Chapter 28
I’m sick.
Everything makes me feel sick. Food tastes gross, and I can’t keep it down, including the few things I want. Water tastes like sand at this point, and that’s just the beginning. My boobs hurt beyond anything I’ve ever imagined. I'm lightheaded, bloated, nauseous, crampy, and sleepy all the time– My emotions feel like PMS times fifty.
This morning, I yelled at Gaia to leave me alone when she wouldn’t let me sleep in after I had been up all night throwing up. Later, when I could finally get out of bed, I apologized, and we watched TV on the couch. I’d wanted to eat the popcorn with her, but the smell of it had made me gag enough not to eat it.
When I’d texted Aldo and asked him, he’d claimed that being sick was expected in the first trimester, and when he got back from his business trip, he would take me to his doctor. The same doctor that he had snuck me in to see a couple of weeks ago to confirm the pregnancy. The same doctor that hadn’t batted an eye when he’d asked my age and if Aldo was the father. Because despite the legal age being sixteen, having a young girl admit that she’s pregnant by a thirty-two year old man is normal.
Nothing’s normal about my life– Hasn’t been for a long time.
The only thing that feels normal is when Aldo is with me or I’m at his house. So, it’s hard to wait because I don’t know when he’ll be back. Sometimes, his trips can take up to a month, and other times, he returns within a few days. The waiting is the worst part.
Half asleep on the couch, the jiggling of the front door lock gets my attention and startles me from my mental zoning slumber. Tired, I sit up as the knob turns, and the front door opens to reveal my mother. Flamboyant, she enters the house with a boisterous laugh. Her unnaturally long hair flows down her back in waves, and I see Tommaso behind her. A wide smile is on her face as she turns on the kitchen light of our small apartment, then stops when she sees me.
“Oh my God, Echo, you scared the bejesus out of me.”
She laughs at her words, and I realize she’s drunk. “Leave it to Echo to mother everyone when I’m out.”
I want to respond that somebody has to be a mother, but don’t.
She’s drunk. So, nobody knows what she’s talking about.
Plus, I don't care.
The last thing I need is to get into a shouting war with her again. “I wasn’t expecting you home tonight,”
I say instead.
When she’d left earlier in the evening, damn near galloping out in happiness, she had told me not to worry if she didn’t come home tonight, and I’d simply acknowledged her.
I couldn’t bring myself to care when she’d claimed she would spend time with us but had bolted the instant my father was out of town. It didn’t surprise me, but explaining to Gaia that it would be another weekend with the two of us wasn’t easy.
My father, who had promised to see Gaia’s basketball game, had gone to Comic-Con instead. He claimed the out-of-town ticket was a last-minute purchase, though I knew better. He didn’t want to be at home or around us.
I can’t blame him, however.
I don’t want to be here but wasn’t given an option.
“Well, here we are.”
My mother chuckles. “I’m kidding. I’m grabbing a few things, then we’ll be out of your hair.”
I sigh. “Out of my hair?”
I stand, trying to control the dizziness that takes over me. “Are you gonna be home tomorrow?”
Instead of answering me, my mother looks to Tommaso, and I do, too. He shrugs. “Probably not. We’re going out of town, too.”
Excitedly, my mother squeals and throws her arms around Tommaso’s neck, kissing him with passion. Passion that wasn’t there when she kissed my father goodbye this morning.
I shush them. “Gaia is asleep.”
At my tone, my mother frowns and releases Tommaso from her hold. Her dark brown eyes fall on me, and she smiles after a second. She’s not going to let my sour mood bother her. “I’m sorry, honey. I’ll be quick. I’m just going to grab a couple of outfits, and then you won’t have to worry about us.”
I frown. “What about food?”
The question feels pointless when she doesn't care about us, but my mother has never let us go hungry. “You didn’t get to go shopping, and we’ll be here alone.”
I don’t add without a credit card or any money.
My mother stops, stares absentmindedly at me, then turns to Tommaso. A smile spreads on her face. “Could you, Tommy?”
Tommy?
I feel nauseated by the nickname. I'm Disgusted that the woman I used to worship has become an outright open-book cheater. Everybody knows what she's doing to my father, and even though he is aware of this, he buries himself in his shop or at work or just tucks his tail and hides to avoid dealing with it.
My mother doesn’t even try to hide her infidelity, and my father’s too much of a coward to say anything to her. I wonder if it even bothers him that she’s had us around Tommaso’s entire family, that they’ve given us gifts, spent money on us, taken us to the beach.
I hate them both.
Silently, we watch my mother head to the back of the apartment to get her clothes. My attention turns to Tommaso when he walks towards me. He digs in his back pocket, pulls out his wallet, and withdraws a stack of folded bills. I know that they’re all hundreds from having gone through this before.
I don’t want to take the money. I want to tell him we’re fine, but I must buy food for Gaia and myself. If taking Tommaso’s money is the way to do that, I will.
He holds out some money to me. “Is a thousand enough for groceries and activities for the weekend?”
“Yes.”
I begrudgingly answer him. He knows it’s more than enough.
When I reach out and take hold of the cash, he refuses to release it until I look up at him. “Talked to my brother recently?”
I have, and I’m sure he knows that, too.
Aldo has always made it clear that Tommaso disapproves of our affair, and I can see why he wouldn’t. The age gap between us alone is enough. Despite that, even with it being consensual sex and me being considered legal, it’s still frowned upon. The few times that Tommaso has called Aldo while we were together, a distasteful tone comes across when I’m mentioned. That’s Aldo’s excuse for why Tommaso isn’t aware I’m pregnant.
None of Aldo’s friends or family know. It's just us and the doctor he takes me to secretly every few weeks.
“Not today,”
I respond. “He said that he had some business to take care of.”
Tommaso nods. “Yeah, he does.”
Even though he’s a creep, Tommaso has never made an advance on me, and I’m thankful for that. It would be weird if he did, and my mother would never believe me. She would think that I was trying to force her to end things.
“Well, if you talk to him, tell him I said hi.”
Tommaso chuckles, releasing the money. “You’re not half as dumb as he claims you are, huh, Echo?”
The words are harsh and cutthroat. “But I think that’s on purpose, yeah? My little brother has fallen for you, and he knows that this thing you two have will only end one way.”
I want to lash out at Tommaso and tell him that Aldo isn’t going to leave me. On multiple occasions, he’s promised always to choose me- Choose us. According to him, I’m going to have his baby, and when I’m finished with school, we’re going to get married.
But I don’t say anything.
Squaring my chin, I look up at Tommaso again, our eyes meeting. “This won’t end well for any of us.”
He knows I mean his and my mother’s blatant affair. Sure, he’s very popular in the neighborhood, and everybody knows his family, but he’s still an errand boy for his father – Until he takes over. “I think I want to take Gaia to the skating rink.”
He gets my meaning. “How much more is that going to be?”
I shrug, nonchalantly. “Two hundred more, I think.”
Surprisingly, he laughs this time but pulls the money out and gives it to me. When I move to go to my room, his hand seizes my wrist, and I stop. Tommaso looks at me, a calm glare on his face. He looks me up and down, with a smug expression when his eyes linger too long on my stomach, which isn’t showing in Aldo’s oversized shirt. “The cruel truth is that he’s visiting his fiancée. Did you know that?”
He stares at me quietly. His eyes never waver from my face, and I can tell he’s gauging my reaction.
To calm my beating heart, I exhale and smile up at Tommaso. “Why would he tell me something like that?”
I want to ask why he wouldn’t tell me something like that. Why would he string me along, tell me that he’s going to marry me, that he got me pregnant on purpose, to marry someone else?
It sounds like Tommaso is making it up out of spite.
“You really thought you were something special, huh?”
Tommaso tsks. “It must hurt to know that you’re not. You’re just a young, easy fuck for him.”
An evil, angry look crosses his face. ”If you’re looking for love, you’re looking in the wrong place. End it now, Echo, before someone gets hurt.”
I feel like I’ve been slapped and try my best not to show Tommaso. He’s saying this to force me to end my relationship with Aldo. I yank my wrist out of his grasp and smile at him. “Enjoy my mother, Tommaso.”
Fleeing to my room, I close the door and lean against it until I compose myself. None of what he said can be true, right? Aldo wouldn’t just use me for this long, I know it. A man like him can have any woman he wants. A man like him has had any woman he wants. So, why would he waste his time with me if I meant nothing?
Frantic, I pull my phone out of my shorts pocket and dial Aldo’s number. By the third ring, he picks up.
“Amore, what’s wrong?”
I refuse to be pulled in by his smooth voice that has talked to me until I fell asleep when he is out of town. “Is it true?”
There’s a silence that I don’t like. “Who told you?” He asks.
My stomach feels like it drops out of my ass, and I slide down the door that’s supporting me. “Who do you think?”
On the other line, Aldo curses. “It’s not what you think, Amore. I’m here to end it.”
I want to believe him, but after having a mother who has been unfaithful for years, I doubt that I could trust what he says at the moment. “Of course, you are.”
“Really. Echo, this is something that my father set up with another family. When I said it wouldn’t happen, he told me that I need to be a man and travel here to end it.”
He sounds sincere. “Why would your father do that?”
I know as much about Aldo’s family as I’ve been allowed in my youth. According to my mother and father’s arguments, I know that his family is wealthy, has multiple businesses, strong connections wherever we go, and criminal ties. I’ve heard whispers of them being Mafioso but haven’t asked because it’s never bothered me. I don’t care what Aldo does as long as he comes home to me.
“He’s not.”
Aldo’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “You, me, Gaia, and Jinx, always.”
He says the words he’s been saying for the last year. The words that hint at our future together forever.
Despite not wanting to, I smile. “And the baby.”
I correct him.
Aldo chuckles. “All of our babies.”
****
Gruffly, I fall back into the dining room chair, exhaustion riddling every fiber in my core. I don't bother to say good morning to Damiano, Gio, or Vlad as all eyes fall on me. I’m not sure if being pregnant a decade later has anything to do with the constant aches and pains that my body is feeling or what it could be, but this time around is different.
Too different for comfort.
My body and mind feel slower. I’m more drained, and anything I do feels like it takes me centuries to complete. Getting out of bed alone is a task that I never want to complete. The nausea, while not half as bad as it was at eight weeks, creeps up randomly throughout the day. Random scents set it off, and until I throw up, I will feel sick, engaging in a gagging war with myself.
A throat clears, gets my attention, and I turn my gaze to look at Damiano. “How are you feeling?”
He’s joking, right?
“Like I’m pregnant.”
He stares at me for a long time, and I can see the barely tamed irritation on his face, the words he’s trying to hold back. At this point, any harsh words from him would be better than him treating me like the invalid he has pegged me for since I got pregnant.
The kid gloves that he’s been wearing are frustrating. The way he’s been avoiding me, pretending I’m not the same woman he took to Italy just a few weeks ago and fucked with abandon. He didn’t open himself up to me, finally, just to shut it down when we got back here.
Shut me out.
Two can play that game.
I’m angry with him, and I’m going to make him realize it.
“Viviana said you didn’t eat dinner last night.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “When did she say this?”
Damiano doesn’t look amused by me avoiding his statement. “When I got home last night.”
I make a mental note that Viviana spoke to him and that she had to wait for him to get home.
“I’m surprised you came home.”
I shrug after I realize my thoughts slipped out. Taking a deep breath, I look at Damiano again. “I wasn’t hungry, and the smell of chicken piccata wasn’t exactly something your unborn child liked.”
He frowns at my words. “Did you eat anything?”
I purse my lips in thought. “I had lemon tea.”
At the table, Gio looks between the both of us. A soft glint of amusement is on his face, but he says nothing. Standing at the door, Vlad doesn’t show any emotion. He’s as stoic as a boulder, which I often tease him about. I’m unsure if he talks to anybody else in the house, but he’s had minimal conversations with Viviana and me.
“Echo, lemon tea is hardly enough to sustain you and everything you need during pregnancy. Especially in the first trimester.”
I doubt he knows much about pregnancy. My eyes meet Damiano’s, and beneath the building fury, I note his exhaustion. It doesn’t invoke the empathy that I expect. It angers me more.
He’s clearly using his energy to see to matters other than what he promised and being with me. While I would ask him what he’s doing until late at night, my lack of energy has me asleep when he gets home late at night.
“Because aside from ensuring that I’ve done my job, you’ve been here the last two weeks to realize what this first trimester is doing to me, right?”
I know that I sound like a petulant child that is throwing a tantrum, but I don’t give a fuck. He promised things in Italy. Promised me emotions that he never intended to show me again.
If he can't show the basic human response to me - Someone he’s fucked almost every day for months, then what is he going to do with his child?
“What does that mean?”
He asks me, confused.
From the side, I see Viviana approach me. The older woman smiles as she places the same green smoothie in front of me that she has been giving me since my positive pregnancy test.
A smoothie that I hate.
This is a part of the same dance we do every morning.
She brings the smoothie, and I stare at it for what feels like forever. When she comes back in, she coaxes me to try drinking it. I take a sip, then get sick immediately. Some days, I make it to the guest bathroom in time to reach the toilet; other times, I throw up in my hands on the way to the restroom.
Every time, my body hates me for trying to drink it.
Every time, I wonder what-the-actual-fucking-fuck?
Familiar with this routine, my stomach revolts at the smell of whatever contents are there, and I breathe in deeply, then exhale.
Don’t throw up.
Viviana knows that I don't drink it. She knows that it makes me feel sick…. As she has told me, she has to make it. That only means that Damiano has requested she make it for me every morning but hasn’t been here enough to know how sick it makes me feel.
Eventually, she’ll feel pity and bring me chicken broth and crackers. It’s all I can stomach in the morning.
Damiano waves his hand at the smoothie. “Drink it. It has a great amount of protein, vitamins, and nutrients.”
Amused, astonished, and irritated at his audacity, I cross my arms under my breasts then move them when the tenderness becomes too much. “What’s in it?”
He must mistake my disgust and irritation for genuine interest. “Spinach, pineapples, carrots, chia seeds, coconut water, and bananas.”
I sigh. “I hate bananas.”
Damiano’s eyebrow rises in question. His lips quirk, then tighten as if he’s trying to hold back his real reaction – The reaction I want from him. “I won’t put bananas in it anymore.”
A part of me is touched that he makes the smoothies himself before he runs out the house for the rest of the day to leave me alone. It’s the part that is crying out for him, the same way that I cried out for Aldo during my last pregnancy. Only Aldo came every time I called.
Damiano is too busy, and I’m too proud to call this time.
Yet, the other part that won’t give a single fuck reverberates the loudest throughout my body. “You would know that if you knew me.”
I look at Vlad, and he leaves the dining room to let Viviana know I’m not going to drink the smoothie. He’s the one that recommended chicken broth and crackers to me. He’d divulged that Ilya’s wife loved chicken broth at the beginning of her pregnancy. It had helped her with her constant throwing up until she didn’t need it anymore.
Damiano notes the look I gave Vlad, and I revel in seeing him disturbed that a mere look between Vlad and myself can speak words he doesn’t understand. “I know you.”
He says between gritted teeth.
Of course he would say that, even though we both know it’s not true. “Knowing the sounds I make while you fuck me, or how I come around your cock don’t count for much.”
Across from me, Gio clears his throat, choking on whatever he’s eating. Unable to contain himself, he chuckles, quickly covering it with another cough, then sips water. I want to laugh, too, because I spoke without thinking, but I stop myself.
I remind myself that I‘m angry with Damiano.
Damiano frowns. “I meant more than that.”
“The way you come when my lips are wrapped around your cock don’t count as knowing me either, husband.”
I can’t resist, but bitterness rings throughout my tone.
A groan reaches me. “How to fuck you isn’t all I know about you.”
My eyes roll. “True.”
A sharp look is thrown in my direction, but I push. “You haven’t even done that since you found out I was pregnant.”
“What do you want from me, Echo?”
This isn’t the first time he’s asked that.
I think for a moment. “I would like to have my husband home with me. I want the Damiano Bianchi that was with me in Italy. I want to fall asleep in your arms– To not worry about you every night. Occasionally, I would like to be fucked the same way you fucked me before I got pregnant.”
My eyes focus on his, but I don’t see my words making any impact. “I would like to not wake up to this stupid fucking smoothie that makes me sick.”
He sighs, a bit of his stoic resolve diminishing. “I’m making sure that you are –”
“Protected, I’m sure.”
I cut him off.
He’s not the first person to tell me that. I believe that he’s doing everything within his power to ensure that his unborn child is safe within reason. Short of locking me up in our room, he’s almost reverted to when I first moved into his house and under watch all day.
Only now, I’m regarded with more respect. The staff in the house don’t run from me, and they even smile at me in passing. They don’t avoid me, wondering what destruction I brought upon them.
“You think that I don’t want to be here? You think that I want to be in meetings all day long? That I want to constantly have to man and deal with people who are as useless as two left shoes?”
He huffs. “I’m not gone because I want to be, but I have to be. If that makes you unhappy, you’ll just have to accept that. Regarding your schooling, produce some choice universities you’d like to consider.”
I scoff.
Not because he’s asking too much of me, but because he forgot our conversation in Italy. “I already know the university that I want to go to. I have already started the process. If you were here to listen to me, you would know that all I need to finalize is the financial part.”
He frowns, more than likely surprised that I started things without him. No, I don’t need his financial support to go to college, but depositing money from an account that nobody knows about, under a name that nobody knows, would seem suspicious.
Getting a degree under someone else's name would be even harder to explain.
“Great. Send me the info.”
“Send you the info?”
I echo his words.
My eyes cut to Gio, who seems to understand where I’m coming from even though he shouldn’t. He fully understands that I’m not even worried about the university. I could give a shit about going to school since I found out I’m pregnant.
I know that he has things on his mind. I’m not stupid, but I deserve what little I’m asking of him.
The last few times he’s come to bed, he’s looked bedraggled, barely able to hold a conversation beyond a head nod or mumbling. He’s done nothing to pull me close, and I haven’t inched towards him, stubbornly refusing to be the first one to cave. It’s as if our bodies know that our minds are at war.
“What?”
Damiano asks, barely acknowledging me.
“I don’t give a fuck about the school, Damiano.” I sigh.
This conversation has been pointless for what it is. He’s so stuck believing I’m angry about school, which I’m not, that he’s missing the point.
Just like a fucking man.
Damiano glances at me. His phone buzzes, and he looks at it before placing it back on the table. We’re at an impasse. Neither of us wants to express what we’re irate about to each other, but he has to keep a calm head.
Or appear so.
“My morning just opened up.” He sighs.
Beyond irate at his words, my eyes fall on Gio, and I wonder if he messaged Damiano while they were at the same table, but his calmness tells me otherwise. The look of question on his face is only apparent for a second, then they nod.
I’m curious what secret language they spoke. “You know what? You have things to do that clearly require more attention. Do what you have to, and I’ll do what I want.”
It’s petty and childish, but I feel like I’ve opened more wounds being around him than I would if he just stayed away. Being pregnant has made me feel vulnerable, needy, and clueless about how to navigate anything. Last time, Aldo made me feel like I was going crazy. He would be brutal, cruel, rude, and dismissive some days. Then the opposite, and I would tell myself that he loved me, and that was all I needed in a world that couldn’t love me.
In Italy, Damiano made me feel like he saw me and was opening up, but when we returned, he reverted to his old self. Any walls he might have torn down were built back up until that positive test. The newly discovered pregnancy only made things worse.
Every act is given under the pretense of protection, and I’m supposed to accept it at face value.
“You’re being immature.”
Again, he doesn't look at me.
This is not the man I spent unfiltered, uninhibited time with, allowing him to see parts of me I wouldn’t let anybody else see.
He’s saving face.
“I am.”
I agree. “You are being a deliberate asshole, but we’re not going to get into that right now.”
About to leave the dining room, Vlad reenters with a small tray. My stomach turns- This time in anticipation. I look forward to the simple meal to help keep my food down. When the tray is placed in front of me, I smile up at Vlad in earnest, and he quickly responds in Russian that Viviana had it ready, then returns to where he was earlier.
I reach for the spoon. “If you eat whatever Vlad brought out here before you drink your smoothie, I will cut off his hands.”
He wouldn’t.
I want to laugh at Damiano but don’t. Without offering him any words, I meet his angry stare. I don’t hate him - Can’t, but at this moment, I could definitely shoot him in the kneecap and piss in the bullet wound for good measure.
Lifting the glass to my lips, the smell clouds my senses, and I hold back the audible gag that wants to escape. I breathe in through my mouth, forcing my lips to open, and take in a good portion of the smoothie before I place the glass back on the table. The contents cushioned between my cheeks are slowly swallowed with an aching slowness until I take it all in.
“Good.”
Damiano still holds my gaze for the longest.
Feeling like he’s won this battle, he relaxes. Heat spreads through my chest and up my neck. I’m already aware of what is going to happen. No sound leaves my mouth, no warning comes like it usually does, and I don’t bother to stop it this time. I throw up the smoothie on the tray that Vlad just put down, only emitting a soft cough that catches Damiano’s attention when I’m done.
Embarrassment or disgust should be my first reaction, but I only feel relief. My hand reaches out to grab the handkerchief on my right side. I wipe my mouth, spit some lingering throw up into the material, then drop it on top of my mess.
Damiano stares at me in disbelief and anger. I’m sure he’s assuming that I threw up on purpose.
He’s right.
I knew it would happen, but I wasn’t aware it’d be immediately. I hoped it would be a few minutes before my body rejected the smoothie. I am satisfied that I showed my husband that he’s much more of an asshole than he believes.
“We hate bananas,”
I emphasize the we to remind him I’m carrying his child that hates more stuff than I do. Silence fills the dining room as I push my chair back, stand, and walk out.