Twelve #2
I want to strangle Maxim for being so selfish.
This bastard gives me ultimatums, demanding I spread my legs for my freedom, while openly parading other women around.
Since I entered his life, he’s shown no interest in me beyond claiming my body, yet he thinks he has the right to hold my life in his hand.
I quickly look away and take a sip of my wine.
The air, pleasant moments ago, now feels suffocating.
I stand and head to the bathroom, desperate to splash water on my face, but I stop myself, my makeup would smear.
Instead, I stack a few paper towels, dampen them, and press them to my temples and cheeks.
It does nothing to cool the fire raging inside me.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, and without warning, tears well up in my eyes. Hearing footsteps, I hurry into a stall and lock the door to avoid further humiliation. Two women are chatting outside.
“I honestly wonder if Maxim’s got any sperm left in his balls. Imagine spending two days in Tuscany with Anita Romano and Stella Bucci, then going home to screw his kid’s mother, and by the weekend, he’s here wrapped around his old fling.”
“I wouldn’t call Viola an ‘old fling.’ I wouldn’t call anyone that with Maxim. He only gives a woman enough time for a quick fuck.”
“Does anyone know where this redhead girl came from all of a sudden?”
“No, but it’s not hard to guess. With all his screwing around, it was bound to happen, a bastard kid pops up eventually.”
“I feel bad for her.”
“Why? That low-class nobody hit the jackpot overnight. Living in luxury houses, taking expensive trips. And sex? Maxim doesn’t stop until he’s made a woman come at least three times.”
“How do you know she’s got no background?”
“If she had any family worth mentioning, she wouldn’t have tied herself to Maxim with a bastard kid.”
“I don’t envy her. She’s trapped for life with a man who sticks his dick in anything that moves. She’s still a woman, no matter what class she’s from. She’s got feelings.”
“Who said she’s trapped?”
A scoff echoes. “Mafia men, darling. You either belong to them, or you end up in a coffin. There’s no other way.”
As soon as the women leave the bathroom, I release the breath I’d been holding. They called my daughter a bastard. My sweet, innocent little girl. God damn them. What the hell do they know about my life?
My mind latches onto their other words, Anita Romano and Stella Bucci. I’m sure I’ve heard those names before. So, the two days Maxim disappeared, while I was foolishly worrying about him, he was off having a blast with them in Tuscany.
I can’t breathe in here anymore. I need fresh air.
Back in the hall, everyone’s still dancing, but I don’t see Maxim, or Viola.
It’s not hard to guess what’s going on. I grab my phone from the table and head to the end of the hall.
I push open the terrace door, and like someone surfacing from underwater, I breathe in the cool air weaving through the garden trees, carrying a sweet fragrance.
The lights on the terrace are off, but I don’t care about the darkness. I unlock my phone and search the names I heard. My gut was right, both women are stunning movie stars. I turn off the screen and clutch it tightly. My chest feels heavy. I press one hand to it, the other over my stomach.
What’s wrong with me?
I’m hurt. Deeply. I’m burning with rage that Maxim made no effort to win me over, left me in the dark for two days, and went off to Tuscany for a threesome.
I’m furious that my life is such a mess I can’t even walk away and guarantee my daughter’s safety.
My heart aches because Maxim isn’t the man I thought he was.
My heart, my mind, my body—they’re all anchors for the crashing waves of these conflicting emotions.
I’m like a little kid who tossed her toy aside but doesn’t want anyone else playing with it either.
“Are you alright?”
A voice from the shadows startles me. I whirl around, startled, but in the faint light spilling from the hall, I recognize Enrico.
The polite man Carlo once suggested as a marriage prospect, who vanished after Maxim’s return.
As always, he’s dressed in a neat suit, his black hair slicked back.
He steps closer, holding up a metal cigarette case.
“I came out for some air and a smoke. Saw you here. Sorry if I startled you.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine.”
My eyes land on the case. “Give me one, please.”
With calm courtesy, he opens the case and holds it out.
I pull a cigarette from the neatly arranged row.
He closes the case, lights a lighter with one hand, and shields the flame with the other.
I awkwardly place the cigarette between my lips and lean toward him.
The first drag sends me into a coughing fit, but I don’t let embarrassment stop me.
I take another, harder pull, trying to breathe normally.
Thankfully, he says nothing about my terrible attempt at smoking. He leans against the stone railing and lights one for himself. I stare into the garden’s darkness, feeling the nicotine settle in my veins, taking some of the edge off.
“After you disappeared, Aurora asked about you a few times,” I say.
“She’s a sweet girl. I would’ve liked to get to know both of you better, but Don Carlo had different orders for me.”
I turn fully toward him. “So, if he’d given a different order, you’d have kept up the act? If Don Carlo told you to marry me, you’d have done it, regardless of your feelings?”
He stubs out his cigarette beneath his shoe and steps closer until he’s standing right in front of me.
“If it came to that, yes. Don Carlo’s word is an unwritten law. It’s obeyed without question.”
I toss the cigarette butt under my foot and scoff. “So you don’t even get to choose who you spend your life with? What kind of man marries a woman he doesn’t even like just because he’s told to?”
“Who said I don’t like you?”
I blink at him, caught off guard. He keeps his calm, respectful tone. “First of all, remember that Don Carlo never actually intended to marry you off.”
“Then why did he keep sending you to our house?”