As if I didn’t organize all of this.
If it were up to her, this husband of hers, she’s supposedly grieving, would still be in a morgue refrigerator, lying in limbo while she numbed out.
She can afford to numb out, as she has always been able to disconnect from reality.I wonder if she would feel it if I shoved her into the grave on top of him.Good riddance.
With my teeth grinding, I mutter, “I’m aware of that.”At this point, I’m surprised she’s aware of it.I’m amazed she knows where she is as I help her into the limousine, releasing a sigh of relief once the door is closed.This cannot be over soon enough.
The irony isn’t lost on me as I round the car while mist falls on my head and shoulders.The son who was disowned is now holding everything together, making sure the arrangements are correct, overseeing the announcements in the papers, and putting together an obituary.I even picked out the coffin.I had to give serious thought to the box that would hold my father’s remains when he never once reached out to me in the many months since he unceremoniously handed me over to the Santoros.I’m reasonably confident I gave him more thought in the past five days than he gave me over the course of my life.
The repast is being held at the family’s longtime favorite restaurant, somewhere Dad spent more money than I want to imagine over the past few decades.They promised a huge spread, and by the looks of it, they delivered.Long tables practically sag under the weight of so much food already being picked over by hungry vultures who think an oversized floral arrangement gives them the right to eat all the prime rib.
Giulia is already here, sitting at a table with her parents, her brothers, and my sister.I can’t avoid them because Sophia is there, so as soon as Mom is settled in, I make my way through the crowd still filtering in from outside.
“Thank you all for coming,” I murmur, shaking Rocco’s hand again.“I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long.”And I mean it, my eyes seeking Giulia’s in a subconscious effort to get the message across.I wouldn’t know how to explain it if I tried, not that I’d have a chance until we were alone.The odds of that happening today are slim to none.I’m not sure if that’s a bad thing or if I ought to be grateful.I don’t know that I have it in me to find the right words, as exhausted as I am.
“Lord knows we had our differences…” Rocco murmurs, “… but I did respect him as a businessman.”
“And at the end of the day…” Isabella adds, “… he was a father.Family can’t be replaced.How are you holding up?”
The perverse urge to laugh almost gets the better of me, but somehow I manage to contain it.Of all people, Isabella Santoro is the first person not related to me by blood to ask how I’m holding up today.Life is full of sick surprises.“It’s been a long several days, but I’m getting through.Please, help yourselves to whatever you want.”
Looking down at my sister, I add, “Eat something.”She looks like she’s ready to fall over.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to convince her to do,” Dante murmurs, rubbing her shoulder.
“I can fix you a plate.”Giulia hops up from her chair.“You stay right there, and I’ll take care of it.”
Dammit.Will there ever be a time I’m not so intensely aware of everything about her?The pearl earrings she wears gleam like the ones strung around her neck.Her simple, classic black dress perfectly highlights her hourglass shape.The scent of her perfume fills the air as she walks past me on her way to the buffet line.
She looks up at me in passing, and a rush of pure need blindsides me.
What I wouldn’t give to reach out and hold her.
It would be the same as putting a gun in my mouth and pulling the trigger, considering the way Luca clocks my every move.I’m sure he’s bitter after his littlegotchamoment in Rocco’s study was cut short.And I have no doubt he’ll want to pick up where we left off just as soon as Rocco feels it’s appropriate.
Because I can’t help myself, I come up with a reason to chat quietly with the older couple getting in line behind her, waiting to fill their plates.I don’t remember their names.I probably wouldn’t recognize them if I tripped over them on the street, but they’re suddenly the most fascinating people in existence.
“Are you okay?”Giulia whispers when they’re distracted by whether to choose the prime rib or the pork loin at the carving station.“Do you need anything?”
You.Just you.She’s the one thing that’s been missing from my life for five days, and now that she’s in front of me, I’m gripped by this overwhelming need to keep her by my side.“Sleep,” I mutter instead, stealing a glance over my shoulder to make sure none of the Santoros are watching.
“I’ve missed you,” she confesses.
And that’s dangerous.I love to hear it.I can’t believe how much I love it, but it’s wrong.I wish it weren’t, but it is.The fact that her family sits halfway across the room is a reminder of what can’t happen between us.“I’m sorry about that,” I murmur before peeling away from the line so I don’t have to witness her disappointment.
She cares too much, but it’s no more than the way I care for her.I didn’t know how much I missed her until I saw her again, and now I’m afraid it’s too late to stop whatever it is that took root between us.It should never have gone this far.I need her like I need air.I didn’t know it until I had to spend the hardest days of my life without her.
There’s something that tells me that’s nothing compared to how tough my days will be now that I know how much better life is when she’s part of it.
Part of my awareness is always with her as the afternoon goes on, and I exchange parting words with one guest after another.After a group of them say their goodbyes, I linger under the awning mounted above the restaurant’s front door.The cool air is a treat after spending hours inside.I take deep breaths, filling my lungs, searching for the strength to get through these final hours.
“Alessandro.”Giulia’s soft voice rings out behind me, and I turn my head to find her slowly wandering my way.She’s trying so hard to look casual, like she only wanted a little fresh air.
“You shouldn’t be out here with me,” I murmur, looking out at the street and the cars passing by instead of looking at her.“Go back inside.”
“I only want to talk to you.If I call you later, will you pick up?”
The anxiety in the question might as well be a knife slipping into my chest.“Sure, whatever, just get back inside,” I urge.“Let’s not make a scene.”
