42
DANIELA
It’s been a week since Antonio skulked away in the middle of the night without a word. I haven’t seen him since.
We’re back to texting. We also had a video chat that included Valentina so she could report the progress she’s made with her riding.But he didn’t have time to talk to me alone after Valentina said goodbye.While Antonio had the charm turned up high during the chat, he’s mostly been his usual closed-off self.
He’s put back up the wall and it’s been more difficult to penetrate since the night of thetasting, but there are moments—small moments when he gives me something to hold on to.
“I’m not ready to spend my nights in the valley. I need you to be patient.”That’s what he said when I asked him when he’d be back. I’m not sure what to make of it, but it leaves me raw and angry every time I think about.
Part of me believes his ambivalence is because of the rape. Because his father got so close—and his cousin clinched the deal. But I don’t probe. To begin with, he wouldn’t tell me the truth—I’m not even sure he’s honest with himself about it.
Antonio and I are magnets, drawn together by a pull neither of us can resist. At times, like in the tasting room, something primal claws its way to the surface and he doesn’t think. He acts purely on instinct. But in the light of day, when the animal crawls back to its lair, he’s left with the remnants of the past, something neither of us can change. He can say whatever he wants, but I don’t believe it doesn’t bother him.
But the main reason I don’t bring it up with him is because it’s how I’ve learned to cope. It’s how I’ve gotten out of bed for the last twelve years with my head high. How I’ve moved forward with my life.
While others have been impacted by what happened that day, I don’t owe anyone an apology and I won’t engage in any discussion where my worth is called into question—or Valentina’s—because I was assaulted. There are times, few and far between now, when I beat myself up about what happened, or when I’m disparaging to the little girl who lost her innocence or the woman she’s become, but I’ll be damned if I allow anyone else to disparage me.
Antonio’s a big boy. If I learned to live with it, so can he. Or maybe he can’t, and as heartbroken as I’ll be if that’s the case, it’s not my problem. It’s not my fight. I have my own.
Although maybe I’m wrong about all of it. Maybe Antonio’s hot-and-cold behavior goes back to my discussion with Cristiano. I keep going back to it. I can’t help myself.
“Love leaves powerful men vulnerable to their enemies. And he has plenty. But even someone like Antonio, with great discipline and a willingness to sacrifice, will eventually succumb when faced with the right woman. The heart wants what the heart wants.”
More than anything, I want to believe I’m the right woman and he just needs to open himself up to the idea of love. But either way, after the last time we were together—maybe before—I’m willing to give him time. My days are full of distractions. It’s the nights that are long and lonely.
“The mail has arrived,” Lara announces from the doorway of my office.
The mail is an unpleasant chore. It’s left at the front gate and the guards check it to be sure there isn’t a bomb or poison or anything sinister before they drop it at the house. Some days I’d prefer if they dumped it in the trash instead.
“Should I go through it, or do you prefer to do it?” Lara asks, holding two packages and a sack of letters.
“Let’s do it together.”
“There’s more downstairs. I’ll be right back. Don’t start without me,” she teases.
We’re still getting wedding presents from all over the world, and notes of congratulations, not to mention the never-ending invitations, and letters from charitable organizations requesting money. As much as Lara loves to be in my business, even she complains about the daily mail delivery.
When she gets back, I hand her a letter opener and we get to work. About forty minutes in, I get up to make myself some tea. “Do you want a cup of tea?”
Lara doesn’t respond. She’s gawking at something, with her lips puckered. She can be so judgmental about some of the invitations that come through.Gaudy, classless, poor taste.The list goes on and on.
“What is it?” I ask, pouring hot water over the tea leaves.
When she doesn’t reply, I know this isn’t about the wrong font or party venue.
“Lara,” I say gently. “What do you have there?”
“I—I’m not sure,” she mutters.
“Let me see it.” I take a few steps toward her.Photos.
A shiver runs through me before I’ve seen a single one. “Can I have a look, please?”
She gazes up at me. “It must be a prank—I’m not sure—”
I take the photographs. There are several.All of Antonio and Sonia at the Intercontinental Hotel downtown.