The Italian

I stand on the spot for a moment as I watch the car disappear with my man and a beautiful woman inside. I’m not sure if I’m in shock or disbelief. Probably both.

Don’t be stupid. It’s his sister or something. It has to be. Enrico’s not a sleazebag. I know he isn’t.

I struggle down the street with the heavy garment bag, my mind running wild. Maybe I should just call him and put my mind to rest. Yes, I’ll do that.

I take out my phone and have another thought. He doesn’t touch me in public.

Is there a reason?

A sick, suspicious feeling washes over me, and my heart begins to race.

Is he married? Of course, he isn’t married.

Fuck.

“Don’t be dramatic,” I whisper, spotting the dry cleaners up ahead. I drop the bag off and return to work by taxi, with every conspiracy theory running through my mind.

He took me away this weekend. I thought it was to be romantic. What if he was hiding me?

I’ve been so hypnotized by his company that I haven’t asked any questions.

Is he with somebody else? Is that why he didn’t call me in Australia and ask me to come here for him?

No. He’s not.

Ferraras marry for life.

I go over our weekend together. The laughing, the making love, and the closeness we shared.

Just get back to work and stop thinking the worst. There is a completely logical explanation.

We’ll see what happens tonight when I ask him.

It’s 8:00 p.m., and I’m waiting for Enrico to knock on my door.

He called me earlier and said he was working late.

Was he?

I played dumb. I want to see his face when I bring it up. I’m still convinced that this is all in my head, but my gut feeling is setting off alarm bells.

Something is going on. There are just too many holes in our time away from each other and what he’s told me about himself. I have questions that have had me pacing back and forth in my room for the last two hours.

Knock, knock.

This is it. I open the door in a rush.

Enrico’s sexy eyes hold mine. “Hello, bella.”

My heart skips a beat at the sight of him. “Hi.”

He leans in and kisses me before he takes me into his arms. “I missed you today.”

I pull out of his arms and he walks past me into my room. “What did you do today?” I ask.

“Worked,” he says as he takes off his jacket and throws it on the bed. “How was your day?”

“Good,” I say as I watch him. “Where did you have lunch?”

His eyes come to me and in that moment, I know the woman he was with wasn’t his sister.

“Downtown,” he replies calmly and sits on the bed. He taps his lap for me to go him. “Why do you ask?”

I remain standing. “I saw you.” Our eyes are locked, and he remains silent.

“Who is she?”

After a beat, he replies, “Her name is Sophia.” I stare at him as I wait for him to elaborate. “She works for me.”

Relief begins to flood through me. I knew there was a logical reason.

“She’s the General Manager of…” He pauses.

“Of what?”

“Our high-end brothels.”

“She’s a Madam?” I whisper. “You’re spending time with a whore?”

He clenches his jaw, angered by my outburst.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” I snap. “Why did I have to see you in the street with another woman?”

He stands and goes to the window to stare down at the street below. He puts his hands in his suit pockets. “We needed to talk about this, anyway,” he says calmly. “I have been waiting for the right moment to bring it up and this is as good a time as any. I want to get you your own apartment. Pick somewhere, anywhere, and I will buy it for you.”

I stare at him. He’s different, detached and calculating. Or maybe that’s just because my rose-tinted glasses have been smashed to smithereens and I’m seeing the real him for the first time.

He owns brothels.

“You don’t need to work for Valentino. You can have your own fashion label. I’ll back you financially. Anything you want is yours. No budget. You can have everything.”

“Where will you live?” I ask.

He stares at me, but stays silent.

“Will you live with me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He inhales sharply. “We cannot be in a relationship in a traditional sense, Olivia.”

My brows rise.

“I have…” He pauses, searching for the right words. “More than ever, I need to hold onto my Italian heritage.”

My skin begins to crawl.

“I am not just a man who lives in Italy, Olivia. I am an Italian man in all senses. I need to carry on my traditional bloodline. It is very, very important to me—non-negotiable.”

What?

We stare at each other. “This is why you didn’t come for me in Australia?”

He clenches his jaw. “Yes.”

I can literally hear my heart as it breaks.

“What you’re saying is that you can fuck an Australian… but you can’t marry one?” I whisper as tears form.

His cold eyes hold mine. “I’m sorry.”

“So, you’ll have your Italian wife and keep your bloodline with her, and I will be your girlfriend on the side?”

He drops his head, ashamed of what he has asked of me.

My throat hurts as I try to hold it together. If he hit me with an axe it would be less painful. I grab the table to steady myself.

“Olivia,” he whispers. “Think about it. You will have me in every sense other than marriage. I will be yours.” He cups my face in his hand. “I don’t want to lose you.” His eyes are crazy, panicked. “I can’t lose you.”

“You just did.” I push out through gritted teeth.

“No, bella.” He grabs for me, and he holds me tight in his arms as I struggle to break free.

“Get out.”

He holds me. “No, no, no. Per favore, no. Non posso perderti,” he whispers as he clings to me, desperate to hold me in place so that he can talk me into this. “Non posso vivere senza di te.”

I know he’s losing control because he’s talking Italian. He only does that when he can’t think.

I break free from his grip and push him hard on the chest. He stumbles back.

“Get out,” I sneer.

“I’m not leaving you. I can’t. Don’t ask that of me.”

I pick up a glass from the table and hurl it at him. “Get the fuck out!” I scream.

His eyes hold mine for an extended moment, and then, as if conceding defeat, he drops his head.

I turn my back on him as my tears begin to pour free.

I’ve never felt so fucking cheap in all of my life. Here I was thinking we were falling in love, and he was just lining me up to fuck me behind his future wife’s back.

The only sound is my heartbeat as adrenaline courses through my veins, trying desperately to calm me down.

Thump, thump, thump.

Eventually, I hear the door click closed as he leaves.

I turn and see a white business card on the table.

Enrico Ferrara

02- 99889002

His number… in case I change my mind.

I already have your number, asshole.

I slide down the wall and sit hunched up on the floor as I cry out loud.

What the fuck just happened?

Enrico

I lean my forehead against Olivia’s door, the palms of my hands flat against it.

I can hear her crying. I just shattered any dreams she had of a future with me. Any dream that I ever had, too.

Everything she thought I was no longer exists. I knew she wouldn’t go for the arrangement, but I had to at least try.

If only things were different.

Her sobs are loud, and my chest constricts at the sound. I hate that I disappointed her.

“Bella,” I whisper as her cries escalate.

I can’t stand it. I can’t stand listening to her being hurt and alone. I grab the door handle to go back inside her room. I can’t leave her like this.

And offer her what, Enrico? A sleazy arrangement where you pretend to love your wife and secretly spend time with Olivia? One where you have children with someone else and always wish they were Olivia’s?

I don’t want that life for her, but I was too selfish not to offer it. I knew the consequences if I did. I will be forever tainted in her eyes.

I deserve to be.

I listen to her cry for half an hour with regret swirling deep in my stomach. I hear something bang, and I listen, knowing she’s thrown something at the wall.

She’s angry.

Good.

Angry is better than heartbroken.

I hear something else bang, and I close my eyes in relief. She’s okay. Anger, I can deal with. Heartbreak, I cannot.

I drag myself away from her door and make my way downstairs to head over to the car. Maso and Marley are inside. I trust these two with my life. They wind down the window as they see me approaching.

“Hey, boss.”

“Hi.” I force a smile. “I’m heading home, but I want you to stay and watch over Olivia.”

“Sure thing.” Marley looks across the road at her building. “How long for?”

“Just stay with her until further notice. I want her guarded around the clock. Arrange for a team to look over her.”

“Okay.”

“I want to know where she is at all times,” I add.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Ciao.” I make my way over to my car in the parking lot and I pull out into the traffic. Another car with my two guards inside follows me.

Never alone.

With every block farther away from Olivia, I feel a little more darkness creep in.

It’s 1:00 a.m. and I’m sitting on my bed, resting against the headboard. With a shaky hand, I pour myself another scotch. I’ve drank most of the bottle trying to take the edge off of my sadness.

I feel more alone than ever.

My mind is a swimming pool of memories… every one of her.

I get a vision of her talking and flicking her long, golden hair over her shoulder. Her big blue eyes. The way she looked up at me when we made love. The way she laughs. The way she feels. Her voice. Her smile.

She’s gone.

You did the right thing.

But did I? Because it sure doesn’t feel like it. Being in her arms over the last weekend has only shown me how empty my life really is.

Ferrara.

My name, my entitlement… my prison.

I feel soft skin against my back, and a gentle dusting of lips on my shoulder.

I smile in my sleep. Olivia.

Her hand reaches around and takes my cock. She gives it a long, slow stroke. My eyes flicker. “Hmm.”

She kisses my shoulder again and rolls me onto my back. I’m having trouble waking.

The scotch.

“Hmm,” I moan again as my legs open to allow her access. She strokes me, harder this time, and my balls contract. My back arches off the bed. Mmm, this feels good.

She softly kisses my shoulder as she works me, and my eyes flutter. Olivia.

My body begins to quiver with need, and I spread my legs to touch the mattress as I feel the blood rush to my cock.

Yes… yes.

The bed begins to rock from her hard strokes.

God, yes.

I need to fuck.

“Ti piace il mio uomo?” she whispers.

Italian.

My eyes snap open at the sound of her voice.

“Sophia?” Fuck! I forgot she has a key. I push her off me in disgust.

“Cosa c’è di sbagliato, Enrico?” Translation: what is wrong Enrico?

“What the fuck are you doing in my bed?” I growl as I jump up, furious. “Do not touch me. Do you hear me?”

“Che problema c’è?” Translation: what is the matter?

“Everything. Get the fuck out of my bedroom!” I push her out of the door. “Get out!” I scream.

“I don’t understand!” she cries in an outrage. “You want me, I know you do. You always want me.”

“What I want is for you to get out of my house. Get out!”

Her face falls. I push her out into the hall, slam the door shut, and flick the lock.

My breath is labored. I’m physically rattled.

I get into the shower and under the steaming hot water. I’m shaken that I nearly just accidently fucked Sophia. How do you nearly accidently fuck someone?

I nearly cheated on my darling Olivia.

I close my eyes, and I can hear my Olivia crying from last night through the door. I can hear the hurt in her voice.

She’s not your Olivia.

What the fuck is happening to me?

Olivia

I stare out of the window of the café in a daze. My coffee and breakfast are getting cold on the table, but I can’t bring myself to start them.

I’ve cried all night, and my eyes were too swollen to go to work today.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been hurt but it’s definitely the deepest.

I know there’s no way around this.

I’m not Italian. I will never be Italian, and he will never make a future with a woman who isn’t.

My heart wants me to call him so that he can come over and make us better—so he can hold me and tell me that he’s never leaving. I want to be warm and safe in his arms.

My brain wants to bomb his office for daring to think that I would be his mistress.

He drew a line in the sand last night, and now I know what kind of man I’m in love with. A womanizing pimp who sleeps with his whores. One who has zero respect for me.

I want to pack up and go home to Australia, but I know I can’t. I won’t let a man ruin everything in my life. Nobody has that power. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, but honestly, who cares about the job if it costs me my sanity to stay here? Is the job even really fucking mine? I got it at his request.

I can’t be here in Milan with him and his Italian wife. I’ll choke on my own fucking vomit.

“Is everything all right?” the waiter asks as he looks down at my untouched coffee and breakfast.”

“Yes, thank you.” I pick up my knife and fork. “I’m eating now.”

He smiles, pretending not to notice my swollen eyes, and he puts his hand on top of mine as it sits on the table, knowing I need comfort. Unexpectedly, my eyes fill with tears at his kindness. “Are you all right?” he asks softly.

“Yes.” I nod as I fumble around in my bag for a tissue. “I will be.” I dab my eyes and drop my head in shame. He leaves me alone and I go back to staring into space.

I’ve hit rock bottom.

I’m on the other side of the world from home, alone, and heartbroken.

I get a vision of Enrico and the week we have spent together, laughing and making love, and it only makes it worse.

I can’t even hate him.

“Fucking hell,” Natalie whispers as she rests her cheek on her fist. Her eyes are glued to mine, and she softly shake of her head. “I can’t believe this.”

I’ve just dropped the bombshell. It’s Tuesday night, and I am relaying the Ferrara fuckface chronicles to Nat as we eat at our favorite restaurant.

“I can,” I sigh sadly. “Think about it, Nat. It never really did add up. Something was always amiss. If he wanted me in the true sense, he would have come for me in Australia. It’s not like money was ever an object.”

Her shoulders slump. “I’m sorry, baby. I know you really liked him.”

My eyes fill with tears, and I swipe them away angrily.

“I just feel like a fool, Nat.” I stare out over the people in the restaurant. “What’s that old saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I’m so embarrassed about the whole thing that I can’t even tell Giorgio. I feel like an idiot. I’ll just tell him in a few weeks when I’m stronger and not at risk of crying like a baby.” I shake my head. “I should have known better than to trust my stupid heart.”

Nat rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that bitch sure is tapped.”

I smile sadly. “Enough depressing talk about rich pricks. Tell me all about your man.”

Nat twists her lips. “Meh, I’m kind of off him, to be honest.”

“What? Already? I thought you liked him.”

“He got all needy and stuff.” She fakes a shiver.

I giggle and put my head into my hands. “What the hell is wrong with us, Nat? Every guy you date is too nice. Every guy I date is a fucktard.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “He’s got one more weekend to toughen up. If he’s still being pathetic, he’s gone.” She dusts her hands together.

I smile. “Poor bastard.”

We fall serious, and her eyes hold mine. “So, what are you going to do now?”

I exhale heavily. “Forget I ever met him… again.”

My phone rings and I pick up with a sad smile. “Hi Mum.” I always hate talking to my mum when I’m feeling blue. It’s like she has a sixth sense and can tell what’s going on with me from wherever she is in the world.

“How are you?” I ask, faking happiness.

“I’m good darling, missing you. How is everything going?”

“Great,” I lie, my heart drops, it’s actually the polar opposite.

My life is a total mess, I’ve cried myself to sleep the entire week.

“And how’s the romance going?”

My stomach drops…. romance? Ha, what a joke? He wanted me to be his mistress and fuck me behind his wife’s back. I close my eyes, the reality of telling my mother that yet another relationship has failed is just too hard at the moment, I’ll tell her when I’m stronger. “It’s going good. Ticking along.”

“Oh, exciting, this could be the one, love.”

My eyes fill with tears, I thought so too. “I doubt it, mum,” I sigh. “It’s just a holiday thing, don’t get excited.”

“How’s Natalie settling in?”

“She’s looking for work, going well.” I smile broadly. “Met a guy already.”

Mum laughs. “That’s not like our Nat now, is it?”

“I know right, she’s like a man magnet.”

“What’s he like?”

I screw up my face. “Not my type.”

“What’s this guy your seeing like?”

I roll my eyes, this again. “He’s nice.” I really don’t want to get into this today, I need to get off the phone. “I have to run mum, I’m going to be late for my gym class.”

“Okay dear. Love you. Call me later.”

“Love you too, bye.”

“Would the Sedan be suitable?” the girl on the car hire desk asks.

“That will be great, thank you.”

It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m hiring a car to get out of Milan for the weekend. With Nat busy and my life in a fucking shamble, I need to get the hell away. I’ve decided to drive up to Heidelberg in Germany. It’s about a five-hour drive from here, so not too far for a weekend. I always wanted to go there, and I’m not lying around in my hotel room in Milan being depressed all weekend. I’ve booked a hotel and will drive there tonight with the intention of coming back Sunday night.

It’s not like I have anything on other than feeling sorry for myself, and I’m sick of doing that.

I’m better than this. I’m better than him.

I deserve a man who loves me and, damn it, I won’t take anything less.

Fuck Enrico Ferrara. He can go to Hell on a broomstick for all I care.

I sign for the car and the woman shows me all of the settings and how to work the navigation system. I throw my bags into the back and get in. I drive around the corner before I program in where I’m going.

Heidelberg, here I come.

It’s just on 10pm when I drive into the hotel at Heidelberg. I’ve had a good trip; the traffic was good and I’m excited to be here.

I’ve always had a fascination with Heidelberg since the tenth grade when I did an assignment on Heidelberg Castle. I vowed to myself then that I would one day see it in the flesh with my own eyes, and here I am.

I’m going to spend the day there tomorrow and I have to admit I’m feeling very proud of myself for ticking something off my bucket list.

Even when things are shitty, I’m still okay. I’ll make it through this rough patch, I always do.

I walk through Heidelberg castle in awe. It’s so much better than I could have ever imagined. I’m fully aware that I only know this place because of my stupid assignment when I was a girl, but I feel an affinity to it, as if I were meant to come here one day.

I spent the morning looking around by myself, and then this afternoon I signed up for a guided tour. I’m fascinated by its history. The building is red brick and sits on the side of the hill overlooking the gorgeous town below. It was built in the early 1600s and has been destroyed by lightning, fire, and war, yet it still sits proudly on the mountain, as if guarding the town below.

The ten members of the tour group are wearing earpieces while our tour guide is pointing out the facts about the castle. We get to the main quadrangle.

“And this here…” The tour guide points out a deep footprint in the stone below a window that is two-stories high. “This footprint is a bit of a legend.” He smiles. “Apparently, the queen was tired of the king always being away, waging wars and what not. So, she took a lover—a knight—and they began a torrid affair which led to them falling madly in love. Their affair went on for years until, one night, the king came home early to find the knight in bed with his wife.  The knight had no choice but to jump from the window or the king would have had him killed instantly. When the knight jumped out of the window in his armor, he made this footprint in the stone. Now, for the really fun part. It’s said that any man whose foot fits in this hole is a fantastic lover.”

The group laughs and we move onto the next point of interest. I stand and stare at the footprint in the stone, and my mind begins to drift back in time.

What would it be like to have been that queen? To be married to one man and yet be in love with another? Her husband’s knight. One of her protectors. I look up at the window above and imagine the nights that they spent together in her quarters.

The love that they shared would have been sacred and special. They literally risked their lives to have it.

In all the places I have been, with the all of the history I have learnt, it’s the stories of love that truly fascinate me. Did the king kill her knight? Or was she beheaded for having a lover?

What happened to them?

Did they die in each other’s arms?

I walk over to the balcony and look out over the town. The breeze whips through my hair, and my mind goes to Rico. So much was left unsaid between us.

I didn’t ask enough questions. When we spoke in my hotel room and he told me his wishes, I was so shocked that I didn’t ask why. Why does he feel the way he does?

Why does he feel that he has to marry an Italian?

What’s hurting the most is that I know he wants me— I felt it in every touch.

It’s eating at me, the not knowing why. I understand his wishes, and I know it won’t change the outcome for us, but for him… it’s sad. This is his life. In the twentieth century, why does he still feel so obliged to follow ancient tradition?

Why should his life be a sacrifice to his ancestors?

I can’t call him and ask, but if I had my time again and he came to me with that proposition, I would have asked more questions to try and get an insight into his inner thoughts so that I could understand them and move on.

I stare out over the town and wrap my cardigan around me. I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, anyway.

I need to stop thinking about him…. our time together is over.