Sneaky like a fox I’d say.
I guess this is like a bat phone from the movies, call when needed and maybe I’ll get back to you.
Damn!
Meanwhile, I can’t forget the man in the garden and his deep voice. I’ve thought a lot about the tattoo on his hand. I’m beginning to think it was a sword with a knife threaded through it, going in one side and out the other. I wonder what it means.
His cologne throws me off. I’ve never come across it before and I may never find the man who wore it that night.
I get up from bed and lock my bedroom door, slip my clothes off and crawl under my bed sheets, feeling my firm, rounded breasts while I use my fingers to enter myself and I’m instantly wet thinking of him.
I rub my nub, then push them deeper to massage the spot inside me that makes my back arch. I want more, and as my nipples harden, I take the opportunity to tweak my hard nipple and stroke my nub, making my lips and clit engorge. I continue to play until I’m ready to burst. I hold back coming right away as the second pass is always more intense and I come thinking of the man in black who saved me.
I moan as I come a second time, surprising myself. I didn’t know that was possible, but I store it away for future use just the same.
No more textsshow up on my new phone, and I’m not giving him the satisfaction that I give a shit. If he wants to ignore me, two can play that game.
It’s time to go to Florence and I’m anxious as I get ready to leave. I still have nightmares about the last time we left Sicily and I don’t know if those will ever go away. Laura is the only one I can share my night terrors with. There are nights I wake up in a sweat, remembering the dead man and his throat gushing blood. My parents would never understand.
I packed a large suitcase to take to the hotel where I’m to meet my fiancé but I’m still in the dark as to his identity. Mama is holding back tears, which surprises me. I thought she’d be happy I’m finally leaving home.
Giovi wishes me well and is abnormally nice to me as we say goodbye, hugging and kissing each other’s cheeks. The fact that he’s still living at home tells me the family is in danger, and I worry about us all.
Laura is here to see me off and I give her a long hug and promise to keep in touch as we suspect I won’t be coming home any time soon. We both are misty eyed as our fathers shake hands before getting back in the car to head to the airport.
Papa tells me not to worry and pats my hand to reassure me. Even with the driver and four men with us, he seems preoccupied by business and our men are on high alert.
On the private jet, I open a beer for Papa and pour champagne for myself. It’s just past noon but it will serve to take the edge off.
“Any change on the front?” I ask him, speaking in code for the mafia situation.
“Not much, but you’ve helped me out more than you’ll ever know. I’m sorry you don’t get to pick the man you marry. I have a lot on my mind and appreciate you not fighting me on it.” He sips his drink.
“True. Thank you for saying that.”
He nods.
“What are we doing in Florence anyway?”
“We’re going to a wedding.”
“It’s someone in a connected family, isn’t it? The ones getting married?”
“Yes.”
“Would we normally not go?” He’s great at not revealing much and keeping me on a need-to-know basis.
“We don’t know the family. It might be an attempt to reach out for new business. Let’s keep positive thoughts, eh?”
“Sure,” I put my earbuds in and watch a newly released movie. It’s in English, so I have to concentrate. Having so many shows on TV dubbed in Italian with English subtitles has helped to keep me current with American phrases and slang.
The years at school in Switzerland are a distant memory as I embark on my next role in life, that of a wife.
I’m glad I went to college, but there’s no way I could make it on my own, surviving on a salary using my early child psychology degree. Instead, I live at home and use papa’s money to buy expensive things to fill a hole inside of me, one that’s void of love and affection.
As a result, I have so many clothes and shoes I couldn’t possible wear everything even if I lived a hundred years. All of this has been my backhanded way of getting even with Papa. Now, I’m going to have a new man to provide for me, and he better love me instead of trying to buy me. Sometimes, I don’t know if the men in my world know the difference.
Maybe there isn’t a man who will love me. Maybe it’s just a fairy tale, and I’m not sure I’m a believer.