Fight Me Little Pearl

Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

FRANCESCA

C astillo Dimora is the perfect home for a formidable woman like Nonna Isadora. Ancient and full of dark secrets. If these gray stone walls could talk…

Valentino and I pass through the grand hall with thick dark beams in the ceiling and a truly massive fireplace. Centuries ago, I imagine a whole pig on a spit would have been roasted in it. I can hear the party music flowing in through the open doors, and my body screams to run the other way. I am not in the mood to socialize, especially after I found out that Valentino pointed a gun at Matteo, a sweet man more harmless than a fly.

At the airport yesterday he was funny and genuinely warm. What could have happened within a few hours that warranted Valentino threatening his own cousin with a gun? And all the while, poor Freya was in my room, trying to make me comfortable and welcome. I wonder what she must think of me now.

Despite what Nonna Isadora said, my husband is turning out to be exactly like my father.

I try to pull away from him, but he holds me tightly to his side.

He is a killer. How could I have forgotten so quickly? He probably kills as easily as I breathe and represents the dark path of life that I never wanted for myself. It’s a terrible thing to confess to, but I’m tired of lying about my desires and feelings. The unpalatable and unvarnished truth is: I’m so horribly attracted to him. I’m like a moth to a flame. My wings are getting singed and turned to ashes, but I cannot stop moving closer and closer to him even if it means my own destruction.

After last night, I’ve been unable to stop thinking about him. I’m obsessed by thoughts of what he did to me by the poolside and I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Even now, as he forcefully holds me to his side, the contact of his arm on my skin burns. And between my legs, my clit is so hot and swollen it feels like a wound. A wound that is throbbing for him.

Beyond the open door is a large, lush garden strung up with thousands of party lights. It is full of people, both familiar and unfamiliar. There is a full band playing on a stage in front of a dance platform. Facing it are two very long dining tables with cream chairs wearing blue bows. Waiters dressed in black and white work the crowd and a whole horde of colorfully dressed children probably hyped up on too much sugar, are running wild on the lawn. I glance up to see Valentino’s gaze roaming the guests, and my heart falls.

“What?” I ask. “Looking for Vica?”

His eyes widen in an uncharacteristic moment of surprise, and I grab the moment to escape his hold and walk through the door on my own. The party stops, and everyone turns to watch me. Seconds later, Valentino is beside me.

Serena steps out from the celebratory crowd and raises a flute of pink champagne. “Don Barone and La Signore Barone!”

Drinks are pushed into our hands. I smile awkwardly while everyone claps and cheers. After that congratulatory moment, the crowd returns to their respective conversations. Without another glance at Valentino, I head towards Serena and Isabella. When they see me approach, their smiles widen.

“Trouble in paradise?” Serena asks, nodding at Valentino.

“Are we that obvious?” I ask tightly.

The women laugh. “No, we’re just professional gossips.”

I laugh at that, but my laughter fades quickly. “I’m so sorry about the incident with Matteo. Do you know what happened?”

The two women shrug before Serena speaks. “Your first lesson is to learn never to ask what happens when the men gather together. It’s safer for us and them if we never know what’s going on.”

I turn to look at Valentino. He is talking to Roberto and Giuseppe, and he takes my breath away. He’s in a black suit like always, but today he looks particularly handsome and elegant. Valentino glances up and catches me staring. He holds my stare for a moment longer than necessary before returning his attention back to Roberto.

Isabella nudges me. “Oi, oi, that man cannot take his eyes off you.”

I have to refrain from rolling my eyes. He’s pretending, but I have to admit Valentino is very good at this game. His stare is so intoxicating, I almost believe it is real.

“What’s the stage for?”

“Eros Ramazzotti is coming to perform for us,” both women cry excitedly at the same time.

My eyebrows rise. “Nice.”

I stay by Isabella and Serena’s side as more people pour in. Over the course of the evening, they introduce me to dozens of people whose names I no longer remember. Eventually, I arrive at the point when I start to feel suffocated. I need to take a break. I haven’t seen Valentino since he left the party with Roberto half an hour ago.

I spot my chance to slip away while Isabella is busily engaged in conversation with a haughty, middle-aged woman. In the distance, I can see a woman dressed in a soft-blue dress with snow-white hair sitting on the grass. There is a squirrel eating something directly from her palm.

“That’s Nonna Fabiola. She is the oldest member of our family. She is a hundred and two years old.”

“Wow,” I gasp. “I’ve never met anyone that old.” She is five times older than me and has lived for more than a century!

“Yes, she is very, very old, but she insists on living alone at the edge of Lake Garda. She is a bit mad, but the animals seem to like her well enough.”

“I think I’ll go and pay my respects to her.”

“All right, but don’t be long. Eros Ramazzotti will be arriving soon and you don’t want to miss that.”

As I approach, the bushy-tailed squirrel scurries off in a flash of grey fur, and she turns her head to look at me. The low sun is in her pale blue eyes and, I swear, there is something almost magical or otherworldly about them. Her face is wrinkled, but her cheeks are rosy. She is exactly how, as a child, I imagined Cinderella’s fairy godmother would have looked.

“Ah, the new bride. How impossibly beautiful you are,” she exclaims softly.

I blush at the extravagant compliment. Under no circumstances am I impossibly beautiful. I’m a five and a half, or six at best, definitely not an eleven.

I sit on the grass opposite her and look into her enchanted eyes. “What’s the secret? How did you get the squirrel to eat from your hand?”

“It’s a two-part process. One part is easy and the other part is a little harder.”

I smile. “Will you share your secret with me?”

She smiles back, her eyes glowing with joy. “Of course. Keep homemade hazelnut cookies in your pocket, and never ever give any harmful thoughts a chance to fester in your mind.”

I frown. No wonder the squirrel dashed away at my arrival. I have no cookies and I’m literally brimming over with harmful thoughts. “I’m afraid I’d find it impossible to accomplish the second part.”

She laughs, a carefree sound. “But that’s the easy part.”

I join her in laughter. I like this lovely, kind-hearted old woman, and I wish I could spend more time with her, but I can already hear Isabella calling out to me.

“Coming,” I shout before I turn back to the wonderful soul sitting in front of me. “Tell me what you have learned after 102 years of living on this earth.”

There is a far-away look in her eyes. “That every second of life is beautiful, immeasurably, stupendously so.”

I stare at her with astonishment. “How can you say that when you belong to a family where violence and ugliness is second nature?”

She smiles softly. “Ah, you want to change the world. Fill it with light and goodness.”

“Yes,” I admit. That is what drew me to Thomas in the first place because it is what he too wants to do.

She shakes her head. “In that case, my dear child, you will never be happy. Everything is already perfect, you just can’t see it, because you think it should be different.”

“Are all the wars raging around the world perfect?” I challenge.

“Humanity has always waged wars on itself. I have lived through two world wars, and it’s true they were terrible times, but some of the most beautiful moments in my life happened while my stomach rumbled for food and bombs rained down upon us.”

I hear my name called again and when I turn my head, I see Isabella standing at the edge of the party beckoning me with her hand.

“You must go. You are the guest of honor,” Nonna Fabiola says.

“I’m coming,” I shout and wave at Isabella, before turning back to look at Nonna Fabiola’s gentle face.

“A friend of mine is in an impossible situation. Can you please give her some words of wisdom, please?”

She shrugs and opens her clasped hands in a typically Italian gesture of acquiescence.

“Well, um… circumstances that cannot be altered have forced her to forsake the man she loves and marry a man she detests and she doesn’t know what to do to solve her problem.”

“If the circumstances cannot be altered then she must accept her marriage as a priceless gift.”

My eyes widen. “What?”

“No woman will willingly choose to have a child with Down syndrome, and yet, how curious it is that every mother who gives life to such a child will sincerely swear she has been bestowed with a divine gift. When my cat was terminally ill ten winters ago, she would sometimes suffer terrible diarrhea in the early hours of the morning. By the time I had shampooed and dried Appolonia, and cleaned the floor, I couldn’t go back to sleep so I would wrap myself in thick blankets and go out into the garden with her. We would watch the night creatures while we waited for dawn to break. They were some of the most precious times of my life, my dying Appolonia curled up in my arms as the sun rose above the frozen lake. If she had not fouled the house and made it too smelly to live in, I would never have known those unforgettable moments.”

I frown with confusion. “But what about when you lost Appolonia? Wasn’t that a terrible moment?”

Her face becomes tender with the memory of her dead cat. “On the contrary. Appolonia’s passing was beautiful. I held her in my arms as her life ebbed away, but a few moments before she left her ravaged body, she transcended pain and looked at me with pure love shining in her eyes. In that moment she taught me that death is not to be feared. When we discard our bodies, we go elsewhere, and we go whole and unblemished.”

“Francesca,” Isabella calls again, but this time her voice is nearer. I glance back and see her walking towards us.

“It is time for you to go, but please tell your friend to look for the beauty in her suffering and sacrifice… and the hate she feels in her heart will turn into the greatest love she has ever known.”

“Thank you, Nonna Fabiola. I’ll tell my friend what you said,” I whisper and stand.

She smiles, and the joy inside her pours out of her body and reaches out to touch me.

“Goodbye, child. You have a beautiful life waiting for you. Embrace it. Every marvelous second.”