by Belle Aurora
With a gasp, I reached up to cup my throbbing, blazing cheek and watched her carefully.
Well, shit. That wasn’t how it was meant to go.
“What the fuck?” I whispered through a pant.
Looking somewhat remorseful, Ling let out a heavy sigh and apologized. “Look, I’m sorry. Here.” She holds out her hand once more, and I hesitate a long while before dropping my hand from my cheek and moving to place it in hers, slower this time around.
It seems my years of being directly involved with horrible people had done nothing to better my judge of character, because as soon as my fingers brushed hers, she reared back, face contorted with rage, and slapped me across the same cheek so hard that I let out a yelp, falling to the ground in a heap.
For a small woman, she packed a hell of a punch.
Her heels clicked quietly as she came to stand over me. My face flaming, I could do nothing but look up at the woman in red as she spoke. “Just a reminder that we are not friends. You are nothing like us. We will never be friends. I only have one friend”—her eyes flash severely—“and if you take him from me, what happens as a consequence of that will be your fault, not mine.”
The sound of her heels echoed throughout the hall as she left me on the cold floor in the dark.
Nothing was going my way.
I wanted to yell. I wanted to scream and stomp my feet in the unfairness of it all.
Instead, I got myself up and whispered into the night, “Crazy bitch.”
Oh yeah.
She definitely had the psychopath gene.
The time on the digital alarm clock on the nightstand reads 11:45 p.m., and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to succumb to the slumber I crave so deeply.
After the altercation with Ling, I decide it’s probably not a good idea to ask her for some clothes to sleep in. I undress quickly, throwing Ling’s clothes in a pile at the corner of the walk-in closet and look around for something to wear. It’s cool this evening, so I decide on the soft, warm-looking sweater Julius wore the day before.
Slipping it over my head, I push my arms through the holes then hug myself tightly, dipping my chin and pressing my nose into the material, breathing in as deeply as my lungs will allow. It still smells of him, the scent of his cologne light but unquestionably there. It feels as though I’m cocooned, wrapped up tight, safe in its midst.
It’s nothing compared to being held by Julius, but still, it feels wonderful, coming in a close second.
As soon as I lay my head on the pillow, I turn to face his side of the bed and frown.
This house only seems warm when Julius is in it. I miss him and his mighty but serene presence.
It doesn’t take me long to realize that falling asleep without Julius by my side is not an option, so I slide out of bed, barefoot, and make my way to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk.
I hope there’s honey in the pantry. If not, I’ll have to make a shopping list.
My feet lose traction, and I stumble at the thought.
Julius and I have yet to talk about whatever the hell this is, and I’m making lists?
I shake my head at my naivety. Even I think that’s pathetic.
As I open the kitchen cabinets, I find a small pan, pour some milk into it and turn on the stove. When I open the pantry in search of honey, I find none, but decide to use some maple syrup in its stead, pouring some into the heated milk. With my nightcap now steaming, I switch off the stove, spill some into a mug and sit on a stool at the breakfast bar, holding my hands around it, warming them.
I take my first sip and close my eyes in subdued delight.
It’s almost perfect, which is high praise for not having used the correct ingredients. Under the circumstances of my life, I’ve come to acknowledge that anything being close to perfect can be deemed flawless in my book. After all, who am I to judge perfect, when I am so far from faultless myself?
Lost in my thoughts, I startle when I hear the front door unlock, and my heart stutters then beams.
Julius is home.
I place my mug down on the counter, slide off the stool, doing what I can to ignore the niggling discomfort in my heel, and wait. Solid footsteps down the hall come closer and closer until his tall, darkened figure appears in the shadows of the entrance to the kitchen.
“Ana?” he asks huskily. “What are you doing up?”
My feet move of their own accord, and I can’t think much about anything apart from being close to him. I don’t slow when I reach him, and I don’t mean to slam into him with such force, but when I do, snaking my arms around his lean waist, he grunts in surprise at my unforeseen strength.
He stands so much taller than me that when I place my cheek against him, it rests just above his taut belly. I close my eyes at the care he takes, wrapping one arm around my shoulders, the other cradling the back of my head, holding me to him firmly.
This hold screams “you are safe” while vowing “no one will ever put hands on you again.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I explain lamely. A short moment passes, and I repeat, “I couldn’t sleep,” but bite my tongue when my heart bids me say “without you.”
Tall, strong Julius. Beautiful mocha-skinned Julius, with his cold blue eyes and warm, inviting lips, holds me in his grasp in complete silence, gently rocking me side to side, comforting me, providing me in one simple gesture more than anyone had ever offered me before. And with every further moment in this man’s arms, I lose myself, falling deeper and deeper in lust with this imperturbable, aloof man who cares so deeply but refuses to show it to the world, only to those he deems worthy.
And that care he shows me makes me feel worthy in a world where I was taught to feel merely content.
How does one become something from the nothing they always were?
All I’ve ever had in my life was my looks, and all those looks had brought me was misery and pain. I would give anything to contribute as an equal, regardless of how I get that done. I’m not scared to work hard or get dirty to get what I want.
I want to be worthy of Julius, and for as long as he’ll have me, I will work on becoming his ideal partner. This will not be a one-sided relationship. I will give to him as much as gives to me. I vow it.
Julius pulls back, placing his hands on my shoulders and looks down at me, his eyes searching my face. “Listen, I—”
That’s when I hear the second set of footsteps coming in behind him. My shoulders stiffen immediately. I didn’t know we had an audience.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.” I dip my chin in discomfiture and move to back out of his hold, his hands releasing me, but when I glance up at him, his expression tells me he does this reluctantly. “I’ll leave you to it.”
But as I turn to leave, I catch sight of the man who stands in the open doorway, the moonlight illuminating his face. And I still.
Shock holds me immobile as I shamelessly stare at the man, my mouth gaping. I swallow hard and whisper, “Signor Falco?”
The older man smiles in greeting, the creasing in his face making him all the more charming. “Alejandra,” he utters softly, kindly. “This is a bad town for such a pretty face.”
The shock begins to fade and, in its place, joy forms, bubbling up inside of me. A startled laugh escapes me. He holds out his hands and, wide-eyed and in awe, I step closer to him, placing my hands into his leathery ones.
Blinking down at his hands then up at his face, I mutter in astonishment, “It is you.”
“No other alike me,” he teases.
I glance between Signor Falco and Julius, and probe, “But, how?” Oh shit. I’m so confused. “I don’t understand.”
Julius scowls at the other man. “You didn’t tell me you knew her.”
Signor Falco throws him a look. “You didn’t ask the right questions.” Then he turns back to me and sighs. “My dear, you’ve managed to get yourself into quite a mess, haven’t you?”
At that blunt statement, I snatch m
y hands away from his and rush backward, my hand coming up to cover my throat. My heart begins to beat faster, and suddenly I’m gasping for breath. No matter how much air I inhale, it does little to satisfy my lungs. “Oh God,” I whisper hoarsely. My voice cracks when I say, “What you must think of me…”
I try to move farther away, but a wall has unexpectedly appeared at my back, holding me steadily by the shoulders. Then his lips touch the shell of my ear, and he mutters, “Breathe. Just breathe, baby.”
Then Signor Falco is there, right in front of me, his face stern. “Now, listen to me, young lady. I have always thought of you as a kind, even-tempered girl who has had to put up with far too much in her young life. I do not think poorly of you, not now, not ever. My daughter has had a lot to say about you in this past week, defending you to no end, and after listening to my Manda, I have to tell you, Alejandra, it makes me feel stupid to have not seen it before.” His expression turns desolate. “I know.” He says this in a way that makes my body tremble.
My mouth is suddenly parched, and I lick my dry lips nervously. “Wh-what do you know?”
“All of it.” The father of my best friend, my doctor, my biggest supporter—Dr. Manda Rossi—straightens, his face severe but his tone soft. “Manda told me everything.” He pauses a moment before he repeats with meaning, “Everything.”
We hold each other’s eyes for a long while before I feel Julius squeeze my shoulders in silent support. “This reunion is just dandy, but I need to know how you two know each other.”
I swallow hard and attempt to speak. “Manda…” But my jaw is slack, and my mouth just won’t cooperate.
Signor Falco turns his eyes up to Julius and explains on my behalf, “My daughter, Manda, is a close friend of Alejandra’s. She’s also her doctor.”
Julius sounds staggered. “You have children. Other children.”
“Yes,” Signor Falco returns in a solemn hush. “I also have a son, Giuseppe. We call him Zep. Believe it or not, he and Antonio were born only days apart.”
What does that mean, other children? Who is Antonio?
I find my voice, but it’s weak. “Antonio?”
Signor Falco smiles down at me, taking my hand and leading me to the dining table. “Once, a very long time ago, I was in love with two very different women from two very different ends of the scale.” He holds a chair out for me, and I sit. He does not go on until he finds his own seat. “One of those women, I was engaged to marry. Her name was Angela Rossi.” He inclines his head to me. “Zep and Manda’s mother. She came from a good family, an Italian family who knew the life. She was beautiful, but her eyes…” He waves a hand over his eyes. “They were bitter. Bitter and sad. Most of the time we were together, she spent telling me how much she despised me, and I felt I would never win her affections.” He sighs long and low. “The other woman was Lucia DeMartino, a no-nonsense waitress at a casino I would frequent with my boys. She was Italian too, but in the eyes of my father, she was nobody. She was a serial flirt and was so fun to be around that she made me forget about all my responsibilities. She made me crave a normal life. Every moment I spent with her was filled with laughter and passion, and we loved each other very much.”
Signor Falco seems lost in his own head, when he admits, “It was difficult to love a woman who didn’t return the affection. Angela was stubborn. I could see she was beginning to feel something for me, but she never let herself admit it. So whenever Angela rejected me, I would go find my Lucia. And there she would be, in her small apartment with no furniture, with only a small double bed dressed with sterile white sheets. And she welcomed me, no matter the hour. She just wanted to be with me, even if it meant living a half life with the man she loved.”
He glances up at me, holding up two fingers. “Two ends of the spectrum. One woman giving her all. One not giving enough.” He shrugs. “I was young and stupid. My father knew about Lucia.” He snuffles a laugh. “Heck, everyone knew about Lucia, but I had my duty to fulfill. And so I married Angela. Lucia knew, but it didn’t matter to her. Only I mattered.”
I’m enthralled. “What happened next?”
The old man links his fingers, resting his hands on the table, looking down at them. “This life, our life, is not for everyone. The more time I spent with Lucia, the more she saw that disturbed her. She kept talking about the day we would run away and just be together, away from the guns and violence. She was naïve, and I let her be. It was kinder that way. Angela was built for this life. Lucia was not. Imagine my surprise when Angela announces that we were expecting our first child?” He chuckles. “I was overwhelmed. That feeling of exhilaration, of becoming a father, was something I hadn’t expected to feel. So I think long and hard about my life and decide to end things with Lucia, but when I get there, she’s crying happy tears.” He throws his arms out by his sides. “‘Hey, Tony, you’re going to be a daddy. Isn’t it grand?’”
My heart squeezes like a vise. “What did you do?”
With his mouth drawn in a grim line, he mutters, “I was kidding myself to ever believe I had a life with Lucia. I was with her until the birth of my firstborn son. We named him Antonio, and that meant something to me. He was my namesake, and that right should have gone to my wife, but Lucia… I loved her more than was wise. I spent four days with my baby boy, holding him, trying to memorize the feel of him in my arms. Then, Giuseppe was born, and his birth had done something to Angela. Every moment she watched me with our son, speaking to him, cradling him, she softened a little more toward me until her affections began to grow, and she asked me to forgive her, to be faithful to her.”
“You left Lucia? You left your son, just like that?” My heart breaks for the woman.
His eyes bright, he states, “She was my wife. It was my duty to be faithful to her. Besides, one of my sons was bound by my name. He would have to do his duty to our family. My other son was not honor bound. Without my name, he would live a normal life. Fall in love. Marry anyone he wanted.” Signor Falco’s eyes meet Julius’s over my shoulder. “How was I to know that Antonio was destined to follow in my footsteps regardless? I left to give him a better life. He was meant to have a good life. I wasn’t to know that my leaving would cause more damage than good. I think about him, every damned day. I’m glad he had you, Julius. Thank you for being his brother, for being there when I couldn’t be.”
A thick silence ensues, thick enough to carve with a knife. “Where is he?” I ask. “Where is Antonio?”
Signor Falco’s eyes glaze over in grief.
It’s Julius who answers, and he does this on a whisper.
“He died.”
“Things have changed,” is what Julius said. Those words were only spoken this afternoon, and for some reason, it feels like a lifetime ago. For so many things have happened in the meantime.
And after what happened this evening, I feel changed.
I am not frightened anymore.
I am calm, at ease. And I know something will eventually rock that calm and send me adrift, but before that happens, I plan to take the sails and charge out to sea.
Uncertainty hits me like a blow to the solar plexus. Looking at myself in the reflection of the mirror, I judge that reflection harshly, and before I can change my mind, I pull Ling’s robe over my near-naked body.
I tell myself I owe it to him. I owe him something. Anything. So I will venture into uncertainty with my arms stretched wide and my head held high.
My bare feet move silently along the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. My heart jolts as I come to stand a short distance, on the inside of the closed door. Closing my eyes, I breathe deep and soldier on.
Three more steps…
My legs begin to shake.
Two more steps…
A flush rises from my neck to heat my cheeks.
One more step…
My heart beats steady, hard and fast, like a drum.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I lift my hand and turn the knob. It opens soundles
sly, and as I gently push open the door, I’m greeted with a sight.
Julius sitting up in bed, his bare torso resting against the headboard, sheets pooled just under his waistline to reveal a small swatch of hair trailing from his taut belly down lower, lower to where I can’t see any more. His eyes on me, waiting expectantly.
“What are you doing, baby?”
Slipping inside the bedroom, I close the bathroom door behind me with a gentle click then stand back against the cool surface for fear of getting too close. My lips part, and I manage, “This is what you wanted, right?”
With a slight shrug, the silky robe slides off my shoulders and down my back, pooling at my feet, leaving me exposed.
Julius sits up off the headboard. “Ana.”
My nickname comes out unsure, strangled.
But this is what I came here for. This is what he asked for. And he deserves answers.
Stepping forward, out of the dark and into bright strips of moonlight illuminating through the open blinds. He moves to stand, but stills as he sees. I know the exact moment he does, because his eyes widen then shutter, and dipping his chin, he curses through a hiss.
I am mortified.
This is hauntingly embarrassing.
My temple throbs as my eyes begin to burn, but I push on. I point a shaking finger to the raised scar above my hipbone. “The time Dino caught me smiling at our waiter.”
Julius raises his head to look at me, but I don’t dare meet his eye. Instead, I train my gaze on his heaving chest.
My eyes closed tightly, and I point to the scar on my left breast. “The time I received flowers anonymously.” Breathing in, I add on a shaky exhale, “Turns out, they were from my sister.”
Turning, I lift the right side of my panties to reveal the scar on my ass. Lowering my head, I dip my chin and utter a hoarse, “One of the many times Dino had Gio raped me and I made the mistake of moaning.” The first tear falls when I mutter a hushed, “Dino thought it was out of pleasure.” More tears fall. I whisper a miserable, “I was being torn apart.”
