Farewell, My Loves Read online

  “No peeking, tesorina,” Giorgio says with a smile in his voice.

  He’s covering my eyes with his hands, guiding me to his surprise.

  He told me he had a bag packed for us and all I needed to do was keep my eyes closed during the drive.

  Trying to watch my step through his directions, I’m excited the more we’re walking to see what he’s planned for the weekend.

  “Okay, I’m going to have to carry you now, but keep your eyes closed. No cheating, alright?”

  “C’mon! Just a little peek?”

  “You peek my curious kitten, and I’m throwing you overboard, pretty dress and all.”

  “Overboard? Are we on a boat!”

  “You sly little cat. You had to distract me, didn’t you!” he says with a laugh, and then picks me up quickly making me think he really will throw me into water, but only plops me down where he wants.

  I hear him step over and then with a kiss to my lips, tells me to go ahead and open my eyes.

  “Tanti auguri, bella,” he wishes me a happy birthday while moving to hug me from behind with the view of New York city across from the yacht we’re standing in.

  “It’ll take about six hours, but I thought it would be nice to spend your eighteenth birthday in the Hamptons. On the way over we can tan like we used to back home, only it’ll be on the deck and we don’t have to wear anything at all. What do you think?” he tempts me.

  “I think you’re too good to me, Giorgio,” I tell him honestly, because he doesn’t deserve my double-crossing heart.

  “No, I’m not good enough, tesorina, and without you, I’d be a much worse person,” he tells me in his confession like whisper.

  Later that night after a romantic seaside dinner for two under the stars, after blowing out my eighteen candles on a two-tier cake made with cannoli filling from a bakery in Little Italy, during the throes of intense passion he held me so tight to him…almost like he was trying to fuse us together.

  “For years I dreamed about being with you, just like this... all mine, everyday, for the rest of my life, and it gets better every time, Gianna,” he whispered in between hot, searching kisses.

  “I try to do everything I possibly can to leave no room for you to do anything else but love me,” he says, making me feel like he suspects my deepest darkest secret.

  “I do, amore. I love you. I won’t ever stop,” I tell him with so much emotion, worked up in his love, his passion, and his obsession for me, grabbing at him because I was trying to chase away my guilt.

  “Never, Gia. You can never stop,” he whispers, hugging me tightly to him still, consummating our words.

  I did love him. Honestly.

  I would do anything to never let it end.

  So when I next saw Nora, it broke my heart I was going to cut off my only girlfriend in this country so that I could keep away from the temptation that was Michael.

  We stepped out of the library, and as always for the past three months since I met him, Michael was waiting outside for us.

  As we made it down the front steps I noticed he was chatting up a pretty girl, and my heart, even though it’s not allowed to, stumbled and skipped a few beats, seeing he was holding flowers in his hands for her.

  I tortured myself not being able to take my eyes off of them.

  It shouldn’t have been painful seeing him give someone else any attention.

  I absolutely shouldn’t have felt jealous that she was experiencing what it felt like to have his playful eyes directed only at her.

  My heart feeling like kneaded bread was exactly what it took for me to make the right decision.

  To honor my vows.

  “Hey, love,” he greets me and then turns back to the girl and tells her he’ll catch up with her some other day.

  And I hope for his sake, he does.

  “Here, for you,” he says, offering me a little white flower that looked like a soft cotton ball.

  “They’re dandelions. You’re supposed to make a wish and then blow them out into the universe for them to come true,” he explains.

  Trying hard not to cry in front of him, with a lump in my throat I thanked him.

  I was relieved they were for me and I knew it was wrong.

  His magnetism was distressing.

  It shouldn’t be this way.

  I was married.

  Am!

  I am married.

  Gesu Cristo, he confused me and I don’t know why.

  “C’mon now, I’ll make a wish with you,” he says as he holds up the other one. Looking into my eyes, he nods, takes a deep breath and then pouts those beautiful lips to send off his wish.

  I want to crumble under the weight of his stare. It feels as if I can hear all the troubling things this man was wishing, making me both lightheaded and guilty to be the object of his attention.

  To be what he may be wishing for.

  But my vows weighed heavier than his penetrating stare, and I reluctantly break the eye contact with him.

  My shame reddening my cheeks, reminding me this was all wrong.

  Of course he interprets the heat on my cheeks as his doing and smiles.

  I sometimes wish I’d never met him.

  But my heart breaks a little at the thought.

  And then it breaks even more that it could even break any bit at all for someone who’s not Giorgio.

  What does that say about me?

  So I didn’t wish my wish; I wouldn’t even know what it would be.

  I placed the dandelion in between the pages of my course book to take home and preserve the whimsical seeds in a tiny vial instead.

  I’d keep the flower and the wish to myself forever.

  “Goodbye, Michael,” I say softly looking into his eyes, because I know this will be the last time I see this sweet man again.

  I have to make it so.

  “Not goodbye, love, but ‘I’ll see you around,’” he tries to correct.

  I nod with a sad smile knowing otherwise.

  I have to keep as far away from this handsome trouble of a man as I can.

  I make my way to the car without a backwards glance feeling like half of my traitorous heart was trying to go back to where I left Michael standing.

  When Gio joined me in bed later that night, I sat up and turned on the lamp by my side.

  “Go back to sleep, baby. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  But if it was going to work, if I was going to keep my vows for better or worse, I was going to have to stop pretending I didn’t know about the worse.

  I honestly believed it was what has been holding me back.

  “Giorgio, amore mio, I need you to tell me everything about La Mafia. I’ve been distant with you since that night and I’m sorry. You’ve done nothing to me to deserve a wife who’s ungrateful for all that you’ve done. But I can’t go on like this, I can’t keep pretending,” I tell him.

  “What’s brought this on, bella?” he asks me after a moment of observing me.

  I couldn’t blame his skepticism. I’ve been going right along with him as if that night never happened.

  “I think in order to move forward in our marriage, I should know everything. I don’t want to be blindsided again.”

  He gathers me in his arms and settles us in bed, hugging me from behind. Thinking he wasn’t going to tell me, I started to fidget in his arms.

  But then he spoke sadly, making my heart take off in a gallop.

  “I had hoped to keep that away from you, for much longer, if not…forever. Not because I wanted to hide anything from you, but because selfishly, I wanted you to always look at me the way you did.

  “I wanted to keep your innocence entirely pure for as long as possible, too. But you already look at me differently... and now that you’ll know everything, it’s going to change the way you look at the world, too.”

  1966

  The reflection in the mirror isn’t the only thing time has changed.

  Sitting in my suede wingback
chair, I light a second cigarette studying my face in the oversized mirror at the black granite vanity table that was custom made for me.

  Giorgio calls it my throne with all the time I’ve spent in it executing my pristine beauty regimen.

  I take a deep pull of the beloved nicotine, hold it in deep for a moment, and then watch it waft out nice and slowly from my pursed red lips.

  I need to finish my makeup and get dressed for the family dinner already, but it’s been a while since I’ve taken a moment to actually look at myself.

  I don’t see that hopeful, young girl I used to be anymore. Even though 24 isn’t old, I feel aged.

  Instead what I see is a woman who’s empty inside.

  Not just philosophically—but barren too, it seems, from the years of trying for a baby piled up high and countless doctor appointments, with still no kiddo to show for all the effort.

  Giorgio, although he didn’t know it at the time that it was going to be this hard and the stress that was going to ensue over the years from it, only threw it in my face just that once, many years ago when he suggested we have a baby to ‘occupy my time’ back when I first found out the Morettis were Mafia.

  He hasn’t ever pressured me again and when I’ve cried in his arms from the heartbreak and crushed dreams time and time again, he’s assured me that just having me by his side is all he’ll ever need in life.

  But I don’t know if I’ll ever come to terms with that, and I’m not blind. I see the way he looks at other families.

  I know he wants a son.

  Inhaling the last few drags and then stubbing out the bud, I focus my attention back to putting on my face.

  Now’s not the time to sit here and watch myself cry.

  I don’t have enough eyeliner on yet anyway to really achieve just the right amount of drama. If I’m going to expel my sorrows in front of the mirror, it may as well have all the panache.

  Adopting the style of supermodel Twiggy’s spider lashes, I start heavily layering on the mascara. The British model dons a cropped hairdo that’s very in style right now, but I couldn’t bring myself to cut my locks that short.

  I love the big teased hair though, and I think the attachment to the length has to do with the fact that Gio appears to enjoy it too, with all the hair pulling he does during his particularly enthusiastic fucks.

  Not that any of them are ever lacking, no, because Giorgio is always a very generous lover.

  But I’m just saying, some have more elbow grease put into them when I’m least expecting it to and the hair seems to have stayed around as a result of it, contrary to what fashion dictates is the trend.

  He came home early today, and since I’m in a pondering mood, I take a good look at him and I’m reminded by how impressive he is.

  More often than not we don’t get to spend much time together, that when he is home, it’s refreshing to the memory.

  If I hadn’t grown up with Gio, I don’t think I would’ve been capable of the onslaught that is his pure, masculine appeal.

  The man is just too gorgeous for his own good and only continues to age nicely.

  With his looks alone he gets away with murder.

  It was April 28, 1966, but last night we celebrated his twenty-ninth birthday, the last year of his twenties with a big bash.

  Every female with a pulse in Club Roma appeared to be in a trance with his appeal, too.

  I know for sure that the fucking models in playboy bunny costumes I hired to prance around the club were definitely interested in my husband as well, when they got a little too handsy and breathy with him.

  If it weren’t for the small fact that he hadn’t let me off of his lap the entire party, I might’ve plucked a girl or two bald by the end of the night.

  There was no respect these days.

  What helped me to keep my claws to myself was that he told me all night I was the sexiest bunny of them all, having worn the only red satin playboy costume while the rest of the girls donned the traditional black.

  But it doesn’t help that his sexiness exudes from every pore with every damn thing he does.

  Like right now, walking around the room with a towel around his waist—it’s sexy.

  Drinking an espresso in fancy little china... how does he manage to make even that sexy?

  Riding on his 1963 Ducati motorcycle in the summers? A fucking crime for being that sexy.

  But the best part is that he’s all mine, and Giorgio Moretti has never had any qualms about sharing his feelings for me.

  I’ve got to hand it to my husband, he’s always been one hell of a devoted and affectionate man.

  Whenever I’ve gotten jealous, it’s always been from my own insecurities because Lord knows, he’s made it crystal clear I’m the only one for him.

  When life doesn’t get in the way, or his work to be more specific, he’s my king and it’s not hard being his queen.

  “Is that what you’re wearing to dinner tonight, bella?” he ribs, because I’m still not dressed.

  But he knows I like doing my hair and makeup in my pretty intimates.

  He likes it too.

  That’s just his subtle way of telling me to get a move on already.

  “Giorgio, you know you can’t rush excellence. You’re the one who taught me that. Deal with it, amore. I’ll take as long as perfection necessitates,” I sass him standing up to take a closer look in the mirror at the evenness of my thick-winged eyeliner.

  He shakes his head at me through the mirror with an indulgent smile and then gives me a playful smack on the ass right before he disappears into the closet to get dressed as well.

  “Figlio, that’s an issue that needs to be looked into right away,” Domenico tells Gio in a grave tone.

  It doesn’t matter that it’s his son’s actual birthday tonight, or that all his daughter-in-laws and grandchildren are present at the table.

  If Domenico wants to talk business, we all have to act as if nothing is being discussed.

  And don’t think you can talk about it, without him initiating it first.

  “I’ll take care of it myself,” Giorgio assures his father, ever the loyal heir.

  “But you work so much, amore, you’re barely ever home as it is,” I whine.

  “Well, if Giorgio had a son already, he’d have a reason to be home more often...” Chiara leaves hanging and everyone is awkwardly quiet for a whole new reason now.

  Goddamn, my mother-in-law became such a fucking shrew. I try very hard to remind myself there was a time I adored the woman. Once, a long, long time ago.

  “Ma, how many times I have to tell you, Gianna is all the reason I need to be happy,” Gio defends me without even looking up from his dinner.

  This isn’t a new conversation.

  Domenico, always on the side of Chiara is ready to admonish Gio, but is cut off when Gio lifts his hand up to gesture he doesn’t want to hear it.

  “No, Father, you know Ma has been giving Gianna these little jabs when she has no control over it. We’ve been to the best doctors. We don’t need the stress. No disrespect Ma, but you owe Gia an apology. How many times has my wife cried to you about this— and you still hit her below the belt? Everyone knows this is a touchy subject. But you just had to bring it up, didn’t you?” He shakes his head.

  “Giorgio, I didn’t mean anything by it. Gianna, you have to know it just slipped out. You know how it is when the wine is so fine! The lips, they move on their own. Bambina, you know I love you. You’re the daughter I never had. I just wish we had a beautiful grandbaby from the two of you. That’s all. I pray for you every night. You’ll see how happy you’ll be with a baby. I know God will bless you two with at least one,” she tries to placate as her apology.

  Again, she doesn’t fucking get it.

  I stand to excuse myself to the restroom as I’ve done countless times over the years, when Gio stands too, and kisses my forehead before moving out of my way.

  I just need a little breather. A little cigare
tte break to calm me down.

  Before walking back to the table I stop by the framed photos hanging all over the main hallway of the house. The same one that Gio and I talked about having a family portrait done when I first came here.

  Photographs of everyone cover the entire wall.

  Pictures of my mother and Chiara as young girls.

  My babbo and Domenico smoking cigars together.

  Photographs of Gio and I on the day I was born. One of our wedding day. The sad little family photo of two, we took because he wanted to make me feel better when I didn’t miss my first period… or any after that.

  Several photos were of us kids, dirty and skinny from playing carelessly around town in a war-occupied country. And to think those were the good ol’ days.

  I overhear Chiara whispering her corruption into her poor son...

  Again.

  “Figlio mio, you are supposed to have a son. It’s just not natural for a married couple to be without children! I know God would forgive you if you had an illegitimate child. No one would need to know.”

  “Yeah, Ma, and would my wife not know that little secret either? You’re encouraging me to have a bastard and make her raise it. Listen to yourself!” he tells her with losing patience.

  “I’d like to see you convince her,” his brother, Nico, says with a laugh.

  “Giorgio, don’t say that ugly word. You’d see. Gianna would be so happy with a baby in her arms, what does it matter where he came from?” Chiara tried to cajole, for the hundredth time.

  “Ma, enough. If Gia were to hear what you say behind her back, she’d be devastated. Father, please. I thought you were going to tell her to back off with this already.”

  “I don’t know why you bother wasting your time listening to these cackling hens,” was my father-in-law’s go-to response for all things women.

  But I’d already heard it years ago.

  Over and over again.

  And Giorgio’s right.

  It crushed me she would suggest it.

  It hurt realizing how lonely my life actually was.