by Mj Fields
“Do I have to call my father?”
“No, I don’t think I can take seeing you break again. I will call him.”
“Why?”
I take a deep breath. “For you, of course.”
I kiss her, then set her back on the bed, grab her phone and walk out of the room.
I scroll through her contacts until I see DAD. I press call.
His answer is immediate, “Laney, your mother called, you are not going to move to Italy.”
“This is Dominic, and yes, she is.”
“I don’t know who the hell you are, but I want to talk to my daughter.”
“She’s very upset right now, so I am making the call for her. As a man who cherishes your daughter, I won’t allow her to be further upset.”
“I’m her goddamn father!”
“Let me ask you, when was the last time you spoke to your daughter?”
“That’s none of your damned business.”
“And that, is the answer of a man who is ashamed. She forgives you, now she will heal.”
“You listen to me--”
“Christmas she came home. She hadn’t had contact with you since she asked permission to live with, with that cowboy. Then she makes the effort, and you and your ex-wife turn your backs on her, again. You should be warned now, that I believe this is best for her, to forgive, to let go of that hurt. You, sir, have lost the God given right to guard her heart, to make her feel beautiful, happy, and cherished. But it will be my honor and pleasure to be the one to do those things, now.”
“You son-of-a-bitch…”
“She wants you to be happy, that’s why she has stayed away. Take her fucking gift of forgiveness and do continue on. I will warn you, if you make her cry, I will make you feel the pain of a child who has lost everything.”
I hang up and try to calm down, but my heart is pumping so hard I can almost hear the sound of the blood rushing in my body. All of the emotions well up inside of me. I want to scream, to break something, and then I feel a hand on my back.
I turn and see a very broken Laney standing beside me.
“Sorry,” she whispers.
“Don’t be sorry for me--”
“It brings back your pain.”
“We are done with past pains, now.”
Her bottom lip sticks out as tears escape her eyes. “I love them. They just can’t love me, anymore. I understand, I do. How can they heal, when I’m still here? We were two people, but one. I know that makes no sense but--”
“Makes perfect sense.”
“I liked myself, then. I can’t anymore.”
“Jesus Christ, Laney,” I pull her head into my chest. “You will again, I promise.”
“What if I’m too broken? What if--”
“I’ll hold you so damn tight, you’ll forget where the crack even started.”
“I don’t want to talk about it again. Ever.”
“Did your friends help you, comfort you?”
“They know better. They know it’s off limits.”
“Because they’ve never felt that kind of pain. I can’t let you put a goddamned Band-Aid over it, and pretend it’s not there. I won’t. So, we need to rip that Band-Aid off, in one swift move. Then we heal. You ready for that?”
She nods and I hand her the phone. “Tell them you love them.”
“I can’t.” She shakes her head ‘no.’
“You told me you did. Tell them, Laney. I swear to God it will feel better.”
“How does that help? How will--”
I hold my finger to her mouth and take a deep breath, “It will help me, too. I argued with my mother, our last conversation was an argument. I didn’t want to stay with Grandmother. She told me she loved me before she left, and I told her she didn’t. I didn’t say it back. God, I wish I had. Can you imagine the last thing you said to your mother was, ‘no you don’t’? Don’t take one moment for granted. Tell them what you told me. Do it now, because I need to make you feel loved, so damn bad, right now.”
She looks at her phone and then up at me.
“Please,” I whisper. I need her so fucking bad right now.
I have never told anyone about that conversation with my mother. I couldn’t because I had lived with that burden, that shame forever. It is, at times, crippling. I convinced myself, on several occasions, that’s the reason I would never find contentment, let alone happiness.
Until the day I saw her: black skirt, red tank top, with a black and red polka dot scarf. The childlike happiness in such simple things, like winning a few dollars and the attention of a slew of men. She wasn’t flirting or asking for the attention, but she certainly attained it. On closer examination, I saw a young woman stepping out of her comfort zone, and trying to mask her self-conscious nature by overcoming whatever the underlying cause was.
I saw it because I had mastered it. I had learned to mask it. I was a chameleon behind a suit and tie, until a month ago. Now, I am even stronger and more confident than I was then, because she needs me to be.
I send the text telling them I love them. I assume someday it will, as Dominic says, be a gift I give myself, but right now it is my gift to him.
The smile and embrace I receive, when I hold up the phone and show him the text, is a gift to me.
I haven’t been told I was loved by my parents in several years. A week after we buried my sister, in fact. After that was when she started looking at me, just staring when she thought I didn’t see her, and she’d burst out in tears. I wasn’t unsympathetic to their loss, but I was lost to how they dealt with it, and how I was forced to live my life, in order to cope.
School and my friends were my sanctuary. Home was my hell. I had learned to easily switch from one to the other. If I smiled at home, I knew I would hurt someone. If I didn’t smile at school, I would hurt someone. Not that I thought that my friends couldn’t handle my sadness, but why would I want that for them?
“What are you thinking?” he whispers, as he rubs his lips to my head.
“Nothing,” I say, pulling him tighter against me. “Everything, gibberish, actually. My head is spinning from sad to happy and back again.”
“Tell me more,” he says, rubbing his hand softly up and down my spine.
“I think I feel guilty when I’m happy.” I expect him to tell me how ridiculous it is, but he doesn’t.
“I understand.”
I look up at him, put my hands on both cheeks and rub my nails up and down his stubble.
“Then, I feel guilty when I bring you down.”
“On the contrary. You, Ladybug, lift me up.”
I stare at him for a moment. “I want you to know, it doesn’t go unappreciated. But it hurts me to think I’m hurting you by dredging up old pain.”
“That loss and pain will never go away, Laney. But I have a reason to not get lost in it.”
“Segretti.” I smile.
“Not yet.” he smiles back.
“I’m happy for you. And just so you know, I will be there to support everything you do and not question anything. Even though, I’d love to know why you want to destroy something that could bring in millions of dollars.”
He bends and rubs his nose against mine. “That place makes a beautiful city look like hell.”
“So, it’s ugly and Benito built it?”
“DeLuca had it built, and yes, it’s hideous, you are correct. Smart and sexy.” I push my lips against his, but he doesn’t kiss me, “And without a passport. We need to go fix that. Documentation of Delaney Johnson’s existence, where do we find it?” He winks.
I grab my purse and look in the back pocket, where I keep all my papers. I open it wider, reach in and pull out four chips from the casino we met at. I look over at him, as he drinks down a bottle of Evian.
“What is it?” He walks over, opening a bottle, and hands it to me.
I hold up the four chips and he smirks. “Just finding those?”
“Yes, when did you do that?”
Without mis
sing a beat. “A week before I met you, again.”
“Is that so?”
He winks, taking another drink and swallows. “They’re special. They should be framed. I have one in my wallet; it’s good luck. Lucky Laney.”
***
Standing in line for three hours is not the way I want to spend the day. But I get a glimpse of Dominic’s soft side. There is a family in front of us with two children; my guess is they are two and three years old. One of the little girls stares at him; just stares, for about three minutes before he looks up from his iPhone. He smiles and she gives him a big smile in return. Then he turns his phone off and shoves it in his pocket.
He waves and she waves back. He looks over at me. “She’s adorable. How many do you want?”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“I want four.” When my jaw drops, he laughs. “Maybe, five.”
When we leave the building he sees a flower vendor and makes me turn around, cover my eyes and promise not to peek. He says, “No peeking.” Which is adorable.
And yes, he buys me flowers.
Twice, since I have known him, he has given me flowers. The only other time I got flowers was a corsage from a boy who took me to the prom. Billy.
I tell him that, and he says that when he has daughters, he will make sure they get flowers often, so they build up a natural expectation to be treated like a lady should be treated.
He holds my hand, opens doors, and talks about Italy, and how much he can’t wait to show me the vineyards and his boat.
I tell him it isn’t a boat. Boats are not that big.
When we walk back into the apartment, Valentina is in the kitchen, and I can smell marinara sauce and garlic.
He walks up and gives her a quick peck on each cheek. “Smells wonderful.”
“If I don’t cook, that one doesn’t eat.” She points to me.
I point to myself. “Me?”
“Yes, you,” she laughs. “Now get up here. Dominic, get the wine.”
We sit at the table to eat. Dominic pours the wine and then sits.
“Aunt Josephina called. She said she’s attempted to call you, several times, and it gets sent to voicemail.”
“I’ve been busy,” he grumbles.
“Too busy to answer the phone?”
“Yes. We were busy right, Laney?” He winks.
“We sure were,” I say, as I twirl spaghetti on my fork, using a spoon as a surface.
I take a bite and look up. Both of them are staring at me, “Do I have sauce on my face?” I ask, as I wipe my face.
“You’re using a spoon.” Valentina points her fork at me. “To eat spaghetti.”
“Uh huh, isn’t that the right way?”
Valentina says ‘no’ and Dominic says ‘yes,’ at the same time and then they laugh.
“If she does that in Italy, you know what will happen, Dominic, stop trying to spare her feelings. Laney, if you spoon or cut your spaghetti in Italy, they make you sit in an alley to finish it.”
Dominic laughs, “They wouldn’t dare. Laney, you eat your spaghetti any way you like.”
“You’re throwing her to the wolves, Dominic.” She looks at me. “I think he’s doing it so he can get in your panties; chivalry is new to him.”
“Is that so?” I ask.
“Make him work for it, beg for your--”
“Valentina, please don’t talk about sex in front of me.”
“I’m not talking about my sex life,” she giggles.
“That’s because you don’t have one.”
“Well, not in a couple weeks. I am getting--”
He covers his ears, “She’s moving in with us. She’s quitting school, and will from now on become our cook, housekeeper, and nanny to our six future children. She’ll be the spinster aunt.”
“With cobwebs in her--”
“Valentina, that’s enough. Christ!” He is less jovial, but not harsh.
“Okay fine, I give in,” she laughs.
“So, no spoon?” I joke.
“And no spooning.” She points at Dominic.
***
I am cleaning out the sink when I feel his arms wrap around me from behind. “It’s clean.” He kissed my ear. “Now, let’s go relax in that bath I’ve been dreaming about since our phone conversation.”
“You started it,” I say, as I turn around.
He is standing in the kitchen in a pair of white boxer briefs and nothing else. “Not true. You were drunk, and we were on two very different subjects, but I liked where yours was going.”
He holds my hand over his shoulder and leads me into the bathroom. God, he is gorgeous. With each step, I watch a different muscle flex under his boxers.
“I’ve decided; I want you to find us a home.”
“Me?”
“Of course you. There are a few things I will not go without.”
The bath is still running when we walk into the bathroom. He turns around and looks at me. He starts unbuttoning my top, slowly; his eyes penetrating my body. I watch as his gaze intensifies and darkens, and yes, I watch his erection grow beneath his boxers.
“It must be a vineyard. I would prefer one with a barn, but that’s not a deal breaker, we can have one erected.” I look up quickly, and he sees me smirking, busted. “You like that?”
“I think you know, I do.”
“Although, I have a winery and presses to aid in the wine making process, when I think of our private vineyard, I picture a vat. Do you know what that is?”
“I’m assuming something to do with wine.”
“You assume correctly. It’s like a large tub that holds the grapes; think of it as a grape bath without water.”
“The one the women in the movies stand in and stomp the grapes?”
“Stomp is such a poor choice of words for a process called maceration.”
“Maceration.”
“In a vat.”
I close my eyes, bite my lip and suppress a laugh.
“Ponder that thought, while I prepare you for your bath. I have masturbated while thinking of you in one of my dress shirts, unbuttoned exposing your perfect C cups, with a tie loose and hanging right down here.” His finger runs from my collarbone to the waistband of my panties. “Your feet are bare and you are so fucking, deliriously happy, Laney.”
“I am.” I smile.
“Good, because only one other thing gives me as much pleasure as your smile. Care to take a guess at what it is?”
He kneels down in front of me and holds my hips in his hand, while rubbing his nose across the waistband. Then looking up as he licks to my hip and pulls my panties down with his teeth, he kisses his way across my belly and does the same thing on the other side. He moves to the center, his eyes full of desire as he pulls my panties down, exposing me to him, completely. I lift my left foot, and then my right, and finally they are gone. He kisses up my inner thigh, my belly, between my breasts, and to my neck.
“The ground must be fertile,” he says, as he pushes my shirt over my shoulders and kisses my exposed bare skin. “I want it completely organic, no chemicals that will tamper with production of any sort.”
He unsnaps my bra, “I want you to care for the beautiful things we grow, but never alone. We do it side by side, supporting and nurturing each other, regardless of what storms we may encounter. Do you understand, Delaney, bellissima, Delaney?”
“I think I do,” I whisper.
“Now close your eyes and picture how perfect it will be.” He turns me around and kisses my neck, as he leads me to the bath.
“Your vat,” he whispers.
I step into the tub, watching as he pushes his boxers off. A beautiful man who wants me.
He steps in and sits, pulling me onto his lap. He holds my face in his hands, as he kisses me in a very tender way. Our tongues slowly dance with hunger. He cups my breasts and very gently kneads them. I moan into his mouth and he slowly rocks his hips back and forth under me. His erection presses against me enou
gh to make it impossible to ignore, and even more impossible not to allow myself to rub harder against.
“Slowly. I want to show you how I want to make love to you fifty years from now. I want you to see how it’s just as good as what we have been doing.”
His hands run down my back, and he holds my hips, guiding them. He watches my reaction for every clue my body gives him, and then he makes sure each touch that elicits a sound is mimicked, over and over again.
“Dominic,” I breathe out. My breaths become more ragged, as desire consumes me. “Please.”
I am burning and want to come so badly, and he still isn’t inside of me.
He slows down, releasing my hips, grabs the body wash, pouring it in his hand, and he rubs me down: my arms, my hands, up my sides, my armpits, my stomach and my breasts.
“Dominic.”
“Laney.” He leans forward and kisses me deeply, slowly, completely.
His hands rub down my back and he grips my ass and spreads me. His finger runs across my untouched place.
He closes his eyes and moves his hands back up my hips as his breath heaves. He lifts and turns me around. One hand holds my hip and the other pushes me forward. I hear him groan before I feel his teeth and mouth on my back.
“Hold on to the side of the tub. Up, Laney.”
He is behind me kissing my hips. “Fuck, every damn part of you is beautiful but these right here, these Cupid dimples, so sexy and provocative, they’re taunting me. I want you from behind, hang on.”
I feel his piercing rub up and down my folds before he pushes inside. I yell out his name and his hand reaches around me, as he rubs a finger against my clit. I come immediately, and he thrusts forward and back, forward and back. Slowly, harshly, elongating my pleasure until he comes grunting as each pump empties into me.
I open my eyes when he pulls me back against his chest.
“You sure you’ll be able to do that in fifty years?” I ask.
“You going to stick around and find out?”
“Yeah.”
“Promise?”
I turn and look at him. “Yes.”
We spend the weekend in bed, on the floor, on the kitchen counter, a few times in the shower, and on the couch. When I’m not putting the puzzle that is she and I together, we are looking for homes, and making plans. Plans for our future.
