Chapter 32
MELANI
I tug at the towel around my shoulders as I walk into Mamma’s suite, painfully self-conscious of the way I must look.
I should probably take it off, but I don’t want to.
Beyond the fact that my clothes are still undoubtedly wet, the way Vanya wrapped these around me, so careful and protective, left a warmth in my belly that still lingers.
I spot Mamma in one of the chairs near the window, straight-backed, like she’s been waiting for me all along. “Hi, Mamma.”
She looks up, and then she’s on her feet before I’ve taken another step, her eyes cataloging the towel wrapped around my hair, my shoulders, and my body. “You’re wet.”
“Yeah, I got caught in the rain.” I smooth my hand down my side, already wishing I’d at least stopped in my room to take a shower and change first. But I was just too eager to let her know she was wrong about Vanya.
She raises a brow, and even though she doesn’t say it, I can see the question forming behind her eyes. How does a hostage get caught in the rain?
She doesn’t ask, though, and I’m grateful, because if I explain the rain, I have to explain the panic attack, and if I explain that, it might take us back to the moment I had my first one.
But maybe it’s time to have that conversation since we never did get to have it.
“Where did you go earlier?” I ask instead, unsure how exactly to bring up the subject. “I wanted to see you, but I was told you left.” A little shiver runs through my body as I speak, the chill finally starting to seep in.
“You’re going to catch a cold,” Mamma sighs and grabs my arm. “Come with me.” I let her lead me to her bedroom and through to the ensuite. “Get out of those wet clothes first. I’ll bring you something dry to wear.”
She slips back out, closing the door behind her.
I blow out a slow breath and reluctantly remove the towels, folding them on the edge of the sink.
Then I peel off the wet dress, another shiver rippling through me as I remember how I got this soaked, and why I didn’t notice the rain until after I came down from my orgasm.
That’s the thing about Vanya. When he’s working his magic on my body, everything else simply ceases to exist.
A warm trickle between my thighs brings me back to earth.
Shit. We didn’t use a condom again. I really need that morning-after pill ASAP.
Getting pregnant right now would be so fucked up.
Except my heart chooses that moment to conjure an image of a tiny baby with Vanya’s blue eyes, and I have to physically shake my head to dislodge it.
I quickly clean up between my thighs, firmly shoving that particular fantasy into the not-happening category.
A shower would probably help clear my head, but that can wait until I’m back in my own room. I don’t want to delay my conversation with Mamma any longer.
As if she hears the thought, a brisk knock sounds on the door, and her voice says, “I’ve got some things you can try on.” I grab one of the towels and wrap it around my body before opening the door. She stands there with a stack of clothes in her arms. “I’m not sure if they’ll fit,” she says.
“They should. Thank you.” I give her a small smile as I take them.
A few years ago, her clothes would have swallowed me.
But she’s lost a lot of weight since we left Pietrarossa.
I go through the stack and choose a turtleneck dress with long sleeves and a flowy skirt that falls past my knees.
Right now, I want as much coverage as possible to trap warmth within my body.
And it has pockets on both sides! I don’t know why that cheers me up so much.
Maybe because dresses with pockets are rare, and finding one always feels like a tiny victory.
Going braless and bare underneath feels a bit scandalous, but my wet underwear isn’t going back on my body, and I’m definitely not borrowing my mother’s. Besides, wearing it would just soak the dress, so here we are.
I gather the clothes I didn’t choose, carry them back out to her bedroom, and place them neatly on her bed. Mamma isn’t here, so I follow the sound of movement into the sitting area and find her fussing with the electric kettle on the counter, brow slightly furrowed in concentration.
“No supplies,” she says without looking up, “but a good cup of hot water should help warm you up.”
That brief glimpse that she still cares—that somewhere inside the shell, Mamma is still Mamma—melts me on the spot.
Without thinking, I walk over and wrap my arms around her waist, hugging her from behind and resting my suddenly heavy head on her shoulder.
She stiffens at first, then slowly turns and folds her arms around me in return.
“I’ve missed you,” I murmur into her shoulder.
“We were only apart for a few weeks,” she responds, sounding puzzled.
She thinks I'm talking about the time I’ve spent here with Vanya, away from her. Has it only been a few weeks? It feels like a lifetime.
I pull back from the hug, biting my bottom lip nervously. “Maybe. But it feels like I haven’t had you for two years. You closed yourself off from Luciano and me.”
I brace for her expression to shutter the way it always does whenever I’ve tried to approach this. But something different happens this time. Her face softens, and the sudden vulnerability in it makes my lips tremble and my eyes sting.
“I’m sorry you felt that way, bedda,” Mamma sighs and wraps her arms around herself, hunching inward.
“I was trying to find myself, and in the process, I created a gap between my children and me.
I was a stranger in my own body, in this strange land.
I was angry. And to avoid lashing out at you and your brother… I just shut down."
We’re doing this. We’re actually having this conversation.
My throat tightens, my heart aching as I hold her gaze.
“You didn't seem receptive whenever I tried to bring the subject up, so I always let it go. I didn’t understand how hard everything must have been for you. And I still don’t, not really.
But I’m so sorry you had to go through that.
” And I mean it. At least Luciano and I were already fluent in English when we landed in New Jersey.
Mamma’s was basic and broken. She arrived with two children to keep alive and a body that didn’t feel like her own anymore, in a country where she barely spoke the language.
And she had to learn it fast—while rebuilding everything from nothing and earning enough so we wouldn’t starve. She’s impressive.
A wave of pride so fierce hits me that the tears I've been blinking back spill down my cheeks.
“Oh no, amuri meu. Sta bona. I’m so sorry.
” She reaches up to wipe my face, her voice soft and soothing.
“I’m glad you don’t understand, Melani. And I never want you to.
I never want you or your brother to go through what I did.
But I failed you both.” The last words fracture, and I feel it like a fist squeezing around my heart.
“No, Mamma. You didn’t. You didn’t fail us.” I step back into her arms and hug her tightly, hoping she can feel the truth of it through the embrace. She didn’t fail us. And I know Luciano doesn’t feel that way either.
She presses her face into my neck, and something warm and wet slips beneath my collar. She's crying. For the first time since what happened on the ship. At least the first time in front of me. For two years, she's held this in. I hold her tighter, swallowing hard as I fight back my own tears.
The knowledge cracks something open in my chest, and I hold her tighter, swallowing hard as I fight back my own tears.
This moment isn’t about me. We stand like that for what feels like hours, Mamma crying quietly in my arms while I try my best to comfort her.
Eventually, her sobs slow to sniffles, and she finally pulls back.
“I’ve gotten your clothes wet again,” she says in soft Sicilian.
“I’d take this every day over you bottling everything up,” I reply in the same language.
She gives me a watery smile, suddenly looking so young—almost girlish.
Then she turns, unplugs the kettle, and takes my arm to steer me towards the sofa.
We sit close together, her knee nearly touching mine.
She stares at the floor for a moment before heaving a heavy sigh.
“I know you and Luciano hate the job I do.”
“Hate is a strong word.” I did hate it—not for what it was, but because I thought it was a trauma response to what those men did to her on the ship.
“Sta bona. It’s okay to admit it. I hated it too. But I believed it was the only job I could get. Nobody cared about my English. I could just lie there, let it happen, and then get paid for it.” Her voice grows quieter. “After all… I had already done it for free on the ship, hadn’t I?”
The air leaves my lungs. My hands ball into fists against my thighs, and I clench my teeth together—hard—because if she sees how much it affects me, she might stop talking, and I need her to keep talking.
“It was soul-stripping, I’ll admit. But after a while, I went numb.
And the alcohol and drugs helped. I know you hated those too.
I hated them myself. But I couldn’t stop.
Couldn’t find my way back to you and Luciano…
even though you two were the only reason I kept going.
The only reason I forced myself to stay alive. ”
My heart aches, and despite myself, a few tears slip down my face. “I’m glad you stuck around for us, Mamma,” I whisper, my voice raw.
She smiles bitterly. “A lot of good that did. You two would’ve been better off without me.”
“Of course not.” She’s all we have left. Life without her would have been bleak and hopeless.
She shakes her head. “I was practically catatonic. I’m sorry it took us losing Luciano to snap out of it. When I thought I’d lost you too… it was a very humbling experience.”