Plucking a dark chocolate from the box, I pop it in my mouth, and my taste buds explode with bitter chocolate and vibrant peach flavors before I bite down on a nut. It’s like heaven on my tongue, and I squeeze my eyelids shut, savoring each flavor as it melts in my mouth. I slowly open my eyes after I swallow, fighting a sudden bout of tears. A lump clogs my throat. This must be what it feels like to be spoiled and cherished.
This means so much to me, which is pretty pathetic.
It’s sad that one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me comes from a man who bought me.
I hug the flowers tight, fighting potent emotion. Fiero didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to do any of this. I’d have opened my body to him without gifts, butthis…all of this shows he cares, at least on some minor level, and I don’t really know what to make of it.
I walk to the kitchen with the flowers and find a large glass vase in one of the cabinets. I take my time arranging the flowers until they look pretty. I can’t keep the goofy grin off my face as I carry the vase back to the living room where I place it on the coffee table. I take a picture with my cell; I’m not even angry I can’t send it to Nina because Fiero has somehow disabled my phone.
“I definitely need wine for this,” I mumble to myself as I survey the mountain of boxes in the room which is starting to look like a massive project. Returning to the kitchen to grab some scissors, I pour myself a large glass of wine from the bottle of chilled white wine I find in the refrigerator, and then I head back to tackle the rest of my gifts.
I sit on the floor and drag the first box toward me with excitement bubbling in my chest.
I don’t know how long I’ve been unpacking, but I’ve managed to drink half the bottle of wine while I uncovered everything Fiero bought me. It’s so much. Too much, and I’m feeling overwhelmed. There are cosmetics, toiletries, a wild variety of shoes, sneakers, bags, lingerie, sleepwear, loungewear, and so many clothes I don’t know how I’ll ever wear them all. He thought of everything. I have shirts, blouses, skirts, pants, jeans, sweaters, cami tops and matching short sets, bikinis and swimsuits, and a mix of light summer dresses, casual maxi dresses, and exquisite formal dresses that have me drooling and panting.
It's all expensive, made from the finest materials, sourced from the best brands, and everything is the correct size meaning he must have checked that before he burned my stuff. He’s thoughtful in a way I didn’t expect.
I can’t even guess how much money he spent. I don’t want to. I’ll probably just induce a panic attack. All I know is no one has ever done anything this nice for me before. It’s the opposite of what I’m used to, and I don’t know how to process everything I’m feeling.
It feels like I’m in a movie and the director is going to call cut at any second because this is a fantasy. This isn’t real. I’ll have this for one week, and then it’ll all be gone. It’s the worst form of cruelty. To dangle all this before me and then have it ripped right out from under me. I know Fiero did this out of the goodness of his heart, and it’s so sweet and thoughtful, but it’s everything I’d ever dared to dream of, and the thought of having it so fleetingly guts me.
The house. The man. The romantic gestures. Fiero spoiling me. It’s all perfect.
But this isn’t my reality, and it never will be.
Sobs burst straight from my soul as I fall apart on Fiero’s living room floor, crying over everything that’s been denied to me all because I chose to date the wrong man in high school. If I’d never met Damiano, I’d still be in Detroit, living a far simpler life, but at least it’d be my own.
I give in to years of pent-up grief and cry my heart out.
That’s how the older woman finds me, sobbing and hiccupping with tearstained cheeks, sitting in a pile of expensive things in a borrowed shirt and skirt.
“Oh dear.” She sets a grocery bag and her purse down on the couch and rushes toward me. “Whatever’s the matter,tesoro?” She kneels beside me and instantly wraps me in her arms.
She’s a stranger, but the delicate scent of her perfume mixed with the tender warmth of her hug reminds me of mynonnain Sicily, and I cry harder, clinging to her, too comforted to be embarrassed.
She peers at me with concerned blue eyes. “Are you hurt, Valentina?”
“No.” I sniffle and shake my head, attempting to get a grip.What must she think of me?I gesture around me. “It’s too much. It’s overwhelming.”
“Ah.” Her lined face softens as she smooths a hand up and down my back. “My Fiero is a good and generous man. He looks after those he cares about.”
Her Fiero?Oh fuck, this must be his mother. I hastily swipe at the dampness on my cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Maltese. I swear I’m not usually such a basket case.”
Her smile is affectionate as she takes my hands and squeezes. “I’m not Fiero’s mama. I’m Ana,tesoro, Fiero’s housekeeper, though I’ve looked after him so long I consider him my son.”
“Oh, well it’s nice to meet you, and I’m sorry you found me like this.” I emit a brittle laugh. “I was just having a moment.”
“What the hell is going on, and who the hell is she?”
At the harsh tone, I swing my gaze to the woman standing in the doorway, carrying a briefcase, with a small purse over one shoulder, staring at me with narrowed eyes. The red skirt suit she’s wearing is expensive, clinging to her slim figure, highlighting her ample chest, the subtle curving of her hips, and her long shapely legs. A string of pearls rests around her neck, matching the bracelet on her right wrist. Her dark hair is pulled into an elegant chignon, highlighting her exquisite heart-shaped face. Wide gray-blue eyes stare at me with unconcealed suspicion. She’s absolutely stunning, and she radiates confidence as she walks across the room with her shoulders held back and her head held high.
Ana stiffens slightly, sliding her arm around my shoulders in a protective gesture. “Sofia. Fiero didn’t mention you were dropping by.”
“I don’t need an appointment to see my own brother, Ana,” she scoffs, not even looking at the woman, keeping her venomous eyes locked on mine.
I’m guessing Fiero has more than one sister because there’s no way the clothes I’m wearing belong to this woman.
“Who are you?” she snaps, looming over me. “And why are you wearing Tullia’s clothes?”
