Chapter 20 #3
Anna: I’m sorry. I’m sure that must have been hard for you.
Me: It gets easier with each… how did you phrase it… delete?
Anna: That saddens me. It shouldn’t be easier. You should never have been put in that position. You should be in college, having the full college experience, right now. Not… I’m just sorry.
I lean my head back on my pillow and pinch the bridge of my nose. Again, she’s thinking of my brother and the future I stole from him. But it was never his future. He’s a Donato. His fate was always written in blood, even if he fantasized otherwise.
Me: Can we talk about anything else?
Me: What beauty did you see out in the world today?
She takes a while to respond, obviously still wanting to talk about how she wished Raffaele had a better life. But thankfully, she sees my text for what it is—a diversion away from such a loaded topic.
Anna: I had dinner over at Frankie’s today and saw Sister Margaretta laugh at one of Lucky’s jokes.
Me: That doesn’t sound like a moment of beauty to me, sweetheart.
Anna: Oh, believe me, it was. Mother Superior has always hated my brother. Her laughing at something he said wasn’t just beautiful, it was miraculous.
I laugh at the obvious glee in her words.
Anna: What about you, caro mio? What beauty did you witness today?
I shut my eyes and try to think long and hard to come up with something that will meet the requirements. But alas, I have nothing. There are days like that. More than a few, unfortunately.
My eyes go back to the thread of messages, my heart doing a somersault in my chest at Anna’s words. She’s no longer referring to me by my brother’s name, but with the Italian endearment that always makes my heart want to jump out of its cage.
Me: Your last text. You calling me ‘caro mio’ is, and will always be, the most beautiful thing in my eyes.
Anna: That’s cheating, you know?
Me: Not when it’s true.
Anna goes silent for a bit. She always does whenever I say something like that.
After Raffaele’s spectacular clusterfuck of a call with her two months ago, it’s taken time for her to trust that my words are sincere again, that they are actually heartfelt and genuine.
She thinks I flirt just for the sake of it, the way she assumes I do with every woman who comes into my life.
And she would be right if she were talking to Raffaele.
But she’s not texting him. She’s texting me.
And I don’t flirt.
Unfortunately, judging by the question she asks next, it seems Anna still needs reassurance that I’m not like my whorish baby brother.
Anna: Can I ask you something?
Me: Anything.
Anna: Have you ever been with a woman?
And there it is.
Raffaele’s call is still fucking with her head.
Cazzo.
I let out an exhale before typing my answer.
Me: Yes.
Anna: Can I ask how many?
Me: You can.
Anna: Well… how many?
If I were to answer that question with how many women Raffaele has fucked, then I wouldn’t be able to give her a number.
I doubt even he knows how many, and the little pissant is only twenty.
But these questions aren’t directed at him, even if unbeknownst to Anna.
She’s asking me, so I answer truthfully, since it’s the only way she’ll ever get to know me.
Me: Eight.
Anna: Really? Eight?
Me: I can’t tell if you think eight women are too many or too few.
Anna: No, it’s fine. A perfectly respectable number. I’m just surprised.
Me: What surprises you?
Anna: Well, you’ve always been more outgoing than me… I just figured…
Me: That I was fucking half of Manhattan?
Anna: Something like that.
Me: Well, I haven’t.
That’s Raffaele’s MO. Not mine.
Anna: Can I ask you why?
Me: Why what?
Anna: Why only eight women?
I chuckle.
Me: So you do think it’s a low number after all.
Anna: I didn’t say that. Again, I’m just surprised, and I want to understand you.
You already understand me more than anyone else, sweetheart.
Anna: Were they… girlfriends?
Me: No. With the life I lead, there is no room for such relationships. They were merely acquaintances. Nothing more.
Anna: It sounds… cold.
I frown at Anna’s statement. She’s not wrong.
Most of my past sexual experiences were, in fact, cold.
They were just a last resort I used to get a much-needed release.
There were no feelings behind it. No real intimacy.
I don’t even remember using a bed on any of those occasions.
Just a staircase, or a bathroom, any empty room would do, just as long as the end goal was met.
And when I was done, I was out of there before they could even put their panties back on.
There was no cuddling after. No intimate conversations or checking in with how we were feeling after. We both went in knowing that’s all it was, just sex, nothing more. And that was fine for all parties involved.
But now… I don’t think that type of sexual experience would appeal to me in any way. Actually, I know it wouldn’t. If it did, then I’d be in the double digits instead of a measly eight.
I can’t even remember the last time I was with a woman.
A year ago? Two years? I haven’t the slightest clue.
And it’s not because I don’t enjoy sex. I enjoy it like any other red-blooded man does.
But I always viewed it as a distraction.
Something that pulled my attention from the mission at hand—usurping my father and taking the crown off his head to place it on mine.
Distractions just get in the way of what is truly important to me, and that’s why I avoid them at every turn. Even if my own libido suffers for it.
Still, Anna is also a distraction, and for the life of me, I couldn’t push her away even if I tried.
I stare at the phone and see that she hasn’t sent another text, waiting for me to explain myself better. But I can’t. Not yet.
I could turn the tables on her and ask her if she’s had many lovers, but sheltered as she is, I’d bet all the money in the world that Anna is still a virgin. So I go with the next best thing.
Me: My turn to ask the questions. Have you been kissed?
Anna: You mean besides the time you kissed me? No, I haven’t.
My grip on the phone is so strong that I’m surprised I don’t break it.
He kissed her. Raffaele kissed Anna.
That fucker kissed my girl.
When I hear the phone case crack in my hand, I force myself to loosen my grip. This phone is my only lifeline with Anna. I can’t let my jealousy take that away from me.
I focus only on her last three words, and not on the sentence that affirms my brother stole my first kiss. I mean Anna’s first kiss. Fuck that! My goddamn first kiss!
I breathe hard through my nose, my fingers pressing on the keys a little too hard.
Me: Did you not kiss anyone else for lack of opportunity… or did you not like the first one?
Anna takes a while to respond, my jealousy only tripling with each second she doesn’t reply.
Anna: Does lack of opportunity and lack of interest count as an answer?
Anna: I know we’ve never discussed it before, but I really am sorry for how I reacted back then when you kissed me. At the time, I saw you just as my best friend. I never… had those feelings for you.
Wait. What is she implying?
Yes, I’m happy that she confirmed she hated Raffaele’s kiss.
And yes, in my mind, that’s how I read her text.
That she fucking hated his mouth on hers.
But it’s not that that gets my attention.
It’s the way she phrased her sentence. Like she doesn’t see me as her best friend anymore. Like she sees me as more.
Me: And now?
I swallow hard as I watch her hesitate to answer.
Anna: I don’t feel like that anymore.
My blood heats instantly at her words, and I rush to send my reply.
Me: Does that mean if I kissed you now… you’d let me? Enjoy it even?
She hasn’t even responded, and yet my entire body is already burning up.
Anna: Yes.
One word…
Just one little word…
And it’s enough to coax me into doing the most asinine thing I could possibly do.
I press call.