Chapter 5 Valentina #2
The receptionist is kind and her smile is gentle, but I barely register her words. My mind is still outside, with the dark-haired stranger and the woman beside me who is impossible to ignore.
She’s the woman I saw outside, and up close, she’s even more intimidating.
When she eyes my paperwork as if privacy is merely suggestive, a dazzling grin doubles her beauty. “I hope they don’t get us mixed up.”
Confused, I peer at her with a screwed-up nose. Her glossy dark locks cascade flawlessly down her slim shoulders, and her handbag costs more than my entire wardrobe. We couldn’t be more different if we tried.
It dawns that I’m the only one comparing us when she says, “Our names are so similar it’s scary.”
I lower my eyes to her paperwork, stomping on her privacy as she did mine, before gasping.
Her name is Valeria Raimondo.
“Were you born in Palermo?” Even though she’s asking a question, she doesn’t pause for an answer. “Your accent reveals you’re not from around here, but you look familiar. Have we met before?”
“Um. No… I don’t think we have.”
I give her a weak smile, then retreat into myself. I feel like a troll standing next to a fairy tale princess and wondering what it would be like to be transported to an alternative universe where my life would be easier and better offers no comfort.
My hair is limp and lifeless, and my clothes are the cheapest in the store. We’re worlds apart in terms of beauty, so I won’t mention financial stability. I highly doubt Valeria is here to sell her eggs, and the knowledge worsens the swirls of my stomach.
I’ve had many inappropriate thoughts about her partner over the past month, but he most likely forgot about me the instant he dropped me off at San Giorgio’s.
That hurts to admit, but it’s clear now why he fled so quickly. Why would he want to spend a second longer with me when he had the epitome of perfection waiting for him at home?
Graciously, I’m saved from my dour thoughts by the clinic’s head nurse. “Signora Raimondo.”
“Raimondo or Raimondi?” Valeria asks, giggling. Even her laughter conjures up images of angels serenading someone in heaven.
The nurse’s brows furrow as she checks her paperwork. “Raimondo,” she confirms two seconds later.
“Then that would be me.” Valeria squeezes my arm with her perfectly manicured nails before she saunters away, leaving a trail of expensive perfume in her wake.
As the door to the examination rooms swings shut, I let out the breath I’ve been holding before searching for a vacant chair in the crowded waiting room.
My stomach grumbles when I sit next to a couple who smell like fresh basil, tomatoes, and garlic.
They must be here for a procedure that doesn’t require fasting. I haven’t eaten since last night.
Starving, I pray each time the head nurse appears for her to say my name.
Regrettably, she consistently calls in someone else.
I try to distract myself. I count the tiles on the floor and reread the pamphlet about my procedure, but my mind keeps drifting.
Thankfully, they mainly center on my mom.
She’s so frail now that every hour away from her feels like I’m losing seven. As I glance at the clock ticking impatiently behind the reception desk, I recall the promise I made to her this morning.
If they don’t call me in soon, I won’t make the last train to Carlisle.
The thought of my mother needing me while I’m not in the same zip code hurts my heart.
It’s so firm that I get impatient. Leaping up, I make a beeline for the receptionist. She sees me coming but still answers her ringing phone.
Her ignorance makes me furious, but before one-tenth of the death stares I’m shooting her way find their target, my name is finally called.
Well, it’s close to my name.
“Raimondi?” I check, even though I’m confident Valeria left hours ago.
“Yes, sorry,” the head nurse says.
I’m led to a small room, given a gown, and then guided toward a changing area at the side of the cramped space.
“Do you have someone to drive you home?” a nurse I’ve not met previously asks when I exit the changing room.
Preferring to lie without words, I nod.
“Fabulous.” She instructs me to hop onto the bed I’ve been dreading for the past six weeks before she places an intravenous line into my arm.
“The IV is for the sedation. We use a combination of medication, but most commonly we stick to propofol. It will provide deep sedation, so you won’t feel any pain or remember the procedure. ”
“Great,” I reply, my tone low but grateful. I’d prefer to forget than relive the procedure as I have my run-in with the handsome stranger over the past several weeks.
As the nurse increases the dosage, clouding my head with wooziness, I wonder what the stranger is doing.
Is he assisting Valeria into bed for rest after her procedure?
Doting over her as a partner should? Or was his sighting today just another thread in the tangled web of fate that keeps pulling us together and then tearing us apart?
I could hunt for an answer, but I’m too afraid I won’t like the outcome of my hunt.
The nurse with oddly nurturing laugh lines returns my focus to her. “Are you ready, Ms. Raimondo?”
I attempt to correct her, to tell her she has me mistaken for the raven-haired beauty who left hours ago, but the sedative is too good.
Within seconds, I drift into a blissful abyss where there are no sick mothers or men who beat the women they claim to love.
And there is definitely no such thing as cancer.
I wake slowly. The world is fuzzy and distant, and the ceiling above me is unfamiliar. When a nurse gently rubs my chest, waking me further, I blink before trying to gather my bearings. My head is groggy, but I recognize her face. She is the nurse who mistook me with Valeria.
After a quick swallow to soothe my dry throat, I take stock of my surroundings and the aches of my body. I’m sore but not in a heap of pain. The main discomfort is from the restraints on my ankles and at the opening of my vagina—and that’s when the truth smacks into me.
I just donated a living part of myself for money.
While informing me that the procedure went well, the nurse helps me sit up before steadying my sways with her plump frame. “Would you like some tea? A sandwich, perhaps?”
Suddenly mindful of my ravenous state before my procedure, I dip my chin.
I scoff down the food she arrives with minutes later, grateful for something to distract me from my thoughts, then change back into my clothes.
“Once your support person arrives, you’re free to go,” the nurse says, clearing away my empty sandwich container and disposable cup.
Humiliation prickles my skin that I don’t have anyone waiting for me, but I hide it well since my focus is elsewhere. “Um… about the payment? How long does it usually take for the receptionist to process the payment?”
She glances up from the clipboard, her expression unreadable. “The payment isn’t approved until we know whether the procedure was successful.”
My tongue thickens with worry. “Successful?”
“We need viable eggs. If the retrieval was successful and the eggs are suitable, we will process your request for payment. If not, we will schedule a second retrieval.”
Disappointment overwhelms me. I hadn’t realized the money was not guaranteed. If I had, I would have never signed up.
“Don’t look so worried, sweetheart,” the nurse says, squeezing my hand. “You’re young, so I’m sure everything will be fine.”
As my life crumbles, I gaze out the window. Tears prick my eyes, but I refuse to cry.
If I start, I may not stop.
When a white sedan pulls down the alleyway, I say, “That’s my ride.”
Frantically, I collect my things and then make a beeline for the exit. The nurse shouts for me to wait, but I’m already moving, eager to escape before anyone learns how stupid I am.
As I exit the clinic through the same side entrance I used earlier, guilt about what I’ve done bears down on me.
It was necessary. My mother’s treatment isn’t optional, and neither are her prescriptions.
But the way I rushed into the procedure and how I trusted the clinic’s promises without making sure the money was guaranteed are my burdens to carry.
I slide down the wall until I’m crouching on the cold ground with my elbows on my knees. The pharmacist’s voice this morning creeps above the sludge.
“You can pick up your mother’s scripts tomorrow.”
I nodded like I had everything under control. Now tomorrow is coming fast, and I don’t even have half of what I need.
When the wind brushes my hair across my tear-free face, I tuck a loose lock behind my ear and then force myself to stand. I can’t stay here forever, nor can I undo what I did. All I can do is figure out the next step and pray it won’t involve something even more drastic.
I’ve heard kidneys fetch twenty to thirty thousand on the black market.
As I walk out of the alley, laughing like another donation is off the cards, I notice that the rain has eased.
The city glistens as if Palermo itself is waiting for something magical to happen.
I love the scent of fresh rain on heated pavers.
It reminds me so much of my childhood and why I shouldn’t be so hard on myself.
When someone you love is sick, you don’t think straight or morally. You merely do what needs to be done.
I’m at the end of the alleyway when an SUV half a block down from the clinic stops me dead in my tracks for the second time today. It isn’t just any SUV. It’s the exact sleek dark vehicle the stranger exited earlier.
My thoughts tumble over each other with all the possible explanations for why the stranger hasn’t left yet. Part of me, clearly the lovesick part, hopes he spotted me earlier and is waiting for me.
I doubt that is the case. More times than not lately, my reality has been the cruelest option.
Nonetheless, I can’t move my feet. I’m stuck in place, watching the unmistakable silhouette of the stranger in the dimming sunlight as the evening crowd of Palermo mills around me.
After ending a call that carved a groove between his brows, he shifts his focus to the entrance of the IVF clinic.
He stares for barely a second before his gaze jackknifes my way.
When his wide eyes land on me, standing frozen mere feet away from the main entrance doors of a clinic predominantly used by couples, the world narrows to a single point.
His eyes light up with recognition, and a subtle smile touches his full lips. I should run or, at the very least, look away. Instead, I stand mute as my heart thuds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it from across the street.
The stranger blinks as if he’s dreaming, straightens up when he realizes he isn’t, and then pushes off the SUV. The air thickens with humidity as he bridges the gap between us with impatient yet controlled steps.
In seconds, Palermo shifts from a bustling hive of activity to two strangers bracketed by rain-slicked brickwork, neon reflections, and an electricity potent enough to reform storm clouds above my head.
I’m so caught up in the sheer relief in his dazzling dark eyes that it takes the urgent final warning of a train’s horn to slap me out of my stupor. Its angry rumble announces that it is the last train out of Palermo tonight. If I miss it, I won’t be able to keep my promise to my mother.
Promise is a big word. It either makes something or breaks everything.
I can’t afford to let it break everything.
I’m barely holding on as it is.
The dark-haired gent’s long strides falter when I murmur, “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“No!” His voice bellows over the sudden return of the noisy city.
It is clear and commanding. He’s used to giving orders and having people follow them.
He isn’t accustomed to being denied, but I have no other option.
I can’t push against the restraints if I want any chance of keeping karma on my side.
The conductor’s last whistle redirects my focus away from the stranger’s sudden fury and sees me sprinting toward the station’s entrance.
My shoes slip on the wet pavement, but my speed remains unchecked. I hear the stranger chasing after me, his footsteps growing more insistent the longer we run, but I pretend not to because my emotions are too raw right now for any good to come from the carnage.
I reach the platform as the doors commence closing. With a final burst of energy, I leap inside the train car, nearly stumbling into the arms of a startled commuter.
The doors slide shut behind me, sealing me off from the world outside—and from him.
As the train jolts forward, carrying me away from the station and the stranger’s lingering watch, I fight like hell to catch my breath.
That was thrilling, but not in a way that’s easy to explain.
My panties are drenched, and a nice thrumming sensation is running rampant through my core, but I’m also sick with worry about how much I enjoyed his chase.
We all want to be loved to the point of insanity, but again, I shouldn’t be wanting that from a taken man.