by A. Constanza
And for some reason, I wanted to know more.
TWELVE
Ignacio
The next morning, I began my commute to Amatore Industries. My father sent me an email to meet him in my office at 9 a.m. to discuss important changes that would take place in the company. I couldn’t decipher if it would be good or bad news. It made me nervous considering the voicemail I had left for him.
I might’ve hated Amatore Industries, but I cherished the luxury of having an office on the highest floor of the building that allowed the perfect view of the city. Nothing was captivating about international real estate and construction, yet when my father promoted me to be his COO a year ago, I couldn’t deny it. He noticed my work. He noticed me out of thousands of brilliant candidates.
There were three consecutive knocks on the door, followed by the door opening. My father and his assistant Serena Caputo entered the premises. Serena led the way, wearing a tight, black dress, that accentuated her sashaying wide hips, and held an iPad that covered her chest. She was a good person and also rumored to be in a relationship with my father, but it was never confirmed.
Father wore his favorite crisp, grey business suit, and it was laced with power. He had told me that it was his suit of fortune and had never lost a deal when wearing it.
“Ignacio, it’s wonderful to see you,” he greeted, flashing his winning smile. “How’s Emile and everyone in town?”
“Your father is doing fantastic,” I said, emphasizing the term that probably meant nothing to him. “And the town still hates you.”
He corrected his tie and stared blankly at me. “They’ll move past it.”
Father strode around my desk and picked up one silver ball from the cradle balance pendulum, then released it. “I listened to your voicemail. There was an edge of emotion,” he said, sitting on the edge of the desk and folding his arms across his chest.
He was referring to the voicemail that I left him last night, asking for an extension on my vacation. All of Nonno’s words infiltrated my mind, and I didn’t want to resume my position as a COO. My role was defined by my father, the CEO, and if I couldn’t push past my personal feelings with my father, I wouldn’t be able to fulfill my duties to his standards. I wanted one more day to clear my head.
“I wouldn’t say emotion.” It was, it was a lot of emotions, and he knew.
“Did you visit your nonno yesterday?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“Ah, I understand now. The old man questioned you.”
“No, not necessarily.”
Father scoffed. “Let me ask you, do you desire to be a COO?”
I didn’t immediately respond, but that was enough of an answer for him.
“When you wake up in the morning, do you crave money, power, and label?”
“No, not everyone has the desire to chase money or status,” I informed.
“Ah, yes, the commoners. They’re complacent with having no real talent or drive. Is that what you are? Less of a man? What are you doing here if you can’t handle the position?”
Father had the ability to pick at his opponent’s flaws and question them in a manner that didn’t seem like a direct attack but still punctured the ego. The man should’ve been a lawyer instead of the CEO of a real-estate-and-construction firm. Though, I’d learned to have a thick skin around him, so his strikes didn’t do much harm. They were nothing compared to the betrayal he committed when I was ten. He left me for the empire that he created for himself.
“Should I demote you to a more manageable position, such as a real estate agent?” he asked without letting me answer his previous question.
“No, I’m more than capable of being the COO.”
Father shrugged. “I don’t think you are, Ignacio.”
“I acquired my MBA in hopes of climbing up the ladder, I oversee daily operations and keep you aware of any issues, I keep the employees aligned with their goals. I asked for one more vacation day and you’re acting as if I put in two weeks’ notice.”
“You’ve done well, but you’re showing me that you’re disposable. If you can’t show me that you are reliable and dedicated to the company, then you have no place here.”
His cold words were a slap to the face, and all I wanted was to display the hurt I suffered from that blow, but I remained still and nothing but an eyebrow twitch upward. When I was a child, he never showed me that he was reliable or dedicated to his role as a father. Why would I give him the same when I never received it? And without it, why did I torment myself to keep him in my life? He had no place in my heart. He never deserved it.
Father noticed that I had processed his words into another meaning despite my stoic demeanor.
“It’s business, Ignacio. If those beneath us are useless to the superiors, then we terminate them.”
Father delivered his words in a more sensible voice, but no tone could ever hide the atrocity in his words. He blatantly admitted that he claimed everyone he knew to be beneath him. He never cared for anyone, never showed an ounce of concern for anyone, nor worried for anyone. My father genuinely couldn’t care for anyone other than himself.
It was a tough realization, and I wanted to retaliate by cursing him and insulting him like the night in Paris five years ago when I realized that he was using me as a pawn. But he wouldn’t understand; he would never admit that he was a neglectful father. He wasn’t someone to argue with. It wouldn’t be worth a breath.
I inhaled deeply and stared into his fiery, copper eyes. “I’m leaving the company.”
Father furrowed his eyebrows and leaned back, analyzing me. He was going to fire me, I just knew. What he didn’t expect was that I released myself from the job. He didn’t get the satisfaction of seeing me beg or defend myself. He lost, and he was coming to terms with an unfamiliar feeling.
“I expected that from you,” he retorted. “Sign your discharge forms with Serena and go on your way,” he said, lifting himself away from the desk and walking out of the door without saying another word.
Father lost in this game that he created, but I know that I lost a lot more. I wanted to hate my father for never being there for me, but I couldn’t because he was my father. I felt everything with all my heart.
“You’ve upset your father,” Serena said, lowering her iPad and pulling up the necessary forms.
“I won’t be a problem for him anymore,” I said.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she responded, handing the iPad in my direction.
“Thank you,” I said, signing my name with a pen. “And, Serena, if you are with my father, I’m telling you to run far away. He will break you.”
Serena nodded softly and walked away with her head hung low in guilt.
I gave the lifeless office one more scan before leaving for good. I didn’t care for any of my belongings and left them for others to claim. Unlike my father, I didn’t care about the superficial things. Money was nice to have, but it wasn’t meant to be loved.
***
“Benvenuto,” greeted one of the hostesses from Marcelo’s restaurant, Villa Mia. “I can seat you at the bar, and I’ll inform Marcelo of your arrival,” she said in Italian.
It was his home, his child, his heart. It was a modern rustic-themed restaurant with glossed-wood panels as walls, industrial-like tables and chairs, bright lights that lined the restaurant, and a spacious feel even though it met max capacity most of the time.
The hostess guided me to my usual spot at the bar and handed me a drink menu, but she and everyone else knew that all I ordered was a glass of whiskey.
The bartender greeted me and made my original order without asking me, which was fine by me because I appreciated those who read my mind. A large gulp later, I received another refill, and Marcelo managed to escape the kitchen.
“So, you finally left?” he asked, flinging a towel over his shoulder.
“Gone for good.” I cheered.
“I’m relieved to hear that.” Marcelo smiled. “I need to go back in there, but celebrate throughout the week for me, though. You’re finally ridding yourself of your old man. If only I could get rid of my own baggage.” He said. He was talking about Camilla.
“You don’t have to marry her,” I responded. “You could call off the wedding.”
“Wedding or not, I’m bound to her now.”
I suspiciously narrowed my eyes at him. “How so?” He never spoke about her in that way.
“She’s six weeks pregnant,” he said, no excitement in his voice.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yes, she received a positive yesterday, and we went to the doctors today to confirm.”
“Wow.” I sighed. “Is it yours?” I asked, flatly.
“She’s a pain in the ass, but I wouldn’t peg her for a cheater.”
I placed the rim of the glass along my lips and mumbled, “Don’t be too sure.”
“Keep your life simple, man, while you can. Stay far away from relationships.” Marcelo said, glancing back into the kitchen. “I need to go. I’ll see you later.”
My second drink had been obliterated within seconds.
“Another?” the bartender asked.
I shook my head and placed a fifty-dollar bill on the bar before heading out. Another drink would’ve been pleasant, but I had to head back to Castel Vecchio and have a much-needed conversation with my nonno.
***
“Have you heard from Estella?” Nonno asked, leading the way to the piano room.
“No.”
I knew she wouldn’t reach out to me, but Nonno didn’t know that. He didn’t know our history, and every part of me wanted to tell him the truth. I didn’t like deceiving my nonno and giving him the false hope of working with Estella. I bit my tongue despite the guilt.
“I will call her and let her know that you’re no longer working; maybe she can find some free time and work with you,” he suggested.
I didn’t respond.
Nonno sat on the bench and his hands hovered over all the keys. “Did you know that I was Angelica’s piano teacher? Ah, she was so young, beautiful, and vibrant, and aching to learn more about the art. It was practically a match made in Heaven.”
A wistful smile crossed his old face. He wanted to talk about her. He wanted to talk about Nonna.
“How old was she when you two met?”
“She was nineteen,” he responded. I remembered that Estella was also nineteen when I met her. “Had no musical abilities, but she really wanted to learn. Estella reminds me of her.”
I closed my eyes and thought about the lullaby that Estella had composed that night. It wasn’t long, but it took us hours to figure out.
I opened my eyes, and Nonno fixed his eyes onto me, a smile spreading across his face. “What’s her name?”
“What are you talking about?”
He rolled his eyes and chuckled. “You’re not a teenager anymore, Ignacio Lorenzo. You don’t have to feel ashamed for sharing about your love life.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Maybe not now, but it seems like you had one.”
“It was one night,” I shared. “I helped a young lady compose a song. We talked, we laughed, we created, and the next day it was all gone.” I had to keep it vague for both mine and Estella’s sake.
“Sounds like she left a mark on you.”
“She did.”
God, she really fucking did. Her passion for music was one of her sexiest qualities, her ability to absorb information and handle critiques was admirable, her giggles were gold, her voice was angelic, and her body divine. She was the only Heaven I wanted to experience. And I let her go.
“What happened?”
“I let her go.”
Nonno nodded, seeming to understand. “Sometimes, people are meant for each other, but the time isn’t right.” He had a point; even before I had met her, my life was crumbling apart. My nonna passed away, I deserted my nonno, I worked for my father, and had no sense of direction. I had been consumed by stupid decisions and guilt months before I had met her, then months after having met her. I didn’t deserve her; I didn’t deserve that light and innocence.
After five years, I realized that Nonno deserved an apology from me. “Nonno, I’m sorry for leaving you after Nonna died.”
Nonno inhaled deeply. “I know, my boy. You did what you had to do.”
I brushed my face and passed my hands through my hair. “After she died, I couldn’t be here anymore. I just couldn’t. I was desperate for an escape, but I didn’t take you with me. I’m sorry for abandoning you.”
Nonno nodded, accepting my apology. “I forgive you. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.” I didn’t deserve Nonno either, but here he was, accepting me and my faults.
We exchanged a few more words before I left.
I drove down the dirt-path road along the edge of the town and headed toward the bridge that would take me back to Castel Nuovo. I looked around the darkened evening and noticed a light-blue-colored Vespa parked by a mini-market. The only person I’d seen on a Vespa similar to that one was Estella.
I have to see her if she was here.
My car made a sharp turn into the mini-market, and I stepped out of the car without another thought. Deep down inside, I knew that I shouldn’t have stopped to check Estella if was the owner of the Vespa, but I needed to see her again.
An old Italian man with a bored expression on his face gave me the side-eye before redirecting his attention to the TV screen hanging on the adjacent wall. Below the TV, I saw a figure of a woman looking at the showcase of frozen seafood.
I walked down the small aisle dedicated to treats and headed to the back of the minimart. She had a green basket looped around her arm as she spoke to the man behind the seafood. He handed her a bag of shrimps, and she offered him a soft smile before placing it in her basket.
She turned around and was taken aback at the sight of me.
“Hi,” I breathed.
Seeing her again, wearing a delicate, light blue dress that gave her an angelic look, nearly took my breath away. I had yearned for this moment—the longing and contemplative stare that exchanged between the two of us. She felt that connection. I knew she did.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, doing her best to not offend me.
“I stopped for a drink before heading onto the bridge. I live next to it; my villa is directly in front of the lake, so this is the closest market before passing my house.” I wasn’t sure why I was overexplaining and overly defending myself. She knew that I didn’t happen to stroll by the market; it was a calculated move. I could tell by the way she looked at me. Her eyes narrowed and looked aware, but she wasn’t going to reprimand me.
“And what’s your drink of choice?” she asked.
I looked at the display of cold drinks beside me and opted for a water bottle. “Can’t get enough water,” I responded.
“Uh-huh,” she said and made her way down another aisle and to the checkout counter. She placed her bag of shrimp, a small wheel of cheese, and a Balconi cake snack onto the counter.
“Twenty-two, fifty,” the clerk responded.
I stepped in and placed my water on the counter. “Add this water, and I will pay for it,” I said to the man in Italian.
“No, no,” Estella said, handing the man her cash.
The clerk looked at me with confusion.
“Please, let me,” I asked Estella.
She bit down on her lip and placed the cash back into her wallet. “Thank you,” she mumbled.
“No need for thank you.” I handed her belongings.
I headed toward the door and opened it, allowing her to go ahead of me. I walked with her to the side of the building to ensure she made it to her Vespa. Castel Vecchio was a fairly safe area, but better safe than sorry.
“I no longer have a job, and Emile migh
t call you to inform you of that. He wants us to work together, but I figured I’d warn you.”
“Thank you.” She exhaled.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what, exactly?”
“Everything, really.”
She lowered her head, going over my two words.
“Have a safe ride home, Estella.”
“You too,” she said, snapping her helmet on.
She jolted the Vespa back and unexpectedly stopped it. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” I said, trying not to sound too eager. I didn’t want to scare her.
“Why did you lie to me about your name?” Her eyes glossed over with betrayal, but she didn’t want revenge. She wanted the truth.
I pushed my free hand deep into my pockets. “Have you ever wanted to temporarily leave your present life? Choose a different name, disregard your past and future, and actually live? Like a redo?”
She nodded.
“That’s why. I wanted to be someone different, even for a night.”
She looked at me with sympathy. “This trip to Italy was my redo.”
Estella lowered her head, trying to conceal her disappointed frown. She kicked her foot back up, reversed back, and she headed down a path that led to the edge of the lake, directly across from my end of the lake.
I hated myself for constantly taking away from her.
THIRTEEN
Estella
Emile called me twice that week. He asked about my days, my business, and if I had any free time to meet with Ignacio to continue my piano lessons. I appreciated his persistence. He knew that learning how to play the piano was important to me, but I only wished I could tell him the truth instead of lying to him about my availability.
The thought of sitting next to Ignacio on a piano bench and watching him play made me weak. Every part of my body reacted a different way. My brain told me to stay clear of him, my heart told me to try being his friend, and my body craved him. Worst of all, when I was near him, my heart, my brain, and my body turned into butter because I felt connected to him despite us being strangers.
