I slam my computer shut. “Hi,” I squeak. “Wha…. Wha…what…what are you doing here?” I splutter nervously. “I thought you were getting here tomorrow.”
“Surprising you.” He holds his hands out wide, “Surprise.”
“Great.” I fake a smile.
Damn it…I was kind of in the middle of something here.
Marcel takes me into his arms and hugs me, I’m hot and flustered and sickly aroused.
I look over his shoulder at the computer as it sits on the couch and a sense of dread fills me.
I want to know what’s going on inside that computer…and worst still, more than anything.
I want to watch him come.
I lie in the darkness and stare at the ceiling.
Antonio’s words come back to me. “If he wanted you. He would have you.”
In the darkest corner of my depravity, I wish that were true.
I close my eyes in disgust…God.
I’m the worst form of human.
Marcel and I made love tonight, only…when I closed my eyes, I wasn’t here in this room with him.
I was poolside with Giuliano.
It was his body that I saw, it was his body that I sucked. His hands that rubbed the oil into me.
And I was so hot for it, like never before with Marcel. I hit a new level of arousal.
It was Giuliano who made me come so hard…and he wasn’t even here.
A hot tear of regret rolls down my face.
I hate myself.
*
I lie on the deckchair by my mother’s pool, I’m being eaten alive by questions. I want to know about Angelina and Giuliano. “I know that we’ve never talked about Dad.”
She exhales heavily.
“I want to understand how….” I frown. “The dynamics of how it went down back then.”
“Why would you want to talk about that?”
“I don’t know, I guess I’m at an age where I want to understand it from your point of view. If you will just be honest with me today, I promise to never bring it up with you again.”
She exhales heavily. “What do you want to know?”
“Did you know about Angelina?”
“I knew that he fell in love with her before we met, but she lived in London and he married me.”
I frown as I listen.
“Just as he said in the letter, he went away for work and spent a week with her.”
“He told you when he got back?” I ask.
“No.”
I frown.
“He saw us both for years, she knew about me but I didn’t know about her. He had her set up in Lake Como in her own house, she was his official mistress. The whole of Milan knew about her, he paraded her around while I was at home looking after his children.”
My heart drops.
“He told her that he was only with me because of our children and that as soon as they were old enough he was leaving me for her.”
“Was that true?”
She shrugs. “Perhaps.”
“Were you sleeping with him?”
“All the time, we were closer than we had ever been.”
“How did you find out about her?”
“She came to see me.”
I sit up in my deckchair, surprised. “What?”
“She was fed up and wanted more from him.” She glances over. “She told me everything and I appreciated her honesty, she wasn’t the villain in this story, she loved him and was promised the world.”
“What happened then?” I ask.
“I was devastated, demanded a divorce which he declined.”
Was the letter all lies?
“He said he loved me and that he would never go to her again.” She smiles sadly. “But we both know that he couldn’t stay away.”
I frown as I stare at her. “So, you just accepted it?”
She exhales heavily as if disappointed. “I know it sounds pathetic….”
I reach over and take her hand in mine.
“I loved him, the thought of living without him broke my heart.”
I get a lump in my throat.
“When he was home, he was so…attentive to me.”
“You were still having sex?” I gasp.
“The best sex, we were….” She frowns as if the memory pains her. “When he was home with us, he was perfect. I conceded that he loved the both of us and both relationships had their place in his life. You must remember at this time; your father was a very powerful man. Most Italian men of his stance had a harem of women, I somehow convinced myself that one woman who I knew about was better than the many that his friends took.”
I puff air into my cheeks, I hate this story.
“And then he did something unforgiveable.”
“What?”
“He got Angelina pregnant.”
My face falls.
“He swore it was an accident, but I don’t think it was.”
I watch her as I listen.
“Then the boy was born,” she says sadly.
“What happened then?”
“Your father loved him so much.”
I smile softly. He’s easy to love. I think for a moment, “But how….”
“How were you conceived?”
“Yes?”
“I told your father that I had met someone else and was going to pursue a sexual relationship with him. He flipped out. Threatened to kill him and then beat him to a pulp if he didn’t stay away from me.”
“What?”
“He was home for three months straight and begged me night and day for another chance, and slowly but surely, made me fall back in love with him. We spent a wonderful six months in each other’s arms.”
“Where was Angelina at this time?”
“I was told that they were over.”
I frown. “But?”
“Turns out that she was just in England because her father was terminally ill.”
She falls serious and stares straight ahead.
“What happened then?” I ask.
“I still remember the day she returned. I was seven months pregnant with you.”
My heart drops.
“He was so excited and had hardly slept the night before. He left early one morning and said he wouldn’t be back for a week as he was going away for work. In my gut, I just knew that something was amiss and I was sure it had to do with her. This woman had become the death of me, every one of my nightmares and insecurities revolved around her. I knew that he loved her and that no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t stay away. I found out that Angelina had been in London because her father was terminally ill and that she was to return to Lake Como. I found myself heavily pregnant to a man who was a stranger. That was the day my marriage ended. There and then, I wouldn’t even let him come into the delivery room with me.”
“You went in alone?” I whisper.
“No.” She smiles sadly. “I had a girlfriend.”
I sit and stare into space as I process everything. Wow…information overload.
“I wasn’t the only victim in this story. Poor Angelina, she loved him so much. Gave up her family and her country for a man who was married and still happily sleeping with his wife. She too, suffered years of emotional insecurity.”
“He wasn’t a very nice man, was he?”
She smiles sadly. “That’s the contradicting thing, he was a wonderful man. Even after everything, I adored him until the very end.
I exhale in disgust. “You’re a better woman than I am.”
“One day, you’ll meet someone special and will understand.”
“Understand what?” That all men are douche bags?
“That deep true love isn’t something that can be turned off when you want to. If you love someone, you love them for life. Love isn’t a choice, Francesca. Love chooses you, not the other way around.”