Chisa
“SAY IT PROPERLY. IN Italian.”
“I can’t! I’ll say it wrong and you’ll laugh at me.”
“I never laugh at you.”
“You laugh at me constantly! You’re laughing at me now, you’re only doing it on the inside where you think I can’t see it—”
Then he kisses me, because that’s how my husband wins arguments, and...
Enough, Chisa!
I chide myself like always, but I’m also biting my lip as I do.
It’s just so hard not to feel a little giddy every time I find myself replaying certain memories of my marriage.
Marcello Bastianelli is the kind of husband I never even dared to dream of.
He’s beyond perfect, and as impossible as this may seem, when he found out I was carrying his child, Marcello became even more tender.
But also more possessive. And truthfully, I still can’t make up my mind which side of him is more irresistible.
It’s just how manly and powerful he is. He’s not the kind of man one could ever imagine as tender, but that’s how he is, every time he’d touch my cheek or lay a hand on my swollen stomach.
That’s how he sounds when he whispers to our unborn child in Italian.
And then there are the other times.
Times when we’re out doing the usual things that I’m starting to learn were normal for Bastianellis (okay, this basically means attending parties where every seat requires donation to the tune of thousands of dollars), and Marcello would suddenly pull me close, and when this has me looking up, it’s to realize that he’s glaring at some poor man whose gaze has accidentally strayed in my direction.
I’m honestly starting to think Marcello has bad eyesight. He thinks all the men are after me when in truth, the whole world doesn’t understand what he sees in me. I’ve tried to tell him this, but he only looks at me like I’m the one who’s lost my mind.
I know you have a soft heart, cara, and that’s why you are trying to convince me they mean no harm. But how about this? I give you my word that I will not kill anyone over you. That’s enough, sì?
The very idea, right?
Marcello Bastianelli.
Killing a man over an ordinary girl like me.
And yet...
He did make me his wife.
And although we’ve been married two years now, and I’m carrying his child...
I actually haven’t said the words yet.
I mean, he’s been teasing me about saying ’make love to me’ in Italian, but that’s different. That’s actually easier albeit embarrassing as well. But when it comes to the three most important words, well...
Tonight, I promise myself even as my heart races.
No matter what, I’ll tell him tonight.
I’m sure he already knows how I feel, and I...I would like to think that he feels the same way even though he hasn’t said the words either. Maybe that’s why I’m trying to muster the courage to say it first? In hopes that he’d say it back to me?
That’s not bad, is it?
To want to hear the words?
Ti amo.
In fact, I’m even planning to say it in Italian the first time. I’m hoping that will make the words more special, more—
Oh?
Someone’s knocking on my door, and that can’t possibly be my husband. Not only is this the room we share, but he also likes to slip in unnoticed so he can catch me by surprise when he suddenly wraps his arms around me from behind, and the next thing I know we’re kissing and...
Knock! Knock!
I can’t believe I lost my train of thought again, and for the same shameful reason, too, argh!
Heavy rain lashes nonstop against our bedroom windows as I hurry to the door. I’m not sure who to expect when I open it, but it’s certainly not a white-faced Maria, with her eyes red and swollen.
“What’s wrong?” I ask worriedly. “Has something happened—”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Bastianelli.” Why can’t she suddenly meet my gaze as she says this in a shaking voice? “You’re to get dressed quickly, signora, and I was asked to help you to avoid delays.”
“D-dressed? For what?”
“I’m so sorry, signora, but we are to hurry, per favore.”
I work hard to stay calm because panic isn’t ever good for my baby. “Is it his mother? Is somebody hurt?”
But Maria only shakes her head and keeps urging me to hurry. “Please, signora.”
I’m aghast when she looks like she’s about to cry, and so I say quickly, “I’ll change now.” I have no idea what’s going on, but one thing I know for sure: Marcello trusts Maria, and so of course, I trust her, too.
I grab the first thing that will have me looking halfway decent at least. A floral dress that’s loose for now, but in a month or two, I’m pretty sure it will no longer fit. And then I’m hurrying out of the en-suite, but before I can call for Maria and tell her I’m done—
That’s when I see it.
Two suitcases by the open door, and after that...
It’s not that everything happened fast.
Because it didn’t.
Everything was mindful of my pregnancy, and so they made allowances for me.
It’s just that everything was so organized, and I think that’s what hurt me the most.
That the whole household was working like a well-oiled machine as they got rid of me, their master’s wife.
And while my heart knows that this is something they’ve been ordered to do, and that I shouldn’t ever take it personally against any of them...
It doesn’t make me hurt less.
The way no one wants to answer when I ask them where’s Marcello and if he knows this is happening.
The way everyone keeps avoiding my gaze even as the other maids carry my suitcases down the stairs.
I think...
I think that’s the answer already, right?
Because Marcello is the master of this house, and everything in this house is under his command.
I think...
I think my own husband is the one who’s throwing me out, and the moment I see the family lawyer in the living room, waiting for me with a leather case in his hands...
He’s a nice old man in his seventies. He looks very sweet, too...until he enters the courtroom. That’s when he turns into a silver-haired dragon, and he always comes out with a win.
“Chisa...”
My lip starts to tremble. For one moment, my gaze swerves away from him in desperation—there’s this stupid part of me that’s thinking none of this has to be real if I don’t see him. But when this only has my gaze landing on the grandfather clock...
Four in the morning.
Mr. Brent is here at four in the morning, and that...
That says it all, too, doesn’t it?
And when I finally look at him, my heart just starts breaking.
“It’s okay, Mr. Brent.”
This man who was also born in violence...
He has killed his fair share of men. Did his time behind bars. Faced death countless times before turning over a new leaf and fighting on the right side of the law...
He isn’t the kind who shows emotion easily, and yet there’s no mistaking the reason for the bright sheen of his eyes.
“I have been given a very difficult task, Chisa. I wish there was some other way...”
I manage a smile. “It’s okay.” I’m not sure if I’m lying. All I know is that it’s enough that I’m hurting. There’s no need for the others to hurt, too.
“There’s a car waiting for you outside,” he says grimly.
“It’ll take you to a house in Evanston that’s been prepared for you.
The house is yours outright. There’s an account in your name that is—it’s very substantial.
A doctor’s been appointed. She’s the best in the state, and she’ll see you as soon as you’re ready. ”
He looks down at his briefcase, and I hear myself ask, “Is there something you want me to sign?”
It takes another moment before Mr. Brent meets my gaze. “Yes.”
Just one word.
But that’s when it really hits me, and even though I know it would’ve been better if I had left with my dignity intact...
It’s that one word, you see.
Yes.
I don’t know why, but it just triggers something inside of me, and the next thing I know is...
This isn’t happening, this can’t be true, this isn’t real.
I think I’ve lost my mind.
I’m crying as I try rushing up the stairs, but his security shows up out of nowhere, and they block my way like a solid wall I’ll never be able to get through. I know each and every one of them, but they’re also avoiding my eyes...
I just need to talk to Marcello.
He promised, you see.
He promised.
Someone finally shows up from the second floor.
But it’s not him.
It’s not him.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Bastianelli.”
Curzio is another sweet old man who once had it tough. But like Mr. Brent, he’s turned his life around. And yet he, too, is looking at me like I’m breaking his heart the way all of this is breaking mine.
P-Please, Curzio...
He shakes his head slowly.
“You don’t understand,” I sob out. “H-He promised, okay, and t-that’s why...”
I can’t stop looking up again and again, can’t stop praying and hoping that he’ll show up, and this will just be a bad dream...
But nothing happens.
And Marcello...
It’s as if I’ve already stopped existing for him.
“You must stop crying.”
Curzio is suddenly next to me, his tone gentle but final.
“You must think of the baby.”
I know he’s right. This is bad for the baby. But what about Marcello? Doesn’t he realize that all of this is bad for our baby?
He motions for Maria to step forward, and she knows what to do as soon as he hands her my coat.
“Mrs. Bastianelli, let me help you with this...”
I feel like this puppet on strings as Maria helps me put on my coat.
This is a bad dream.
This isn’t real.
This isn’t...
This isn’t really happening.
And that’s why I hear myself say, “There’s something I forgot to take from the n-nursery.” I look at Maria. “The white rabbit...”
Maria nods right away. “Let me get it for you, Mrs. Bastianelli.”
I can see in everyone’s faces that no one understands why I need that rabbit, and I just don’t have the energy to explain.
Maria comes back down and gives me the rabbit.
“T-Thank you.”
Her eyes tear up anew. “I...I...”
I think she wants to say that this isn’t how she wants me to leave, but because she’s also loyal to Marcello first and foremost...
“It’s okay, Maria. I understand.”
I look at the rest of the staff, and they’re all trying their best not to cry. I’ll miss all of them, but I think if I say those words...
No, Chisa, there’s no need anyway.
This is a dream.
This isn’t real.
I square my shoulders and manage a smile for the staff. “Thank you. I’m sorry if I made things...a bit difficult earlier.”
I keep my smile as Mr. Brent and Curzio walk me to the car.
But once I’m alone in the backseat, and the house that I once thought was ours...
I watch it slowly shrink in view. A part of me is waiting for a sign...like a curtain twitching, a glimpse of Marcello perhaps realizing that this is all a misunderstanding...
But the house eventually disappears completely from sight, and I’m—
You’re not alone, I remind myself fiercely.
I have my baby inside of me, and more importantly...
There’s still a chance that Marcello will realize, whatever it was that caused this...
He’ll soon realize that this is all a misunderstanding, and then he’ll come running back to me, and he’ll ask me to forgive him, and I’ll forgive him because I get it.
I get how people who grew up like he did can be really bad at trusting.
I’ll tell him we can start again, and we’ll just think of this as a bad dream.
But in the meantime...
I look down at the white rabbit in my hands.
It’s Marcello’s first gift to me, when we just started dating. He told me that I’m to think of it as my little bodyguard, to keep it with me at all times, if he isn’t by my side. It will keep me safe, and more importantly, it will remind me of how much he cherishes me.
Tears start falling down my cheeks.
I’m sorry, baby.
I know it’s not good that I’m crying.
I’m just a little scared that your father...
I can’t even complete the thought, and all I can do is hug his little rabbit to my chest.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Please let this be all a bad dream.