“Look, we need to come to an understanding.”
“What’s that?” She undresses and puts on a silky nighty.
“We need to make this work as long as we are in it. You’re my wife.” I lift her chin with my finger so our eyes can only see each other. “You are mine; I am yours; I expect a wife.”
“And I, a husband who is faithful.”
“You’ve always had that Prende, you’ve always had….” and my lips claim hers in a fiery passionate kiss. She wraps her legs around me and I carry her to the bed, dropping kisses down her abdomen, stopping between her legs where she tastes of sweet nectar. I’m as eager as a teenager with too many hormones and make myself comfortable between her legs until I bring her to climax a second time. But I’m not done.
No, this is our wedding night, it’s going to be an endless night of pleasure for both of us, or my last name isn’t Micheli.
Morning comes and so do I. This married thing is growing on me. It reminds me of our ski trip, and I think she likes me. I hold her arms down and glide into her as she moans with pleasure and her hips rise to meet mine as the sun peeks through the sheer curtains in my windows.
I tease her by pulling out enough to make her writhe and moan and twist under me, wishing her hands were free to pull me back into her.
“Marchello, now,” she demands, and I wait just a bit longer to make her crazy enough that she grabs my upper back and digs in her nails, forcing me deeper into her.
I’m on the edge of coming myself and the longer I delay it, the more intense it is. I ride her until I sense the familiar quiver deep inside her, the one that signals she’s about to come. I let myself release and we cry out together until I collapse on her chest, spent.
My breathing slows and I move off her and we lay beside each other, holding hands in the still of the night.
“That was amazing.”
“It was.”
And for a minute, all is right with the world.
Until I remember we are meeting with the Albanians tomorrow.
Fuck.
I hope my young bride won’t be a widow, as there are no guarantees in this business.
18
Prende
Ican tell when Marchello has something on his mind. He’s not as talkative as usual but I don’t press him. I figure if he wants to say something, he will.
On my way to the hotel to meet Juliet, I start thinking about Papa and wonder if I had asked him what he did for work, if he would have told me. Did my mother know, or like me, never asked the important questions? I don’t really know what Marchello does, but I can assume he’s not so nice in his dealings as he is with me. Am I repeating history? If I am, should I break the pattern and ask more questions?
Does it really matter? A part of me wonders what, if anything, matters in our marriage, when it’s only for a limited time. I feel like a commodity, bought, sold, and traded. Until we are safe, when the coast is clear, we can divorce and get our lives back.
Ironic how all that money went through my business and my consolation prize was a token handbag here and there. I can’t be bitter. The money supported us and got the best doctors for Mama.
I cross the street, sidestepping a burst of steam coming through a manhole cover. People honk horns while waiting impatiently for the train to clear the tracks. It’s a commuter train that runs every fifteen minutes and is a pain in the ass unless you need to get to the airport or the train station in Florence.
I pass a vendor selling small Christmas trees and the smell of fresh evergreen reminds me of Marchello. I miss him even if it’s just a normal day of work. I catch myself thinking of him like he’s the only man in the world. He still likes to surprise me at work, popping in with lunch, like when we first met.
I can’t refuse him. It would punish me as well. When he’s sitting with his brothers, off in a corner by themselves, I cannot help but stare at my man. They all got more than their fair share of manly genetics, but mine is the sexiest. I want him all the time, day or night, his body, his deep voice whispering in my ear when he makes sweet love to me. Even the scent of him on my pillow in the morning makes me want to stay in bed longer.
The exchange of the black book is happening later today. I’m not included. I wanted to go but that was a firm “No”, from Marchello.
My husband better not try and control me like my father did before him. I’ve had a taste of freedom, so that’s not happening.
I’m meeting up with Juliet to get a look at the hotel’s event rooms and figure out how to decorate them as the street becomes crowded, I know I’m close.
As promised, Juliet is waiting for me outside the hotel. We exchange hello kisses and head inside, the uniformed doorman holding the door open for us. No matter how many times I walk through this hotel, it never fails to impress me. With its raised ceiling and all white design, it’s simply the most elegant of all the venues in the area.