Then I found him years later.
Then he saved me, again, from a fate he’d put me on a path to. His father and mine both at fault, too.
Then, in the midst of all that fucking madness, somehow, I fell in love. So deeply in love that I couldn’t tell the difference between passion and anger anymore. I wanted to slap him and kiss him all at the same time.
Slap him for not telling me.
Kiss him for saving me. For suffering for me. For all that he had been through in my honor.
Marry for loyalty, not for love. Love kills the soul quicker than a sharp dagger to the heart.
He had taken a dagger to his throat. For me.
I took one to the heart. For him.
I touched my stomach. I’d forever be connected to him, the proof of his blood vow taking up space in my womb.
We both had to bleed for this.
I wondered if tomorrow our arrangement would be null and void due to…love. A weapon he had no defense against.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. After he’d slammed me into that metaphorical rock, I was set adrift.
I slammed the door in his face right before I slid into bed and hid myself in the darkness.
* * *
A week had gone by.We hadn’t spoken. We hadn’t touched. We hadn’t even looked at each other.
In the morning, I used to cook him breakfast before he left for work. We were in contact during the day. We’d make dinner plans. Sometimes he would even send me a dirty joke. There wasn’t a night since our wedding, or day for that matter, that we didn’t have sex. I hadn’t gone even a day without seeing him. When he worked too much, I felt it, the absence of the most important person to me.
I struggled with missing him and wanting nothing to do with him. When I smelled coffee in the kitchen after just waking up, or his cologne in our bathroom, or saw one of his shirts in the hamper, it made me want to burn it all down, but at the same time, savor each scent, each touch.
Love doesn’t make you sick, like people claim. It silently goes in, nick by nick, causing cuts that might never heal. Noemi was right about one thing: Love isn’t a disease. Love is a dagger.
On the seventh day of silence, I got an unexpected visitor.
Uncle Tito.
He hugged me tightly before patting my stomach. “How is our boy?”
I patted the same spot. “The Dr. said all looks good. He’s still looking like a little boy.”
Uncle Tito laughed at this. He handed me a loaf of what looked like bread. “Scarlett wanted me to bring this over. Would you mind putting on some coffee so we can enjoy it? The baby will like the blueberries, I am sure.”
After pouring him a cup of coffee, I cut us each a slice of the cake, and we ate in silence. Every once in a while, he took a sip of coffee. On one sip, my eyes rose to meet his, and the kindness in them almost knocked me off the chair. It happened at the most unexpected times.
“I know,” I said. “You were the man who saved…my husband.” It was hard for me to call him anything but husband. The other names seemed wrong, and when I thought of the name he was given at birth,Vittorio, it made me think of talking about a dead man.
He patted my hand. “A different time. A different place. I am only thankful that I was there for him.”
Silence came between us again. I didn’t know what to say. I still hadn’t settled on one feeling. Loyalty kept me rooted. Love was killing me because it gave him the power to stick the dagger in further. His secrets were the poisonous tips.
When I looked up, Uncle Tito was watching me again. “He sent me here.”
“Who?”
“Your husband. He is unsure.”
