I do a quick inventory of the titles and note that the majority are pre-nineteenth century. Some sections have duplicate titles, in different editions and multiple languages. When I reach Machiavelli's The Prince, I'm surprised to count over twenty volumes, with the oldest one being a 17th century edition.
"God, this must be expensive." I open it with care, inhaling the scent of the worn paper, and allowing my fingertips to feel the texture of it.
Putting it back on the shelf, I move on, remarking an overwhelming focus on Greek authors. There's an entire wall dedicated to the works of Plato, Aristotle, Euripides, and other names that I've never heard before. But the one book that draws my attention is Plato's Symposium, a book I'd studied about in essays, but never read in original.
I can barely contain my excitement as I pick the copy and start reading. I nestle in one of the comfortable chairs at the end of the room and lose myself in the pages of the book.
So entranced I am by the content of the book, I don't even hear when someone else comes into the library. I only notice another presence when the book is suddenly lifted from my hands.
"What?" I flinch, startled to see Enzo planted in front of me, the book now in his hands.
"Interesting choice," he comments, lifting an eyebrow at me, "I should have known your tastes run towards the..." a smile creeps up his face, "racy."
"Where is this racy?" I frown at him, not planning to give him an opening this time. "It's about deconstructing love as a philosophical concept. Nowhere does it talk about sex. But then I shouldn't be surprised if your mind is always in the gutter." I huff, standing up and snatching the book from his hand. "Do you ever not think about sex?" I lift an eyebrow at him, moving to bypass him and leave the library.
I'm not about to engage in another argument, and the best course of action is to retreat.
"Are you sure about that?" He catches my wrist, spinning me around so I'm backed against a bookshelf. His fingers climb up my arm slowly, and I struggle not to shiver at the touch. His palm touches mine, almost joining in a subtle embrace, before the book is gone from my hold once more.
"Did you know that in the original Greek, Symposium uses only eros for love? Now why would Plato do that when ancient Greek has a plethora of words for love, if the purpose wasn't to emphasize love as desire?"
"You're wrong." I push my chin up, ready to fight him if I have to.
"Am I? There's a reason he used eros, because desire isn't just sexual. There's also the desire to possess beauty, to own that which is pleasing to us," he continues, his assessing eyes studying me intently. I stifle a laughter.
Of course he'd ridicule me — even if covertly.
"But that's just the thing, isn't it? Love is not drawn to ugliness." I quote the passage that struck a chord in me, because it justified the actions of all the people who've hurt me in this life. And because according to this logic I'm too unappealing to be deserving of love.
But I refuse to believe that.
"You can insult me all you want, but I'm done putting up with you." I grit my teeth and push against him.
"Easy, little tigress, you're distorting my words. I'm not insulting you. Beauty, and ugliness are both subjective," he tries to explain himself, but I'm sick of him and his superficial world.
"No. You're the one distorting the meaning of this," I grab on to the book, but he doesn't let go. We're both holding on to one corner, our eyes meeting and having their own personal battle. "You're missing the point entirely. The ultimate type of love is the one that makes you whole, not the desire which is purely physical. Those who were once one being were separated by the cruel gods, condemned to search for their other half for an eternity, to never be whole without them." My voice trembles with the intensity of my passion. Because what if there is such a thing as a soulmate — my other half? He'll be able to accept and love all of me, including my ugliness.
"Who would have thought you'd be such a romantic? You, the cynic who proclaimed to be so empty. What would make you whole, I wonder?"
"Not you," the words tumble accusatorily from my mouth and his eyebrows shoot up in a challenge.
"Really," he drawls, moving closer and backing me further into the furniture, the shelves digging painfully in my skin, "too bad I'm the only one who's ever going to fill you up, little tigress." His hand moves up the column of my neck slowly, his finger wrapping around my throat and applying soft pressure.
"Let go!" My nostrils flare as my anger mounts. "I don't want anyone's hand-me-downs." I relish the way his eyes widen, the insult hitting the mark.
"Little tigress, it seems we're at an impasse." His thumb caresses my skin in circular motions, applying increasing pressure to his hold. "You need to learn when to sheathe these claws of yours," he says as his other hand grabs on to my wrist, the book falling to the ground. "I'm patient, but even I have a limit."
"Oh really?" I ask innocently, batting my eyes at him. "I'm not afraid of you, Enzo Agosti. So go ahead, do your worst."
"Do my worst?" he chuckles, his thumb moving up and under my chin, pushing it up so I'm staring right into his eyes. He's so close I can feel his breath on my skin. "What if I want to do my best?" His question throws me off completely, and my eyes widen for a second before I realize his intention.
Then his lips are on mine.
I'm so shocked, I just freeze.
His lips are soft and gentle — the complete opposite of him. He's slowly teasing a reaction out of me, and just as I start returning the kiss, he stops.
"Things are rarely as they seem, little tigress," he takes a step back, his eyes still rooted on my lips. "You're too quick to judge. Eros is indeed desire, but it's not always physical," he raises one finger to my forehead, "sometimes we desire someone's mind, and we want to possess the spirit," his hand moves lower, his fingertips grazing my chest before settling over my heart. "It's easy to take the body, the soul is the one forever out of reach."
I shove his hand away.
"You're right. You can always take my body by force, but you'll never have my soul." I reply triumphantly.
"Is that a challenge?" He quirks an eyebrow at me, almost amused.
"It's a prediction." I say confidently.
"Allegra, Allegra," he makes a tsk sound, shaking his head slowly, "what am I going to do with you?"
"Leave me alone?" I ask, my tone playful yet hopeful at the same time.
"Maybe I should," he starts, and I'm surprised at his quick acquiescence, but then finishes the sentence with a shrug, "doesn't mean I will," and my face falls.
He turns to leave, but not before I catch the slight pull of his mouth, the satisfaction of having the last word.
Alone in library, I pick up the book again, intent on finishing it. At the end, I begrudgingly have to admit that Enzo might have been on to something.
Desire becomes increasingly nuanced, from shallow to deep. And in the end, the love that is borne out of desire is all-encompassing. It becomes whole because by desiring the soul — the very essence of being — everything becomes beautiful.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I must go down?" I look at Ana in disbelief.
"I'm sorry, but Signora said that from now on, if you want to eat, you'll have to come to the dining room. She's prohibited every member of the staff from bringing you any food."
I'd been trying to avoid Lucia as much as possible, preferring to eat my meals in the room rather than risk another confrontation with her. It seems my plan had only annoyed her further into doing this.
I clench my fists, frustration gnawing at me.
With Enzo and Rocco gone most days, it's only me and Lucia, which means she doesn't have to pretend she's anything but the vicious witch she is. And now, threatening to starve me if I don't follow her dictates?
I shake my head, unsure how to proceed. I know she's doing this to rile me up, and to get me out in the open so she can torment me some more. Too bad for her that I'm not about to allow that. I'll just have to be on my guard.
Nodding at Ana, I leave my room, mentally preparing myself to battle the monster.
"There she is," My mother-in-law beams when she sees me, and I note we're not alone at the table.
What's your game, Lucia?
"So nice to see you again, Allegra. I've been meaning to drop by. We didn't get to know each other well last time, and I was hoping to remedy that." She flutters her eyelashes, smiling at Lucia as she says this.
It also doesn't escape me that they are speaking in English, knowing fully well I struggle with the pronunciation.
I plaster on my best fake smile and take a seat at the table. My stomach is growling, as I didn't eat much the day before either. I look down at the assortment of food — cakes, sandwiches, biscuits, all things I've never eaten before.
"Lucia, I don't think Allegra's seen this before," Gianna chuckles as she sees me staring at the food. I raise my gaze up, frowning.
"It's English afternoon tea." Lucia says, looking all smug.
"But it's not afternoon," I frown.
"My, my," Lucia places her hand in front of her mouth, hiding a smile. "Sometimes I forget you're from the countryside. I'm sure they don't have that there," her tone gives away the satisfaction she's feeling at pointing out my uncouthness.
Little does she know I barely had any food in the countryside, so it's not as if I'm going to turn my nose up at anything.
I shrug and start piling food on my plate. I'm going to eat and get out of here.
The sandwiches don't look half bad, so I take a bite, surprised to find myself enjoying the taste.
"She likes it," Gianna states, an evil smile playing on her lips.
"Of course I do, it's food," I tell her, rolling my eyes. She's probably never gone hungry a day in her life.
"Oh dear, maybe we should tell her what it is?" Lucia asks, her eyes fixated on me.
"And ruin her meal? We shouldn't." Gianna's fake concern is obvious, but even more so is the fact that they've messed in some way with the food.
I look down at the sandwich, and I note there's some sort of paste inside. It tastes like meat, so I can't imagine what else it could be.
"What are you talking about?"
"That sandwich you're enjoying so much is made with wild boar testicles. A delicacy, or so I've heard." The look of pure condescension on Lucia's face tells me this was all on purpose.
I mean, yet another humiliation, right? But this time she had to bring Gianna Guerra into it, her perfect daughter-in-law.
Let's make fun of the peasant girl!
I don't give them the satisfaction of showing a reaction. Instead, I merely shrug and continue to eat.
Food is food, right?
"Wow, thank you so much!" I add, my mouth full of food. "You didn't have to go through so much trouble to get me a delicacy. I can eat anything, really." I say as I bite again into the sandwich.
Their expressions are scandalized, their mouths half open in disgust as they see me gorge on the sandwich with much gusto.
"You know, in my village we have a delicacy with cow's tongue. I should make that for you next time. To thank you for this." Their faces fall at the mention of cow's tongue, and I try not to smile. Instead, I continue.
"Oh, and entrails. I don't think people in big cities eat entrails anymore. I mean..."
"I think that's enough," Lucia interrupts me, her face almost green. "Ana, please take the food away."
"But," I start, but I realize there's no reasoning with her. So I fold my shirt upward, creating a small pouch, and taking as much food as I can fit in my hands, I stuff it inside.
Both Gianna and Lucia are looking at me in awe, but I don't wait for another set-down. I stand up, ready to go.
I make to pass, intent on getting back to my room, and I don't notice Gianna slowly extending her leg. Not until I trip on it, falling face down on the floor. The food spills from my makeshift pouch, rolling on the ground. The softer food turns to mush under the weight of my body, and I feel it stick to my clothes.
"Ops," Gianna giggles, and Lucia soon joins in, both of them laughing at me.
Damn!
I don't even care about the humiliation at this point, but there's a pain radiating from my knee. And then there's also my shoulder, with a barely healed wound. Safe to say, I'm not doing great.
My mouth opens on a low moan of pain, my eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to withstand it.
I hear a gasp, and then strong arms are lifting me up.
"Are you ok?" I open my eyes to see a worried expression on Enzo's face.
"How silly, are you ok, Allegra? She must have tripped, right? These floors are a little too slippery." Lucia quickly intervenes, but Enzo doesn't even mind her.
"Are you ok?" He asks again and I give him a slow nod.
Without warning, he swoops me up in his arms, and my arms go around his neck, holding on for support.
He turns towards the pair at the dining table, and the words he says are the ones I least expected from him.
"Gianna, you have no business in this house and I trust this is the last time I'll see you around. Mother, if you want to meet her so much, do so outside the house. She's not welcome here. This is Allegra's house too now, and I trust you won't make her uncomfortable."
He doesn't wait for a reply as he takes me up the stairs and to my room. He kicks open the door and lays me on the bed.
"Where does it hurt?" He kneels in front of me, looking me over for injuries.
"I'm fine," I finally find my words, but the answer doesn't satisfy him. He starts tugging at my shirt until the scar of my wound is visible. He leans in, inspecting it, his fingers hovering on top of it.
"Does it hurt?" He asks again and I just shake my head.
"Allegra. You have to tell me if anything hurts, otherwise I can't help you."
"Why would you?" I ask on a small voice. It's not as if he hasn't been bullying me as well. His family just took a more direct route.
"Because I took an oath to protect you. And that's what I'm going to do."
"Really?" I ask derisively. "And who will protect me from you?" Because while Lucia and Gianna's pranks and jibes hurt, they don't have the potential to mess me up inside like he does.
"No one. You're mine to do whatever I want."
"Yes, I am, aren't I?" I snort. "I'm the toy that only you can break."
"You're right on that note, little tigress. Except that right now I want to put you back together. So tell me, where does it hurt? Or I can just find for myself." His hands go to the hem of my skirt, pulling it up slowly.
"Stop that," I slap his hand away. Instead, I extend my leg and show him the bruise on my knee.
His cold fingers touch the skin around, and a shiver goes down my spine, goosebumps forming all over my body.
"We need to disinfect this." He gets up and heads into the bathroom, coming back with a small first aid kit.
He soaks some gauze in disinfectant and starts dabbing it around my flesh.
"Auch," I flinch at the sudden sting, but then his hot breath covers my skin, assuaging some of the pain.
"Has this happened before?" He asks quietly, his fingers working on my small wound.
"It's nothing I can't handle," I reply, turning my head to the side. I don't need him to fight my battles for me. Not when I'm capable to defend myself.
"Allegra..." He leans back, releasing a deep sigh. "Just... next time something like this happens, tell me."
"And what can you do?"
"Send my mother back to Italy," he answers, his expression serious.
My eyes widen a little at his reply, but I decide to change the subject, not wanting to be the cause of a rift between mother and son.
"Your mother and Gianna.... have they been friends for a long time?" I ask, trying to understand his mother's anger towards me.
"Mother and Gianna?" Enzo raises an eyebrow, amused. "Never. They couldn't stand each other before. Mother used to always bad mouth Gianna. Until you
came along, that is."
"I see."
She's doing the old the enemy of my enemy is my friend — all to make me suffer. But why?
"There, it's done," he says after he sets the band aid on my knee.
"Thank you." I drape the skirt back down over my leg, suddenly feeling a little awkward. It must be the first time we've had a decent conversation without fighting.
"Now, go change your clothes. We have somewhere to go."
'Where?"
"To visit my sister."
I LOOK OUT THE WINDOW of the car, taking in the foreign sights. Enzo hasn't said a word since we left the house, and somehow the silence is deafening.
"Why is your sister in a convent?" I finally ask. I know he has older sisters who are already married, so I'd been surprised to hear about a sister living in a convent.
His features grow taut at my question, and his hands grip tighter on to the steering wheel.
"She's raising her daughter there," his answer is short and clipped, but it only makes me more curious.
"What about the father? She's not married?"
He doesn't answer. Instead, he pushes his foot on the brake, stopping the car by the side of the road.
"She's not married. And I don't want to hear you bringing that up in front of her."
I frown, taken aback by his reaction.
"But..."
"She was raped. Two years ago. That's how she got pregnant. My father couldn't stand such shame in his house, so he sent her to Sacre Coeur." There's no mistaking that Enzo cares deeply about his sister, not with the way he's barely holding himself together as he explains the circumstances of her exile.
"I won't say anything," I respond and he gives me a forced nod, so I feel compelled to explain myself. "I don't look down on her, you know. It's not shameful that she wanted to keep her child."
He spares me a glance before answering drily. "Tell that to all the people who crucified her for her choice."
"I'm surprised your father didn't do more. He doesn't strike me as the compromising type."
Enzo chuckles, steering the car back on the road.
"He's not. I had to bargain with him. One thing you'll learn, Allegra, is that my father doesn't care about anyone but himself — and money."
Morally Decadent (Morally Questionable Book 3) Page 14
