9. Giada
Giada
Polina sets plain pasta beside the roasted vegetables on the dining table. The room is quiet. No music plays. No servants hover behind us.
“Luca sent a list of foods you eat,” she says. “The sauce is separate.”
“Thank you.”
I take pasta and grated cheese, keeping them apart. Polina doesn’t comment. At home, Mama would have mixed everything together while my brothers laughed.
“Luca said you wanted us to have lunch alone,” Polina says.
“It’s easier to talk without our husbands listening. They’re searching for Giuseppe and your father anyway.”
My fork pauses. “Have they found them?”
“No. Luca will tell you if that changes.”
She doesn’t ask whether I miss Papa or explain how I must feel.
“Is marriage to a Corsini man always confusing?”
Polina laughs, then covers her mouth. “I’m sorry. Yes, it can be.”
“Good. Then the confusion isn’t proof I’m doing marriage incorrectly.”
“No. They’re confusing men.”
“Luca says what he means.”
“About what he wants from you?”
“He kissed me yesterday. He told me where he would touch me before he did it. I liked his mouth and the firm pressure of his hands.” Heat reaches my face. “He put his hand between my legs over my trousers. I asked him to continue. He stopped.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“He won’t take what I believe I owe him.”
“That sounds like a Corsini man.”
“Do they all stop when women ask them not to?”
“I’ve only slept with one.”
“It would be strange if you’d collected enough information to compare them.”
Her laugh is warm. The corner of my mouth rises.
“My husband gave me choices when I wasn’t used to having them,” she says. “My father called control protection. He chose where I went, what I wore, and who could speak to me. He hurt me and said it was for my own good.”
“Luca has guards follow me.”
“Does he explain why?”
“Giuseppe escaped. Papa is hiding. Luca tells me where the guards will be. He stops touching me if I refuse, and I can leave when lunch is over.”
“Protection keeps danger away. Control takes your choices away.”
“My choice at the church wasn’t free.”
“No.”
The answer comes without an excuse.
“You aren’t going to say it saved me from Giuseppe?”
“It did. That doesn’t make the choice free. Both are true.”
I separate two strands of pasta. “I would have married Giuseppe because Papa ordered me to. I planned to have sex with him. Men provide a home, protection, and children. Women give them sex.”
“Who taught you that?”
“Everyone.”
“Everyone was wrong. Your body isn’t payment.”
“Then why do people have sex?”
“I have sex with my husband because I want him. It gives me pleasure. I can tell him what I want, change my mind, or stop at any point.”
“Even if you’re naked and he’s aroused?”
“Even then.”
Luca wanted me yesterday. He stopped anyway.
My family taught me endurance. Luca keeps asking me to choose.
“What do you want when being his wife isn’t part of the answer?” Polina asks.
“I want him to touch me again. I want his mouth between my legs. Do women enjoy that?”
“Many do.”
“Do you?”
She raises one eyebrow. “That belongs to my marriage.”
“That is a reasonable boundary. But you think I may enjoy it.”
“Yes. You may also dislike it. You can ask him to stop, change what he’s doing, or give you more.”
“I want more.”
The heat under my skin isn’t a debt or the next task on a wife’s schedule. It belongs to me.
“Would you have lunch with me again next week?” Polina asks.
“To discuss sex?”
“We can discuss anything. Or nothing important. I’d still enjoy your company.”
“Are you asking because our husbands work together?”
“No. I want to spend time with you.”
“Then yes. I’d enjoy that too.”
When I arrive home, Susan tells me Luca is in his office. He sits behind his desk, studying rows of numbers on a monitor.
“How was lunch?” he asks.
“Useful.”
“Give me ten minutes, and you can tell me about it.”
“No.”
He looks at me. I walk around the desk and stop close enough for his knee to touch my skirt.
“I don’t owe you sex for marrying or protecting me.”
His chair turns toward me. “No, you don’t.”
“I may set conditions. I may change my mind. I may tell you to stop.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to stop.” I take his wrist and place his palm against my waist. “I want your mouth between my legs. I want you to make me come.”