“I see,” I said, holding tighter to my purse. “Io vedo.”
He sighed. “But the doctor—”
“Fine,” I said, turning from him. “I’m fine.”We’re fine. Just fine. In fact, we’re beautiful. A beauty you refuse to even consider!
“Swear to me,” he said.
“I’ve already sworn to you.”
“I can’t live without you, Scarlett. I can’t. And I won’t.”
You refuse to live without me, but what about when you learn that it’s not only me anymore, butus? What then?
Chapter Thirty-Three
Scarlett
By mid-April, my stomach started to swell, blooming like one of the flowers opening itself to spring. My jeans refused to button, and anything that had to be zipped only went so far, so I relied on stretch to see me through. The bulge was not as noticeable when paired with flowing tops.
I still hadn’t told my husband.
He only smiled when he noticed the weight I was gaining. Sometimes he felt I was too thin, training too hard. He was pleased that my appetite had grown. Though he wouldn’t be pleased to know the reason behind it.
After the day at the doctor’s office, a silent war raged between us. Deep down, I knew that he knew, but his mind refused to believe it. I had done the same thing until it was confirmed, the proof staring me in the face, the sound of the life we created beating around me.
Rosaria announced that she was pregnant after my appointment. She was the female equivalent of my husband, but since she was the woman, she refused to hide her disappointment. Rocco was thrilled beyond words, already thinking of names.
Carmen. Chiara. Lou. All followed next in that order. All of their lives had been impacted by the faulty birth control. We all shared the same doctor who had prescribed the same pill. Juliette announced her pregnancy last, hers not having anything to do with birth control but pure want.
This seemed to add to the mounting tension between us. I wouldn’t give up making one or two comments every day, a comment that would spark a debate or a conversation between us. It never got out of control, but the heat lingered underneath the surface, waiting for the right time to explode.
One morning I woke up to slobbery kisses and a regal face in mine. My husband had bought me a puppy, a Doberman that I named Ruby. He had adopted her to satisfy the maternal urges in me. He hoped that having a creature depend on me for its every need would pacify me.
If the situation hadn’t been so serious, it would’ve been comical.
We had somehow reverted to the basics. A man and a woman attempting to understand each other without the blessing of words. At this point, though, I felt words were more like weapons. They cut deeper than the reasons behind our feelings, at the same time shielding us from the truth, both his and mine.
Brando started to go out to the bar more, one of the men or his brothers along with him at all times. He’d come back inebriated, smelling so strongly of whiskey that I’d turn away from him in our bed.
Not the kind of man accustomed to being ignored, and having enough of the treatment, he flipped me over, his breath a distillery, the alcohol seeping out of his pores. I was so tempted to drink him in, but I couldn’t. I knew the cost. His emotions had reached a crescendo, and he wouldn’t be gentle.
He trailed his fingertips along my collarbone, down my side, over my stomach, finding the secret places that only he knew the roads to. But then his touch became rougher, his mouth more demanding.
I would have welcomed it before. Urged it, even.
This time I said the one word I had never used against him before. “No.”
Stilling, his eyes bore down on mine. I had become a creature he didn’t understand at all—one that hovered in the darkness with a glinting knife after confessing my unyielding love for him.
“Lento,” I said, touching his cheek.I mean you no harm. I love you more than ever.“I need slow.”
He moved so slow that it was almost painful.You asked for it, his eyes seemed to say.I did, I responded in our language,but not likethis. All of me tensed, expecting the onslaught, but slow meant prolonging until my body felt strained beyond its means. The love between us, the passion, was a slowly rising flood threatening to drown me.
The next day came, and I was sore, but hopeful. He had whispered three words to me during the night, long after we had made love.Pensi alla questione. He wouldthink on the matter.
The matter.
That morning, though, he was gone from his side of the bed. Vincenzo had gone with him.
