20. Chapter 19 Ginevra
Iget my mom situated into her favorite chair, and she gives me one of her smiles that I remember from when I was younger. She’s in a better mood than I’ve seen in a long time.
“You look happy. I haven’t seen you smile like that in years,” she comments. It has me pausing and I give her a shrug.
“I’d like to think I’m always happy.” I frown, trying to think back to when I would have given her the impression I’m not.
“No, Ginevra. You have been living and going through the motions, but I wouldn’t say happy.”
I’m not sure how to take her comment. “Well, I guess I can say the same thing. You look happy, relaxed and at peace.” After I reply, I worry she’s going to take it the wrong way. We argue so often I don’t want to set her off within the first hour of her being home.
“How can I not be happy? My only daughter looks in love and she’s getting married. It’s all I ever wanted for you.”
“Love. That’s a strong word.” My face heats instantly. Am I that obvious? “I look forward to spending time with him.”
“You look surprised.” My mother laughs, her eyes crinkling.
I take a seat across from her on a small foot rest. “I am. I’m not used to it. Most of my memories of Soren are him ridiculing me, or being rude.”
“From what I recall, you gave it back just as hard as he gave it.”
“Maybe.” I look down at my hands, thinking of how our dynamic has shifted. Our banter is more friendly, and I like the way he teases me and how I tease him. Even his obsession with cars I find endearing. The biggest shift is that he’s the first person I want to share my day with. I’ve never had someone who was my anchor, who calmed me and had me wanting to talk about my day. What I’m most worried about is that this is temporary and it will all be ripped away from me. I look up at my mother. “I still feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
My mother’s hand rests on top of mine. “Trust your heart, dear.”
I glance away, looking at the lone tree in our backyard. Half of its leaves have fallen off, while the other half hang on by a thread. One big wind storm and they will be gone for the season.
Our front door slams and the walls shake from the impact.
“Ginevra!” Jude’s angry voice bounces off the walls toward us. “What’s this? No one tells me my baby sister is marrying my best friend?” he bellows.
My mother attempts to get out of her chair, but I put my hand on her shoulder, keeping her down. “I have this handled. Don’t waste your energy on this.”
I meet my brother in the kitchen and freeze, having never seen him so unhinged before; his hair disheveled and his eyes red.
“Your mother just got out of the hospital. Did you even know she was in there, you selfish dick?” I yell, wrapping my arms around my midriff. My fingers cling to my sides, curling into my flesh. It’s everything I can do to stop myself from punching him in the face. “I’ve been calling and leaving messages. You can’t call home, but you can call Soren.”
He runs a hand through his already wild locks. It looks like he’s been doing it repeatedly, causing his hair to stand end on end.
His bad breath hits me square in the heart when he sneers. “You’re marrying Soren Moretti? What the fuck are you thinking?” His lips turn down with a look of disgust written all over his face. “You have always hated him, Gin.”
“You weren’t here to stop it.”
He shakes his head. “Not one message you left said you were getting married. You want a career. Think about this. You help put bad guys behind bars. Do you realize who your husband is going to be?”
It feels like someone kicks the air out of me. He’s talking about what’s been on my mind since the engagement. How do I continue to do my job when I become Mrs. Moretti? My head grows light and I force myself to take a breath.
“Yes, I’ve been filled in,” I reply dryly as my stomach knots. I love my job, and having a career. Is this even an option, once we say “I do?” My thoughts battle with each other. Marriage. Career. Love. How can they all fit together?
Jude either doesn’t notice or continues to ignore the internal worry he’s hit on. “Soren only cares about himself. He’s going to fuck you and then discard you. It’s how his brain works. You’re better than a whore, Gin, don’t fucking do it.”
“Maybe you should have been here!” I lash out, frustrated that he’s been gone and is now judging me.
“How can you talk about your best friend this way? He’s your best friend!” I stress.
“He’s not my fucking best friend. He keeps me down. I’m a soldier when I should be more. He’s an asshole who uses everyone to climb his way to the top.” He picks up a glass from the table and throws it against the wall. Glass shatters everywhere, and I let out a shocked gasp.
“What is wrong with you?” I step closer to him and notice his eyes can’t focus on anything. “What are you on?”
He takes a step back. “He’s corrupted you. You’ve already fucked him, haven’t you?”
I walk toward him, avoiding the glass on the floor, and slap him across the face. “Don’t ever talk to me like that again.” I place a hand on my hip as I stand up for myself.
“He’s using you, and you’re letting him.” The raw disappointment etched in his features has me second guessing everything I was feeling before. Suddenly, I’m feeling dirty and used and unloved by everyone in my life. Nothing I do is ever good enough for anyone.
“Jude!”
“Don’t expect me to be at your wedding.” He scratches under his stubbled jaw, shaking his head at me.
“That is not how I brought you up, Jude.” I turn toward my mother, who is holding on to the banister for support.
“No, you taught me that when the Morettis take something from you, we lie down and accept it.” He rushes out of the house, slamming the door so hard the top of it falls off its hinges.
“Don’t you dare listen to him. I saw firsthand what you and Soren have.” She pauses for a moment before continuing. “Jude has always been troubled, but the last three years his demons have been too strong for him to resist and I was never strong enough to help him. That’s my cross to bear, not yours.”
“Come on, Mom; let me get you back to your seat.” I sigh and she shoos me off, walking without help. It’s slow, and looks like a struggle, but this is the first time in a year I’ve even seen her try
“If I can be strong, so can you, Ginevra,” she says with a proud smile on her face as she takes her seat.
My hand wipes across my face with defeat. A longing for Soren slams into my chest, unexpected, and nearly knocks me off my feet. I can console myself. I don’t need him. I go back into the kitchen and tiptoe around the glass shattered across the floor toward the freezer. I pull out a small tub of ice cream. It’s one of those fancy kinds that is no bigger than a cup in size, the flavor a chocolate marshmallow heaven. Leaning over, not moving my feet, I open a draw and grab a spoon. I stand in the middle of the mess and take my first bite of the delicious, sweet, dessert.
I close my eyes, savoring the taste and pretending there isn’t a mess for me to clean the moment I open my eyes. What would happen if I let go of all my fears that have driven my life? What if I stopped caring about what others think? Stop caring about Jude’s opinion? What if I stopped being so proud, and I was willing to accept help from others? What if I embraced this attraction Soren and I have? Would I be happier?
Would I be happier?
The thought stumps me. I’ve always had clear goals to attain, but I never considered if these goals would make me happy. I’ve always been driven by proving to everyone that I’m capable and I don’t need anyone but me. What if that’s not true anymore?
I miss Soren. I’ve never missed anyone in my life before. He’s the only person who doesn’t expect anything from me. He loves me for me and not what I can do for him. He loves me for me. Soren has not once expected me to be anything but who I am. He accepts every part of me, even my cranky bits. This is why I can’t stop loving him. I have tried so hard, but every time I try to push him away, he holds me tighter.
The feeling consumes me as I take another bite. I’m tired of being the strong one. I take a deep breath, hoping to shake off the thoughts that plague me. My heart feels as heavy as it did a moment ago. I take another bite. The only good thing I have going for me right now is this ice cream, and Soren if he was here.
Our doorbell rings, breaking me out of my self-pity, and I put the container back into the fridge, tiptoeing toward the door. The floor is wet from the water, making it slippery, and my foot tries to slip from under me. I catch myself on the table, but a piece of glass slices across the skin, and digs itself in.
I hiss, continuing to hobble across the floor. It must be the nurse for my mother. The doorbell goes again, and I call out, “Coming. Just one second.”
I open the door to come face to face with Soren. His grumpy face is hardened and I take a step back, trying to think of what the hell I’ve done now.
He steps in without being invited. “Sure, invite yourself in,” I deadpan without even thinking. I try to put my foot down, but hiss with pain as the glass shard digs deeper.
“You forgot your phone in my car.” I look up, seeing Soren’s face morph into something softer. “What the hell happened?”
He swiftly picks me up bridal style, walking deeper into my home. His concern is clear on his face, and I feel like I have to explain. “Jude stopped by and broke a glass. I accidentally stepped on a piece.”
He takes a seat on our couch, keeping me in his lap. The position is intimate, making me blush when there’s no reason for it.
He picks up my foot, running his finger over my small cut. “It’s bleeding.”
“I just need to get the glass out and it’ll be fine.” I try to get out of his lap but his grip on me tightens and he holds me close to him.
“I can see the glass better from here than you can.”
It’s not that he’s wrong.
I lean back on the side of the couch. “Fine.” I wrap my arm over my eyes, but can see him perfectly from under it.
With him focused on my foot, I’m able to study him without him watching me. He pulls out a pocket knife from his front pocket and gets to work on my foot, tenderly nudging the glass out of my skin, I can hardly feel it.
“Can you hold a light up for me?” he asks, not raising his eyes to me. I turn on the light on my phone and shine it at the bottom of my foot. I can’t believe I didn’t even realize I’d forgotten my phone.
There’s pressure and I wince before he says, “Got it.” In his palm, he holds up the small shard of glass.
“Thank you.”
He pushes my feet off his lap and I expect him to let himself out, but he walks into our kitchen instead.
“Soren, I’ve got it. I know you’re busy,” I protest.
“You need a band-aid and I’m not letting you hurt yourself again by cleaning this up.” He levels me with a look. “Don’t you dare move from that couch until I tell you to!”
“Whatever you say, Satan.” I lean back against the armrest, my mouth curving upwards. I’ve never had anyone fuss over me like this. It’s kind of nice.