I reach for my phone, my heart pounding. I call him, and it rings out and goes to voicemail.
I send a text instead, my fingers shaking as I type.
I’m sorry about last night. I want to explain. Please call me.
I stare at the check marks. Delivered and received. But not read.
I stare at the screen for a long moment, willing those two little checkmarks to turn blue. They don’t.
Vincenzo could still be asleep or busy, but maybe he’s ignoring me. I pulled away when he was vulnerable and let him think I couldn’t stand the thought of loving him. Being loved by someone who actually sees me, who protects me without controlling me, and who makes me laugh and feel brave and want to be better than I am sounds pretty amazing. I just hope I haven’t ruined things between us forever.
I force myself out of bed and pull on an oversized cream sweater, the thickest and softest one I own. I need comfort today.
With my dirty clothes hamper in my arms, I head downstairs. My father seems to be out, thank God. I don’t think I could face him reminding me to murder Vincenzo without screaming or breaking down. Or both.
Everything reminds me of Vincenzo now. Even laundry. By the washer, I sort my whites from my colors, the memory of being on that laundromat floor with him playing over and over in my mind. His body covering mine. A stranger kissing me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted.
I’m so lost in thoughts of him that I jump when someone says my name.
“Good morning, Miss Montoni.”
It’s our housekeeper, Mrs. Santoro. She’s known me since I was a baby, and she’s one of the few constants in this house that doesn’t feel like a threat. Cristiano and I used to play with her daughter Mina when we were children, though Dad didn’t like us associating with “the help.” I hated that he would say those things right in front of Mina, treating her like she was deaf or stupid or didn’t have feelings that could be hurt.
Mrs. Santoro looks at me with kind eyes that take in my rumpled hair and exhausted face. “Let me finish this for you. You should eat something.”
“It’s okay, Mrs. Santoro. I’ve got it, thank you.” I need something to do with my hands. Something normal and mundane that doesn’t require thinking.
“Are you sure?” She doesn’t say so, but I can tell from the wrinkle on her brow that she’s worried about me.
“I’m sure. Thank you.”
“All right, dear.” She nods and leaves me to it. I’m grateful she doesn’t push.
I sort through the laundry mechanically. The rhythm is soothing until I pick up the skirt I was wearing last night and see stains on it. White stains that I can’t place for a moment.
I turn bright red when I realize it’s Vincenzo’s cum, and I put it into the washing machine. My first real sexual experience with a man, and I’m tied up in knots about how the night ended between us.
But it was wonderful. Steamy and intense and satisfying. Vincenzo must be more experienced than me, but I never felt like he was hurrying me or that he thought a fumble in his car was immature and stupid. He seemed… Well, he seemed honored to be touching me. He made me want to be daring. I’ll never forget the anticipation in his blue eyes as I reached for the button on his jeans and popped it open.
I don’t expect you to save yourself for some arbitrary date, and I won’t demand anything from you on our wedding night. I want things to happen between us when we want them.
It’s an arranged marriage, but it doesn’t have to feel that way. That’s what he was telling me. The memory brings tears to my eyes, and I swipe them away, fearing I’ve ruined things between us forever.
I add detergent to the machine and press start. A steady and mechanical rumble fills the silence. I lean against the machine, feeling the vibrations through my body, and close my eyes.
Please call me back. Please.
I take a deep breath and check my phone again.
Nothing. My message is still delivered. Still unread.
I try calling one more time. It rings and rings and goes to voicemail. In a shaky voice, I manage, “Vincenzo, it’s me. Please… I know I messed up last night. I just need to talk to you. Please call me back.”
I hang up and stare at my phone, willing it to ring.
Silence.
He really is ignoring me. And I deserve it.
