by Jaxx Summers
And that day . . . those words . . . his promises . . . the tears would never be forgotten.
*****
Stefano’s family did not back down from demanding his attention to all that was valuable in their cause. Loyalty was at the heart of their commandments. His body moved forward, while his soul, spirit and focus dwelled in the past. And for months, he functioned this way. Whenever his mind found solace in the memory of Anastasia, he fell deeper into this wishful world. After a mere sampling of her delicate skin, perfect cream breasts and delectable juices, he could never consider moving on.
One late evening, as Stefano began feeling in a passion, he marched away from his home.
Damn family mistakes.
Damn finding another love.
Damn living without Anastasia.
He no longer cared to store away his emotions, and instead made heated flight to Anastasia’s forbidden home. As he approached, lighting and visitors adorned the front. He heard laughter and friendly welcomes. Stefano rushed to a nearby alleyway. His heart was wildly thudding in his chest. He forced himself to breathe at a reduced pace, until he was at a total ease.
Rushing off to a nearby waterway, he confiscated a rather poor-looking vessel. He knew how to easily maneuver the tide and quickly reach his intended. From where he stooped, he could hear several conversations in the distance, as people entered the building from the waterway entrance. He silently awaited an opportunity to steal into the home. With so many in attendance, he couldn’t imagine that anyone would pay much attention to a lovesick fellow.
“Congratulations,” someone declared.
“We wish you all the best!”
Stefano could not understand what it all meant or the purpose behind this apparent celebration. Worrying about it would only take his focus away from his reason for breaching his family’s orders. So he moved closer through the other docked gondolas, remaining undetected. His path was filled with light until he reached the garden, where he remembered his and Anastasia’s flirting that had eventually led them into adulthood. He heard giggling; Anastasia’s gentle voice. Stefano’s heart became swollen, filled with emotions.
He was ready to make himself known. After being vocal for years about how much he longed to become her husband, he no longer cared about their present forbidden love. His right leg stretched outward to lie in the night’s subtle glare. But just as he was about to fully emerge, he heard a male’s tone.
“We shall have a baby girl, as breathtaking as you,” the voice declared.
“And a baby boy as handsome as you, Antonio.” Stefano recognized Anastasia’s sounds. He would have denied those words belonged to her, if not for the way her giggles flooded the night. He even recognized the seductive manner in which she rolled her tongue around the ‘s’ in handsome. That word was meant for him, not some man. Stefano wanted to rush out, grab the man and toss him to the ground. His fists balled up as he salivated on how he’d smash the stranger’s face for ever propositioning Anastasia. But he knew that move was impossible. So the jilted lover pressed against the moist stone wall and wept.
*****
The following day, Stefano rejected family. They in turn maintained a healthy distance. When he returned, his mother greeted him. They didn’t exchange any words because his demeanor said it all. As he fought against reason, Stefano became haunted by images of darkness—blood-tainted waters, and even an unidentifiable body floating face down in the water. The feelings that arose in him were anything but terrifying. Then a knock against the door rattled him away from this dark world.
“Stefano,” his mother’s voice funneled through the doorway. There was a ten-second pause. He remained silent. “You need to move on. Anastasia has moved on.”
Mama Bonaro left.
Stefano could hear the rustling of her gown and the shuffling of her heels. In that very moment he hated his mother. He despised the words she spoke but, more than anything, he cursed the truth behind her declaration. In this torn conundrum, sleep reclaimed his mind. This time, there was only black lighting, as if that were at all possible. A tapping jolted him awake once more, and he shot upwards, bolting for the doorway. He was under the impression that he’d just barely fallen into a trance and his mother was returning to taunt him. As the door was flung wide, he momentarily found himself at a loss. In the entryway, beckoning him forward and into her embrace stood Anastasia.
“Il mio amore . . . mio Stefano . . .”
He blinked uncontrollably, unable to determine if his yearnings had somehow found free passage into the human world. But when she advanced forward and into his bare chest, he knew her to be real. His mind questioned the how, the why, the what and so much more. But his lips couldn’t express his inner torment.
“I’ve missed you so.” Anastasia’s voice caressed him. She owned his desires as she shut the door, making certain to latch it tightly. He remained in the same spot, even as her fingertips spread across his chest. It wasn’t until she reached down to capture his wrist that he finally moved. When her lips engaged his palms and her tongue trailed up to twirl against his fingers, Stefano moaned. He weakened, on the verge of becoming a puddle of sweat on the rug, and was easily redirected to the bed.
Anastasia aroused him as before, though this time she exhibited much more experience. The way she held onto his erection, confidently encasing it in her palms, skillfully conversing with her delicate mouth and wildly riding it until she drained him. This new woman was a hundred times more tempting as his passionate vixen. But Stefano loved her a million times more.
“I will always come back for you, Stefano,” were the last words she whispered that day, as she exited his bed. He wanted to beg her to remain, but he had very little strength left as he drifted into deep slumber.
Anastasia made regular visitations to Stefano’s bedroom, leaving him unresponsive every single time. He often thought to inquire about her relation to the man she’d been planning with, though the words never manifested. When in her presence, Stefano could focus only on his desperate urges.
*****
After months of Anastasia’s bedroom visits, she abruptly stopped. Stefano would awake, eagerly planning how much he’d give his lover. He would even have conversations that were never to be heard because he knew that Anastasia was his ultimate weakness. What they’d begun in her bedroom was a mere sample of what was possible between the two. And what Anastasia had shown him was beyond anything he could have ever hoped to reach with her or any other woman.
There had been no prior warning, not even a hint of knowledge indicating that she would be indisposed. And so, when his parents headed out as normal for the start of the pre-Lent celebration, Stefano fled home as well. He’d chosen to adorn a suit of pure black, even to the three-sided hat. The only exception to this ensemble was a spectacular, half-golden mask with a long, slender nose. He hoped that his disguise would allow him to blend in with the crowds.
As he drifted through hidden alleyways, the patrons grew louder and thicker. Public engagements were not his forte, though he’d make the exception for Anastasia any and every day of his life. And with the thought of his lover, his object of desperation, filing through his brains, Stefano moved about packs of women that might have been his dearest. They were all hidden away beneath tons of packaged frames in the brightest of whites, most earnest of reds, and a multitude of clever varieties in between. The accompanying peekaboo masks were glorious. But in the eyes, Stefano hoped to name his Anastasia, the most amazing of women to ever live.
Several times, while preying on women of light-colored hair and delicate figures, Stefano awaited their break from company or even a moment of selfish toil. For surely, his Anastasia would sense his presence and steal away from all that was insignificant. His true love would know that he would find her and disregard this irrelevant celebration.
Unlike many, Carnem Levare was his least favorite of events. He had little desire to fraternize with everyone, in the middle of the square, in full di
sguise. He did not even care to be amongst his countrymen in the rich gatherings at the theater or being entrapped, as others, with song.
The only reason he adorned his current selection was to reach and connect with his one truest. But this search was proving to be fruitless. Having grabbed several elbows, only to inhale an incompatible scent, he grew even more disgusted with the revelries. He confronted every female that was without a mate in hopes of finding Anastasia. All that remained were the coupled ones.
At the thought of Anastasia’s infidelity with another man, he raged, though he tried to remain calm. He kept bumping into other patrons, rudely refusing to apologize for his own anger. The men felt the brunt of his force, while the women would merely experience a brush. He only needed to lean in several inches to sample their essence, though time and again Anastasia’s was not there.
Suddenly Stefano’s pitch-black jacket felt heavier while moisture poured down from his forehead. It almost seemed as if he became irritated anywhere the dark clothing connected with bare skin. This added to his frustrations; made him knock harder against the men, lean closer into the women.
People began whispering, taking a moment from their enjoyment to draw attention to this apparent madman. He knew they were looking, but he no longer cared. It wasn’t until Stefano finally spotted Anastasia’s familiar shoes, the ones she’d worn the day he first connected with her soul, that he then settled down.
Stefano’s entire behavior reduced from aggression to humility. He even found himself smiling, first on the inside, then on the out. Taking wide strides, he headed in the direction of his temptress. She was advancing away, though raising her dress and taking account to look back every now and again. Anastasia appeared to be encouraging his progression. To many it would not be obvious that her beckoning was meant for this madman—to many it was clear he was witless. Yet there were so many drunkards in attendance that Stefano’s actions could easily be discounted.
Whipping in and around the crowded pavements, Anastasia paused at the entrance to a dark alleyway. She took a moment to make eye contact with her stalker and nod, before advancing up the path. Stefano took this as the perfect opportunity to increase his pace.
When he arrived at the building’s brick edging, he didn’t bother to look about or take account of observers. The darkness and stench of tainted moisture could never hold him back.
He reached Anastasia after only five easy steps, and wrapped his hands around her waist, crushing her fuchsia gown. He even senselessly thrust her against the wall.
“You never came yesterday,” he began, barely able to get the words out. His lips crushed against hers. She allowed him to taste and inhale before pulling away.
“I promised to always come back to you, Stefano.” Her words were delicate, begging forgiveness. “I can’t stay long with you, my love.”
“Are you here alone?” Stefano didn’t want her to always come back to him. He wanted her to remain with him forever. He could not eat. He could barely live. And would not even consider a life outside of Anastasia.
“No,” was all that she could offer. She left him needing to hear more. He didn’t remove his hands that now grazed against her neck.
“I once overheard you planning life with another man.” His voice dipped. Trembling fingers raced along the edges of her white mask. “I can’t fathom a life without you. I can’t imagine you in the arms of anyone else.” He held onto the back of her head. The elastic string began pulling, strands of her hair blew about.
“But we can’t openly marry.” Anastasia tried to move from his grip but he was too tightly connected.
“I would rather live alone than with another woman.” He pressed into her lips and hips, forcing both closed extremities apart. His tongue plummeted through her apparent rejection. And while kissing her with little forgiveness, he continually muttered, “Mine . . . mine . . . mine.”
Pretty soon Anastasia was struggling, flailing and pleading.
“No, no, no, no, no . . .” he hushed her, afraid that she was reacting unnecessarily. He pressed closer, not wanting her to run away from him.
“You’re frightening me, Stefano.” Although he couldn’t see her eyes, the quiver of her words incited fear. “Let me go . . . please?”
“I could never hurt you, Anastasia. Please, stay longer.” He wasn’t asking permission. His knees were secure against the skirt of her fabric, pinning this prize against the cold brick structure. He stooped low enough to capture and tease at the upper portions of her breasts. He kissed along and around her costume. He was aroused, maddened by this enjoyment.
“Anastasia!” a male voice traveled in the distance. The call drew nearer, drifted further, and grew closer once more.
“I must go,” she pleaded again.
Stefano exhaled.
“Who is that man?” he asked under his breath.
“Stefano, if they find me with you, there will be hell.”
“Who is he?” he commanded in a higher tone, his voice cracking midway through.
“I don’t want to hurt—”
“Who is he?” Rather than increase his inquisition, Stefano lowered his sounds. There was a certain threat that accompanied his question, however. He stood straight and began to pace. Stopping off and on, he pounded against the opposing hedge.
“My betrothed,” Anastasia finally acknowledged.
Stefano stepped away, unable to go much further. His back pressed against stone. The mask that had remained intact, he immediately removed and cast down. He momentarily ceased to exist, save for the ongoing call of his dear Anastasia and the continuous pounding of his heart.
“Stefano . . .” Anastasia reached for his face, her head turned towards the bright opening of their resting place. He brushed her away. His head tossed, denying her, refusing company any longer.
“Go!” he shouted. Her body trembled causing the gown to shake. A gasp pierced the air. But as she turned to walk away, Stefano asked with compassion, “Why did you come to my bed?”
Without looking back, she paused. Her head dipped, hands spread outward. “You were my first, Stefano. I’ve loved you the longest.”
“But you are promised to another man now.” He moved toward her, placing his chest against the temptress’s upper back. “You gave me your body over and again. What kind of a woman have you become?”
Only then she turned to face Stefano. Looking down, barely able to decipher her emotions, his fingers crushed into her upper arms.
“Stefano, I will continue to come to your bed. I must marry Antonio, though I will always belong to you.”
“Do you visit his bed as well?” Stefano asked.
His question introduced twenty seconds of silent conversation. Her hands cradled his face. She pressed upwards, forcing him downwards. Without making it easy, Stefano’s tight lips were brought against hers. Her tongue outlined his mouth.
“What must I do? Move on?” His questions caused a tickling between them.
“Never move on,” she quickly demanded.
“That’s what you’re doing, Anastasia.”
“Mama and Papi are forcing me to move on.”
Stefano’s lips curved. He wanted to share what little he knew of his father and her mother’s infidelity, because she was clearly unaware. “What have they told you?”
“Papi has given no indication,” she replied softly. “Do you know why?”
“And you do not fight for love?”
“What choice do I have? They have made me—”
“Are they making you visit his bed likewise?”
She began backing away. Stifled noises traveled from her lips. Her head tossed.
“Then come away with me. Let us begin life together, the way it was meant to be from birth.”
Her hand rested at the exposed area above her bosoms. “My family would disown me.”
“Anastasia, this is your life . . . our lives. Did the promises you made mean nothing?”
He caressed her fing
ers, delicately propositioning her urges. For surely, Stefano believed, Anastasia only needed a reminder of how special he had always been. His action accomplished what he planned. Her fingers reciprocated. Their palms aligned, hands clasped. First the left, then the right. Facing one another, they freely exchanged breath. Stefano was content in just remaining in the dimly lit alleyway, permanently lost in the fixture of his forever love. He didn’t need anyone or anything beyond the exit, all that mattered to his existence was the woman in front of him. Then, in a single regrettable moment, reality corrupted his plans.
“Anastasia!” The call was closer than before . . . much closer. First there was a male voice, the same as before. Stefano growled at the reminder. Next a woman repeated the escapee’s name. Stefano recognized it as Anastasia’s mother’s.
When his love attempted to flee, he refused to let go. Anastasia pulled against his will, fiercely trying to break the hold he had so determinedly set. The more she struggled, the greater the pain of rejection. When she finally settled, his grip loosened.
“Please, Stefano,” she begged.
“You are going to him?”
“My mother awaits me too.”
“It is all for him. You—”
“I promise to return to you.”
“But you’ll leave again.”
“Stefano? How can I show that I love you?”
“Let us leave.” At his words, Stefano released her hands. He stood back, waiting silently for an affirmation.
“Leave our home? Leave our families?”
“Yes!”
“I need time to think.”
“Can you meet me tomorrow?”
“I can’t be expected to make a life-changing decision now, Stefano.” Her hands spread across her forehead. “Why can’t we just be patient? Why not plan?”
“While we wait and plan, you will be given to another man. My life will no longer be worth living.”
Anastasia softened. She relaxed her pull, allowing her body to carelessly drift against his. And so they stood, transported to another location, perhaps the mainland. Where others did not hold control over their futures.
