and turned his attention to Olga. “You have to take good care of your friend now. The coming weeks will be the most crucial for the child’s growth. I’ll prescribe some supplements, and if there are no more questions, we’ll see each other in two weeks.”

  “I have just one question: Why am I losing weight?”

  Dr. Ventura reclined in his seat and took his glasses off. “This happens sometimes. Women may gain or lose weight in the beginning of pregnancy. You need a balanced diet and to refrain from overeating, even if you’re hungry. When you don’t have any appetite throughout the whole day, make yourself eat something anyway. The child needs food to grow.”

  “How about sex?” Olga asked.

  The doctor cleared his throat, shooting me a puzzled look.

  “With my fiancé, of course. Are there any contraindications?”

  The man flashed a friendly smile and replied, “None whatsoever. You can have as much sex as you want.”

  “Thank you very much,” I said. I shook his hand and we left.

  “High five! We’re pregnant,” Olga said with a grin as we drove to Taormina.

  “We need to drink to that! I mean, I need to drink. You’ll just watch me.”

  “You’re a dumbass.” I trailed off, thinking. “Jesus, it’s good everything’s fine with the baby. I drank so much during those last weeks. And those drugs…”

  Olga frowned, turning toward me. “Drugs? You never did any drugs.”

  I told her the story of the wedding party, omitting the detail of Piotr’s death.

  “What a prick,” she spat. “I’ve always told you he was an asshole. I wish he died, the fuck.”

  Well, actually he did, I replied in my mind, shaking my head to get rid of the uncomfortable memory.

  On our way shopping, we picked up Domenico from the mansion. Nobody knew the most expensive and best boutiques in town like he did. Taormina was a beautiful, gorgeous place, but there was nowhere to park.

  “All right, we’ll just hop off here and take a walk,” Domenico suggested, and opened the door.

  Two security guards got out of the car following us. They stayed at a distance, but didn’t stop trailing us.

  “Will they always have to follow me, Domenico?” I asked, grimacing.

  “Unfortunately, yes. You’ll get used to it. Where do we start? The maid of honor or the bride?”

  I knew it wouldn’t be easy to find me a dress, so we started with me. I didn’t really care, as nobody was going to see me anyway, but at the same time I wanted to look beautiful for Massimo. We hopped from designer store to designer store but didn’t find even one thing that I could use. If not for the fact that Olga was lugging close to a dozen bags like some kind of fashion-frenzied vagabond, I would have been fuming by this time, but her joy made up for everything.

  “All right, we’re not going to find anything here,” said Domenico. “I’ll take you to my friend’s atelier. She’s a great designer. We’ll have lunch there first, and then find you something. I’m sure she’ll have what you want.”

  We walked down a narrow street, passing niches with stairs leading up and down and little cul-de-sacs, finally stopping in front of a small, dark purple door. Domenico punched in the code and we entered, taking the stairs up.

  He must know the owner well, if she lets him pop by her workshop like that, I thought.

  It turned out to be one of the most magical places I’d ever been to. The house was a large open space supported only on several pillars decorated with cotton ball lights in white and gray. All around the space, there were dozens of hangers exhibiting a wide array of evening, wedding, and cocktail dresses. A tall mirror hanging on the wall, flanked by windows overlooking the bay, reached the ceiling, at least thirteen feet high. The floor in front of it was covered with red carpet, which led to a huge white padded leather sofa. A door opened, and a woman appeared—tall, slim, and incredibly beautiful. Her long, straight, black hair fringed her thin face. She had unnaturally large lips and enormous eyes, like a Japanese manga doll. She was simply perfect. Dressed in a short skirt that brought out her impossibly long legs and very small breasts, she resembled me a bit. It was apparent that she worked out a lot, but her figure was very feminine and sexy.

  Domenico walked over to the woman, allowing her to embrace him. For a few seconds, they stood in each other’s arms, as if neither of them wanted to let go first.

  Slowly, I approached them, reaching out with a hand. “Hi, I’m Laura.”

  The beautiful woman released Domenico and kissed me on both cheeks, her lips spreading in a wide smile.

  “I know who you are. You look even better with blond hair,” she said. “I’m Emi. I saw your face on dozens of paintings in Massimo’s house.”

  Her words wiped the smile from my face: “Massimo’s house.” Why had she been there? Are they close? I recalled Anna, Massimo’s gorgeous ex. Was Emi part of his collection, too? Domenico wouldn’t have exposed me to something so stressful, would he? My head was aching with all these questions.

  “Domenico.” She turned her attention to the young Italian. “How is your brother? I haven’t seen him in a while, and I’m sure he could use some new suits.”

  “Brother?” I repeated, frowning, sending Domenico a quick look.

  He turned, his face impassive, and said, “Massimo and I had the same father. We’re half brothers. I can tell you all about it if you’d like. Back home. For now, let’s take care of your wedding dress.”

  I stared at the two of them dumbly while Olga ogled the clothes hanging all around us. Meanwhile, I was wondering what was more interesting: Emi’s relation with Massimo or the fact that Domenico was my fiancé’s brother.

  “Laura.” Emi turned to me. “Have you thought of anything specific? A shape? Material?”
/>
  I shrugged, making an uncertain face.

  “Surprise us, my love,” Domenico said, slapping Emi on the butt.

  My jaw dropped. I had been sure he was gay until now. “Wait a minute,” I said, raising my arms, while all three pairs of eyes turned to me. “Explain something to me. I’m lost. Who are you all to each other?”

  Emi and Domenico burst out laughing, and the woman wrapped an arm around my young assistant.

  “We’re friends,” she said, smiling. “Our families have known each other for years. Massimo and Domenico’s father was best friends with my dad since primary school. I even had a crush on Massimo back in the day, but he wasn’t interested. So I allowed the younger brother to take his place.” She planted a kiss on Domenico’s cheek. “If you need specifics: yes, we sleep together. A bit less often since you’ve arrived, but we manage,” she said, winking at me. “Want to know anything more, or shall we pick you a dress? I don’t fuck Massimo, if that was your next question. I prefer my men younger.”

  I was embarrassed, but at the same time a wave of relief washed over me. Emi’s terse depiction of their relations brought back my good humor.

  “I’d like it in lace. The more, the better. I want it Italian. Classic. Light and sensual.”

  “Very specific indeed. But as it happens, I’ve made one dress lately that might just be your style. Come.” She took me by the hand and led me behind a heavy drape. “Domenico, order us some lunch and get some wine from the fridge, please. I always find it easier to think after a glass of white.”

  Ten minutes of struggling with the dress and having it pinned with what felt like a million sewing pins, I left the changing room and stepped on the dais between the white sofa and the mirror.

  “Fuck me sideways,” Olga grunted. “You look…” She trailed off, and tears streaked down her cheeks. “You’re so beautiful, honey,” she whispered, stopping behind me.

  I raised my eyes and looked at my reflection. I was speechless. For the first time in my life, I had a wedding dress on. It was the most beautiful thing I’d seen.