The Bonus

“Maybe he’ll call back when he’s alone, I mean…he couldn’t really talk when he was with people, could he?” Deb says as her eyes stay glued on the group of men as they disappear around the corner.

I nod, but I know that’s not true.

Gabriel doesn’t conform for anyone, if he wanted to talk to me then, he would have.

I slump back into my chair, shocked but not surprised.

“This would have been such a great opportunity to get rolling drunk right about now.” Deb sighs, she points to my stomach. “Hope the baby’s having fun in there…drinking all the drinks he wants to drink.”

“It might be a girl.” I look over at her and smirk. I stand, feeling somewhat relieved that calling him is over. “Come on then.”

“Where are we going?”

“To get you a cocktail.”

“We are?” Her eyes widen with excitement. “But you can’t have one.”

I link my arm with hers. “I get the feeling that you are going to drink enough for the two of us.”

“The three of us.”

The three of us.

“Yeah, the three of us.” I smile. “I kind of like the sound of that.”

“And something unexpected happened in the streets of New York today, a giant drone landed in Central Park.”

The late-night news is playing in the background. I glance over to see Debbie fast asleep on the couch, I glance at my watch.

12:05 a.m.

I exhale heavily and look at the screen on my phone.

No missed calls

He didn’t call, and I don’t know why I was expecting him to, but I honestly thought he would.

I’m beginning to wonder if coming here and wanting to tell him is a monumental mistake. He doesn’t want me, so he definitely won’t want to have a baby together.

I really thought we had something.

The harsh reality is that it was only me that had something. The feelings were one-sided.

And I really have to ask myself that what good is the fantasy of him falling in love with me if I always know in the back of my mind that it was only because he was trapped into it?

Sure, a baby will change things.

We may work through this and end up okay, but deep down I will always know that this isn’t what he really wanted. That this was a forced union.

I know how strong-willed he is. Nobody tells him what to do, and for me to tell him I’m having a baby with or without his permission is likely to send him into powerhouse overdrive. I think back to how badly he behaved when I resigned, and that was a tiny drop in the ocean compared to this. It’s going to go one of two ways, either he accepts it and welcomes it with open arms or he’s going to get nasty.

What if he took me to court for custody?

My hand splays protectively over my stomach. If he did decide to fight me, I couldn’t afford the legal fees that he could.

He would win.

An Italian child is all he’s ever wanted, what if he then took the baby and the two of them lived in Italy somewhere?

He wouldn’t do that to me.

Would he?

I honestly have no idea anymore. He’s fiery and impossible and an arrogant prick, but I thought that was just the outer shell and that he had a soft spot for me.

But maybe not.

Maybe that’s the real him and maybe, actually…probably, I’m just a lovesick fool who was wearing rose-colored glasses the entire time I knew him.

I stand and point the remote to the television to turn it off. I pull a blanket over my too-many-cocktailed friend and kiss her forehead.

“Good night, drunk girl,” I whisper.

“Hmm,” she mumbles before rolling over in a dead sleep.

I brush my teeth, get into bed and stare at the ceiling.

More thinking, more overanalyzing and damn it, more beating myself up.

I know what I have to do, I don’t have a choice. This isn’t my decision; I have to tell him.

Tomorrow, I will.

I take one last look at myself in the mirror, I’m wearing a black pencil skirt and a linen shirt casually tied in the front. I’m trying to be casually irresistible, so that when he sees me he will fall to his knees and beg for my forgiveness.

I’m not as nervous as yesterday and get a feeling everything is going to turn out. Maybe not as I first thought, but I know I’ll be okay whatever happens.

“Do you want me to come?”

“Nope.” I pick up my handbag and jacket. “I’m fine, you go shopping and I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“I can wait outside, I don’t mind.”

“I’m fine, and don’t ask me why, but I’m quietly optimistic.”

Deb forces a crooked smile. “Call me the minute you’re done.” She hugs me.

“Yep.” I walk out the hotel room door and into the corridor, excited to get this over with.

Let’s do this.

The cab pulls into the curb and I peer out the window at the huge glass fortress and read the sign.

F E R R A R A

Butterflies swirl in my stomach, not feeling quite so brave now.

I hand the money over to the cab driver. “Thank you.”

“You have a nice day now, dear.” He smiles.

“You too.”

I square my shoulders and without hesitation I march through the huge glass doors, and once inside my step falters. New reception staff are near the security scanners. I look around in a panic, I don’t know these people and I don’t have any of my security badges to get into the building anymore.

Where’s Liana and Margery and Tom?

Fuck.

My heart begins to thump as I approach the desk.

“Hello.” The girl smiles. “Can I help you?”

“Yes…” I pause as I try to think on my feet. “I’m here to see Gabriel Ferrara.”

“Did you have an appointment?”

“Yes,” I lie. “But you will have to call him direct, as it was made in his personal calendar and not with his PA.”

“Oh.” She frowns and glances to her fellow worker. “That’s not how…”

“Tell him Grace Porter is here to see him,” I cut her off.

“I’m sorry.”

“Call him,” I snap, I begin to feel my pulse as adrenaline surges through me. “Tell him Grace Porter is here to see him,” I repeat.

She exchanges glances with the girl sitting next to her. “Okay.” She picks up the phone and dials a number.

As I wait, I bite my bottom lip so hard that I think I taste blood.

“Yes, hello, Mr. Ferrara. This is Violet from reception.” She listens for a moment. “I have a Grace Porter here; she says she has an appointment to see you today.” Her eyes flick up to me as she listens.

I hold my breath as I listen.

“Yes, sir.” She nods. “Thank you.” She puts the phone down.

I stare at her as I wait.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ferrara is booked out back-to-back today. He can’t see you. He sends his apologies.”

Oh…

The ground moves beneath me as my every fear comes to fruition.

My nostrils flare as I try to hold it together. “He said that?”

She nods, and it’s obvious that she knows this visit was of a personal nature. “Let me look through his calendar and I’ll try to find you another appointment.” She brings up the computer and glances over to her co-worker. “Umm, unfortunately, he doesn’t have an opening until August.” She winces as if she cares. “I’m sorry.”

I nod and step back from the desk. I’ve never been so humiliated in my life.

Not as sorry as he’s going to be.

“Thanks.”

For nothing.

I turn, and with my heart breaking in my chest, I march toward the front doors, the stupid tears building like a tidal wave.

And now I know, that’s it. It’s really over forever, he doesn’t want to see me.

There goes my happy ending.

I push through the glass doors and into the cold New York air. My heart is hurting.

Did that really just happen?

Oh my god, oh my god.

Oh my fucking god.

I look up and down the street, I need to get out of here. A barrage of familiar feelings comes flooding back and I suddenly remember why I chose to leave.

I need to get as far away from this man as quickly as I can.

This man, this place, is toxic.

I need to go home.

I march out to the street and put my arm up for a cab, one instantly pulls up and I dive into the back seat.

The driver takes one look at my face. “Are you okay, miss?”

I can’t act tough any longer, and I screw up my face in tears, the lump in my throat hurts as I try to hold it together. “Not really.” I wipe my eyes in a dramatic fashion. “But I will be.”

No matter what the conditions, this baby will never be enough for him. He will always despise the fact that it isn’t Italian, that he didn’t choose to have it.

Imagine growing up knowing that your own father hates you.

I screw up my face in tears.

The car weaves in and out of the New York traffic and I put my hand over my stomach and make a vow.

I failed to protect myself from him, but I will always protect you.

I cry as I take my diamond bracelet off. I will never put this back on again. It’s physically hard to take off because I can’t see through my tears.

This was my most prized possession and now he’s ruined it forever.

This is the last pain he will ever cause.

He will never get the chance to hurt my baby like he has me.

That’s it, I’m done.

Gabriel

“And you’ll see on page fourteen of the proposal.” I point to the graph on the whiteboard with a pen.

The fifteen people sitting around the board table all flick to page fourteen.

“As you can see, the trend is emerging as…”

The intercom buzzes. “Mr. Ferrara.”

I exhale heavily. “Yes,” I snap, annoyed, why is she interrupting me?

“Yes, hello Mr. Ferrara. This is Violet from reception.”

“Yes, Violet, what is it?”

“I have a Grace Porter here; she says she has an appointment to see you today.”

What?

“Ahhh…” I look around the room as thirty eyes watch me. “I see…”

Umm… I take the lid off the pen in my hand as I think.

Shit.

I can’t stop this meeting midway through, people have flown in internationally to attend. I’ve got people with me all day and then a function straight from work tonight with my family.

Fuck…

“I’m booked back-to-back today, Violet; can you reschedule her to come back? Tomorrow, perhaps?”

“Yes, sir,” she replies.

“Send my apologies.”

“Thank you.”

I scratch my head in frustration, damn it.

I want to see her.

With all eyes on me, I try to bring my mind back to the meeting.

She’s here.

“So…these…” I pause as I try to collect my thoughts, “…trends.”

She’s here.

I refocus my thoughts and carry on with the meeting as I try my hardest to keep a straight face.

She came back.

Tomorrow I get to see her.

The round dinner table is filled with family members. It’s my brother Alessio’s birthday.

The table chatters on in Italian as my mind wanders off on a tangent.

I’ve been with a lot of women, many…most, actually, don’t speak Italian and it’s never mattered before because I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. Their ancestry didn’t matter to me.

But if I were ever to want something more with a woman who didn’t, how would that look?

Tonight, for example…

Would Grace be sitting there, not understanding anything that anyone is saying, would I have to translate or would she just refuse to come at all?

I mean, sure, anyone can learn Italian, but that doesn’t change who you are at the core.

My future dreams depend on having a family that’s filled with generational traditions, trips to Italy with my siblings and their children and the cousins growing up together and playing the games that we did as children.

A closeness and familiarity.

I envision my life in an American household and how different it would be from the one I have always known and wanted for myself.

If I chose that life, I know for certain that my wife and children would always be on the outside. They would never truly be accepted by their extended family.

Dream girl or dream life.

It’s either or, it can’t be both.

One life is Italian with my family, the other is with Grace.

I couldn’t bear it if they rejected her…and they would.

I sip my scotch and slosh it around my mouth before swallowing, the thought is depressing.

Alessio leans in close so that only I can hear him. “Let’s go to Atticus. This place is boring as fuck, and I need some ass.”

“I’m heading home.”

He screws up his face. “Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“What the hell is wrong with you lately?”

“Just because I’m not fucking every woman with a pulse does not mean there is something wrong with me.”

“You’re getting soft,” he mutters dryly as he sips his drink.

I roll my eyes, but his comment hits home.

He’s right.

What the hell is wrong with me lately, I haven’t been out in weeks.

I’ve lost interest in everything; everyone just seems so…average.

I down the last of my drink. “I’m out.” I put my hand on his shoulder as I walk past him. “Have a good night.”

I kiss my mother and sister as I say my goodbyes and I walk out of the restaurant and onto the street where my car is waiting.

“Good evening.” Mark smiles.

“Hi.” I get into the back seat and we whiz through the streets of New York as I stare out the window.

At least I get to see her tomorrow.

The sun slowly sets behind the buildings and I pick up my phone and check it for the hundredth time today.

It’s nearly five, where is she?

I call down to reception. “Hello, this is Gabriel Ferrara.”

“Oh,” the young girl’s voice stammers. “Mr. Ferrara, hello.”

“May I speak to Violet?”

“Yes, speaking.”

“What time did Grace Porter say she would be back today?”

“Ahhh.” She has no idea what I’m talking about.

“The woman who came to see me yesterday.”

“Oh right, the lady you were too busy to see.”

I roll my eyes at her sarcasm. “I was in a board meeting and I asked you to reschedule. When is she coming back?”

“She didn’t reschedule.”

I frown as I rise to stand. “What do you mean?” I snap.

“I…” She hesitates as if scared to go on.

“Spit it out.”

“She left, sir. She didn’t want another appointment, seeing the first was weeks away. She seemed upset.”

I hang up and immediately dial Grace’s number. I pace back and forth as I wait for it to connect.

The number you have called has been disconnected.

Panic runs through me.

No.

I dial the number again.

The number you have called has been disconnected.

“Don’t you dare.” I continue to pace as my temper rises. “You try this fucking shit on me and that’s it!”

I call the number again in the hope that I’ve dialed the wrong number.

The number you have called has been disconnected.

Infuriated, I throw my phone, and it bounces off my desk and onto the floor.

With my hands on my hips, I pace back and forth. “She thinks she can cut me just like that?”

She thinks that I can’t find her if she changes her fucking number.

This is her being a control freak…that’s what this is. I scramble for my phone and make another call.

“Hey.”

“Mark, I want you to find an address for Grace Porter.”

“Well, why don’t you just call her?”

“Because her phone has been disconnected.”

Silence.

“Well…”

“Don’t well me,” I snap. “Find out where she is.” I hang up and continue pacing and my phone rings, it’s Mark again. “What?” I snap as I answer.

“What town does she live in?” he snaps back.

“Connecticut.”

“Connecticut? Are you sure that’s it, because I need a state or at least a town to run the search.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t fucking know, I’ll check.” I hang up and march out into the office to see that Richard is still at his desk. “Where did Grace Porter move to?”

He glances up. “Sorry?”

“Grace Porter,” I snap impatiently. “Where is she? Where did she move to?”

“Ahh…Maine. I think?”

“Maine?”

“Surprised she didn’t move to Texas actually?”

“Why?”

“Because of Willie.”

“Who’s Willie?”

“Willie Nelson.” He widens his eyes. “You know how much Grace loves Willie Nelson.”

“Thankfully not.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fuck me dead. That’ll do me.” I storm back into my office and call Mark.

“Hi.”

“She lives in Maine.”

“Anything else?”

“She has appalling taste in music.”

“Oh…kay.” He listens. “So where did you get Connecticut from?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Just find her.”

“What for? You didn’t even bother to know where she lived, why would you want to find her?”

“Because I said so…that’s why. You need to remember that you work for me, so you will do whatever I fucking say.”

“What’s the offer?”

“What?” I fume.

“What are you going to offer her? I happen to like Grace and I’m not finding her if you are just going to screw her around. She’s left town and changed her number for a reason.”

The sky turns red.

“What I do with Grace Porter is none of your fucking business.” I sneer. “You’re fired.” I hang up the phone.

An hour and six scotches later, I collect my briefcase and make my way downstairs. I walk out the front door to see Mark standing beside my car.

Infuriating.

I walk over. “What are you doing here, I fired you.”

He rolls his eyes as he opens my door. “Like the other fifty times you’ve fired me.”

I get into the back seat and he slams the door behind me.

Fucker.

We drive through the traffic as I glare out the window. “Did you find her?”

“I’m not looking for her.” He casually turns the corner.

“Why not?” I snap.

“Because last time I saw Grace Porter was when you had me stake out her house as her moving truck came, and she was crying and miserable.” His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “I thought she was your friend.”

“She is.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“What kind of man looks for a woman if he already knows that when he finds her, he won’t give her what she needs?”

My eyes hold his.

“I know you’re a selfish prick, but you need to think about this because it’s not just any old girl, it’s Grace Porter.”

My heart sinks.

“You already told me you are to marry an Italian woman. Has that changed, has it?” His eyes flick up to meet mine in the rearview mirror again.

“Just drive the car,” I yell. “You piss me off. You’re fucking fired. For real this time.”

We drive in silence for a while as adrenaline surges through my system. “You think you know everything about me, well, I’ve got news for you. You know nothing. Zero.”

“I know a lot more about you than anyone else, that’s for sure.”

I roll my eyes. “Will you just shut the fuck up? I don’t pay for your opinion.”

“You want my opinion?”

“No.”

“Yeah, well, you’re going to get it anyway,” he snaps. “Ever since the Christmas Party and that night you spent with Grace.”

“I never spent a night with Grace.”

“You’re lying. I drove her to your house,” he barks. “You pulled her out of the car.” He grips the steering wheel. “I did think it was strange when you didn’t leave the yacht in Italy.”

“You weren’t even in Italy,” I fire back.

“No, but the security boys called me from over there to see if everything was okay because you hadn’t left the yacht the entire time you were there.”

“I was tired.”

“Of being a prick?”

“Shut the fuck up.” I punch the back of the seat as I begin to lose control.

“You haven’t gone out since Grace left; you haven’t had one single date.”

“So what?” I yell.

“That’s not who you are.”

“Shut. Up.”

“Are you going to do what you want to do, or are you going to do what you have to do?”

I clench my jaw as I stare out the window. “You have no idea what you are talking about…or what is expected of me.”

“I know more than you. Let’s go get her.” He shrugs. “I’m ready, you want Grace, so let’s go get her.”

“So you’re my quack now with the reverse psychology?” I pinch the bridge of my nose as my elbow rests on the door. “I fucking hate you, you know that?”

We fall silent as the car pulls up at a set of traffic lights and the sad reality sets in. “I can’t have Grace.” I sigh.

“So why do you want to find her?” he says in a softer tone.

Because I miss her.

We sit in silence for a long time as my mind goes over the depressing facts.

He’s right.

I have to let her go, it’s not fair for me to chase her when I can’t offer her what I want to.

“Forget I said anything,” I reply as I stare out the window. “It doesn’t matter.”

The car whizzes through the security gate and into the underground parking lot of my building as the memory of my Gracie lingers.

So close but so far…I need to forget her.

Grace

I watch the baggage handler throw the last of the bags into the cargo hull. We boarded a plane and are on the tarmac, about to leave New York forever.

It’s pouring with rain, the sky is depressed, along with my heart.

I did it, I changed my number. Not that he was ever going to call anyway, but at least now I have finality.

I will never have to see his name pop up on my screen… Or get excited every time it rings, only to be disappointed when it isn’t him.

“You okay?” Deb smiles over at me as she takes my hand in hers.

“Uh-huh.” I fake a smile back.

But I will never be okay, my heart has been broken beyond repair.

If I never date another man for as long as I live, I will be happy. I don’t know what headspace I’m in, but it’s like I’m purposely trying to torture myself.

I’m listening to “Someone Like You” from Adele on repeat.

As the plane hurtles down the runway, I silently wipe my tears.

The lyrics about finding someone else hit different this time.

I screw up my face in tears, if only.