CHAPTER 34
"I asked for a name; he gave me one that didn't hurt. It was the first lie of our marriage."
Valentina MORETTI
He came back.
Twenty minutes later, in a black robe tied at the waist, his hair wet from the quick shower he'd taken in another bathroom.
He didn't look at me right away. He went to the chair by the window and sat down, watching the sea.
I pulled the sheet up to my chest and sat up in bed.
"Luca."
"Bella mia."
"What is it?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. For the first time in almost a month of marriage, I saw real exhaustion on his face.
"Acquaviva wanted to move it up."
"Move what up?"
"The three names."
I swallowed hard.
"And you heard them."
"I heard them."
The three names were in my husband's head. And I, married to him for three weeks, lying in the bed of our honeymoon, didn't know them.
"Luca."
"Bella mia."
"Tell me."
He looked at me with his black eyes tired.
"No."
"What do you mean, no?"
"Not today."
"Luca, I'm your wife. You just told me ti amo in Italian inside our room. You're not going to leave me out of this."
He propped his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped.
"I don't want to leave you out."
"Then don't."
"Valentina…"
He called me Valentina. Not bella mia. I swallowed hard in a different way.
"One name," I said, lower. "Give me one."
He closed his eyes. When he opened them, it was at the ceiling.
"Cazzo."
"One, Luca."
"Tonio."
The word fell like a stone.
I went still.
Tonio, the driver. The man who drove the car that brought me from Palermo to Posillipo on the first trip. The man who carried the white lilies for me. The man who took me to the church with the nonna in the back seat. The man who'd worked for Luca's father before Luca.
"Tonio," I repeated.
"Sì."
"Twenty years in the house."
"Twenty."
I felt a knot in my throat. At the same time I felt a tightness in my chest very different from the knot—it was anger.
"And the other two?"
"Tomorrow."
"Cazzo, Luca."
"Bella mia."
He stood and came to me, putting his open hand on my cheek, the same as at the altar.
I threw his hand off.
"No."
"Valentina…"
"I said no."
Luca stopped, looked at my hand, looked at me. I felt my blood heat.
"You can't hide things from me."
"I'm not hiding anything from you, bella mia."
"Yes, you are."
"Va bene. I am."
It was his mouth that came first.
Brutal. No leave, no sweetness, no warning. He grabbed me by the back of the neck with his right hand, pinned me against the wall of the room, and kissed me as if he wanted to tear the fight out of me with his mouth.
The sheet fell.
"Luca. I'm angry."
"Lo so."
His hand moved down my waist, found my hip. He lifted me without effort, the way he did, and pressed me deeper against the wall, his robe falling open between the two bodies.
"Luca."
"Bella mia."
"I'm not done fighting."
"Finish later."
I closed my eyes.
Cazzo, I thought. Even angry I want him.
It was fast, hungry. It was the first time in our whole history that I didn't ask for slow and he wasn't slow.
My feet didn't touch the floor. My back hit the white Positano stone wall three times. I bit his bare shoulder once, out of anger, and he let out a sound that was half laugh, half growl against my neck.
And then, low, against my neck, he said a word I'd never heard from him:
"Scusi."
Forgive me.
I closed my eyes, and he carried me to the bed in his arms.
He sat down with me in his lap on the edge of the mattress, still wrapped around him, both of us still breathing hard. I rested my forehead on his shoulder.
"The other two," I murmured.
"Tomorrow, bella mia."
"Tomorrow."
"Lo prometto."
He kissed the top of my head.
"We're going back to Posillipo in two days."
I went still.
"Sooner?"
"Sooner."
"Why?"
"Because the war started early, bella mia. And I don't want you in Positano."
I swallowed hard.
"Va bene."
He laid me down, climbing into bed beside me, covering us both with the fresh linen sheet, his open hand on my belly.
"Sleep, bella mia."
I slept, but I slept knowing he was awake beside me.