Chapter 7 Constantine
Constantine
We had dinner together on the terrace, the sunset making the sky burn in an array of beautiful colors.
Fresh sea bass with white rice and slow-roasted asparagus.
That was the one thing Rome lacked, fresh seafood prepared in the Sicilian style.
The capital was close to the sea, but it didn’t compare to island living, when the boats left the ports before dawn and brought back the catch to the village before restaurants even opened.
I started to eat a lot of steak once I moved to Rome because the seafood was always disappointing in comparison.
Now that I was back, it was what we ate every night.
Better for my health anyway.
Aurelia sat across from me in a dark-green T-shirt and cutoff denim shorts. As the sunlight left, the temperature started to drop, but she didn’t go inside and grab a sweater. Her hair was straight, her makeup done, and she looked as beautiful as always—except for the trepidation in her eyes.
It seemed to be there almost all the time now.
I had no fucking idea why.
“How was your day?”
“Good,” she said. “Antonio is a really nice guy.”
“He is.”
“I fucked up the dough this morning, but he didn’t give me shit about it.”
“He knows I’ll kill him if he does.”
She smirked slightly.
“How are you liking it?”
“It’s stressful and I don’t love having to be there so early in the morning, and you’re right, my hair smells like tomatoes all day, but I do like it. I like being a part of the . . . tribe. Plus, all the free food.”
I smiled. “You’ll get over that pretty quickly.”
“I don’t know. Fresh pizza right out of the oven . . . can’t beat that.”
“I used to go out for lunch every day because I got so tired of it.” I grabbed the bottle of wine and filled my glass before I moved to hers.
“Oh, none for me, thanks,” she said quickly. “Antonio and I shared a bottle over lunch.”
“At the restaurant?” I asked in surprise.
“Well, we ate together at the restaurant, and he said the wine was free, so . . .” She grabbed her fork and scooped it through the rice before she placed it in her mouth, her eyes on her plate.
“That’s interesting,” I said. “Antonio usually hates wine.”
She sliced her fork into her fish and took a bite. “Said it went with the food,” she said with a shrug.
Or maybe he was just trying to be polite around Aurelia. He’d always been a gentleman, ever since we were young men. Always accommodating to others, especially women. She must have said how much she liked it, and he sucked it up so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.
“How was it with your mom?” she asked quickly as she continued to eat.
I didn’t confide my feelings to Aurelia.
Not because she’d done anything wrong or I didn’t trust her.
I just didn’t want her to feel guilty, to make her wonder if I wished I’d made a different decision.
If she knew just how deep this depression went, it would break her heart.
And I didn’t want that either. So I told the one person I knew could handle it—my mother. “Good. We discussed my options.”
“Your options?”
“Whether I should return to Cosa Nostra or keep my focus here in Taormina.”
“Oh.” Her plate was clean, but she continued to scrape up every grain of rice like she was starving. “What do you want to do?”
“Not sure, honestly.” I couldn’t deny that my mother was right, that Aurelia was my priority now and I needed to revolve my life around her. Cosa Nostra didn’t fit the bill. But I wasn’t sure if I’d be fulfilled running a restaurant.
“Well, you know I support whatever you decide.”
“I know, sweetheart.” I finished my plate and focused on my wine, a white wine from Mount Etna. The wineries at that elevation were some of the best on the island.
“So . . . how have you been feeling . . . in general?” There was so much hesitancy in her voice, like she knew she wouldn’t get an answer even as she asked the question. But she probably asked it anyway just so I’d know she cared.
I couldn’t share any of it with her. Couldn’t burden her with that. “Fine.”
“You can always talk to me about it. I’m here.”
“There’s nothing to say.” Maybe one day, all this guilt would drain out of my body, but I suspected it was a permanent part of me now. I used to be proud of who I was, and now I was mostly ashamed.
She looked at me for a moment, still holding her fork even though her plate was empty at that point.
The plates were blue and yellow, striking colors from a local artist in a traditional Sicilian style.
There wasn’t a single aspect of this house that reminded me of my home in Rome, and maybe that was a good thing. “Have you . . . talked to Rocco?”
The sound of his name nearly made me spiral in a mixture of rage and sorrow.
I used to not dream because my sleep schedule was so unpredictable and I was too exhausted to dream, but now, I experienced them.
And Rocco was in my dreams most of the time.
It was either an alternate version of our final argument or distorted memories.
Three weeks had passed since I’d been exiled from Rome, and his name never appeared on my phone—and mine never appeared on his.
She continued to stare at me as she waited for an answer.
“No.”
The disappointment was heavy in her gaze, and she curled her fingers underneath her chin. “Maybe you should—”
“That friendship is over.” I didn’t want her to mention him again. Didn’t want to talk about a friendship that couldn’t be resurrected. He was the closest thing I’d had to a brother after Edric died, but now he was dead to me too.
“Why?” she asked gently. “What happened?”
She deserved to know, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her. Didn’t have the strength to relive that conversation where he’d ripped my fucking heart out of my chest. “He said some things to me that . . . can never be unsaid.”
A week passed, and Aurelia still wasn’t the same as she used to be.
There was no way my sister could be causing her this much stress, and according to my mother, she was a great addition to the restaurant, so I knew she was welcome there.
All I could assume was that the weight and trauma of what had happened had permanently scarred her.
And that trauma had happened because of me. Because I hadn’t been there to prevent it. Trapped on the third floor behind that fortress of a wall, she’d had no other choice but to sit there and wait for him to come for her.
This whole time, I’d assumed I was the only one who suffered, but I wasn’t.
When I came home from Francesco’s place, she was outside on the terrace with Medusa.
She slouched on one of the couches and looked out at the sea.
Medusa lay on her side on the tile at her feet.
I could only see the side of Aurelia’s face from where I stood, but her eyes appeared wet, like she’d been crying.
Just when I thought I couldn’t despise myself even more . . . I did.
A tear slipped from her lid and streaked down her cheek but stopped at her chin.
She absentmindedly reached for it, her eyes still on the sea, and she wiped it away with her fingertips before she crossed her arms over her chest. I saw her entire body rise when she took a deep breath, when she calmed herself and returned to her center.
Medusa lifted her head as if she sensed Aurelia’s sadness. She slowly got to her feet, putting some weight on her leg because it seemed to have improved enough for her to do so, and then she moved her chin to Aurelia’s lap.
Aurelia smiled and dug her fingers deep into Medusa’s fur. Her lips moved like she said something. Together, they looked at each other, comforting each other . . . both survivors of my incompetence.
The next evening, we had dinner together on the terrace.
It was the only meal we shared together.
She went to work and skipped breakfast, and I hit the gym before I had an egg-white omelet alone in my study.
Sometimes I went to the restaurant for lunch just to watch her wait on me, her tits incredible in the tight little shirt, but we didn’t actually eat together.
Dinner was the only time we dined with each other.
I opened a bottle of wine and filled our glasses. I removed the silver lids Elio had placed over the food to keep it warm and revealed the grilled fish and prawns over a bed of mashed potatoes and wilted greens.
“So I guess I can expect fish every night for the rest of our lives,” she teased.
“I’ll tell Elio to change it up.”
“I’m kidding,” she said. “I mean, you can’t beat it, that’s for sure.
” There were little moments like this when she was herself again, but they were brief and fleeting.
It was just yesterday when I saw her crying on the terrace.
I pretended I hadn’t seen and didn’t question her about it, because she dismissed me every time I tried.
I’d brought us to Taormina in the hope we could find happiness in each other, but it seemed like what had happened had affected us too deeply. Maybe we’d never be able to recover. Maybe we were doomed to this sadness forever.
We ate quietly, neither of us having much to say.
Our sex life hadn’t been that great either.
She never seemed interested, and to be honest, knowing your woman was depressed because of you wasn’t the biggest turn-on.
I already felt like a failure, and knowing she probably agreed with that sentiment made it so much worse.
“I wish you would confide in me.” I didn’t realize the words were on my tongue until they were out of my mouth. The urge couldn’t be suppressed, not when I drowned in this suffocating silence. It was hard to remember our lives before, even though it had been just a few weeks ago.