Confessions of an Italian Marriage Read online

  While he fell back in his chair and fought to keep panic from overwhelming him, he did what he had always done in times of heightened stakes and deep emotion. He condensed all of it into a ball deep in his core, stomach tight as he forced himself to ignore it so he could think past it.

  “I told you that we shouldn’t put that sort of pressure on us,” he said forcefully enough to make her stiffen. He softened his tone. “We can see what happens for now, try more seriously later.”

  “What if it doesn’t happen? What if that’s the only reason we stay married and it doesn’t happen?” she asked with a little sob of despair. “Think about it. You dated me to investigate me. You married me because I was pregnant. You told me we had to stay married until you took control of your company. Tomorrow you get your passport and can resume your life. And you want to share it with me? Try for a baby?”

  “Wanting a family is a good reason to stay married.”

  “But if it doesn’t happen, what do we have? We were never suited. Isn’t it better to end it now? Don’t you want to marry someone you love and have a real family?”

  “For God’s sake, Freja. You’re not even giving us a chance.” He had to hold on to that cold, angry tone or the agony would shatter the steel walls holding his emotions inside. “This is not fair. I can’t make that happen on demand. You know that.”

  “This isn’t about your physical limitations! It’s about your emotional ones. I asked you months ago if you loved me. You still haven’t answered me.”

  Because death had bled love out of him once and losing their baby had done it again. He had been trying to keep what they had to something he could manage. Something that didn’t have the potential to destroy them both.

  And what if he couldn’t give her a baby? He couldn’t bear to put her through the anguish of that. Or of losing another pregnancy. He’d already put her through so much.

  “I think this is for the best,” she said, voice papery in the silence. “I’m going to go.”

  He had to let her. Didn’t he?

  * * *

  “Have you lost your mind?” Everett said when Giovanni told him Freja had left for America last night. “You went through all of this and you let her go?”

  “News flash. Women are no longer chattel. They do what they want. And I put her through the wringer. She’d had enough.”

  “Is that what she said?”

  “No.”

  “What then?”

  “None of your business. I told you to butt out.”

  “You’re always so surly when you haven’t slept.” Everett moved to help himself to a scotch even though it wasn’t even noon yet. “Are you coming back to work for me, then?”

  “No.”

  “No?” Everett turned with a knowing smirk. “Why not?”

  “Oh, shut up. I had to wait for my passport.” He dropped it into the satchel hanging off his chair, the one that already held his phone, tablet, and wheelchair repair tools. His private jet was fueled and ready when he was. “I thought about having her dragged off the plane, but...”

  He had hoped she would change her mind. So he could stay exactly as closed off as he was. So he would know she loved him before he had to confess to it first.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What happens if I tell her I love her? What changes? Nothing. I’m still me. Still in this chair. Still dragging her around the world to attend board meetings or whatever bloody thing comes up. She wants a baby and so do I, but there’s no guarantee with things like that. Failure is hell. So what do I offer her that isn’t...a promise of pain?”

  This was what had kept him awake all night. Despair. A complete lack of hope. He couldn’t give her happily-ever-after. There was no such thing.

  “I’ve been told to butt out,” Everett said laconically. “But what do you want from her? Because she’s pretty and all, but she’s just a woman. She’s not offering you any guarantees that she can produce an heir, is she? Or never wind up ill or needing a chair? Find someone else.”

  “How obtuse are you?” Giovanni asked with affront. “I don’t want anyone else. She doesn’t have to give me anything. I just want her here, in my life. Then all the pains and disappointments of existence are bearable at least.”

  “Again, I don’t want to overstep,” Everett said, scratching his upper lip and serving up his remark with buckets of irony. “But is there any chance she feels the same?”

  Giovanni wanted to say something biting, but a ray of sunshine peeked through the thick walls inside him, throwing light into the darkness even as its heat touched on raw places and stung.

  It was painful, but it tugged him to take one more chance.

  “Make yourself at home. I’m leaving.”

  * * *

  Freja was missing Giovanni even before she got on the plane to New York. She sat down next to a man who snored the whole way and tried to hold back her tears.

  She reminded herself he didn’t love her. Leaving was the smart thing to do, before they were too entangled for her to leave this easily again.

  That’s what she told Nels when he picked her up at the airport and asked, “What happened?”

  He took her back to the apartment she’d bought and told him to use because he was being hounded by the press. They shared a bottle of wine and she fed him the lines about the death threat, keeping Giovanni’s secret, but she apologized to Nels for using him.

  “I was using you, too. But... I have to say it. You can have the man you want, Freja. I can’t. So why are you squandering that?”

  She didn’t have a good answer. Fear? She had never let that hold her back. Distrust? She understood and accepted why Giovanni had hurt her. The only way to find out if he would do it in the future was to give him another chance.

  Her brain went around in circles and, in a desperate bid for distraction, she agreed to do a reading from an advance copy of her book. Her agent found a bookstore willing to throw it together at the last minute. They put up a few posters and she mentioned it on her social media accounts, but it was so low-key, she didn’t even dress up for it. She wore brown plaid pants with ankle boots and a sage-green pullover with sleeves that fell to her knuckles.

  She begged Nels to come with her, certain no one would show up, swearing, “I’m fine with talking to an empty room. This is a test drive for the other appearances I have lined up, but I’d like some feedback.”

  The shop was in one of Greenwich Village’s character buildings, the kind that had been through a thousand iterations and would go through a thousand more in service to the changing demographics of the foot traffic that passed it. Presently it catered to the pseudo-intellectuals who appreciated the reclaimed floorboards and fair-trade coffee and the reading area in the loft that offered free Wi-Fi.

  The overstuffed furniture in that loft had been pushed to the rail and a dozen chairs brought in. They were already full when Freja arrived and the harried staff were frantically stealing stools from the coffee bar and carrying chairs from someone’s office. A queue had started on the stairs that ran all the way out the door.

  “Those people aren’t all here for me,” Freja said to Nels, pointing out, “They’re all holding my father’s books.”

  “Still a nice show of support.”

  “It is.” She forced a smile, thinking her publishing team would love that it was turning into a standing-room-only event. She knew this should feel like a triumph of some kind, but even though Nels stayed nearby, she felt very...lonely.

  They moved her a little closer to the rail so the people on the stairs could see her, and they introduced her.

  Freja smiled at the crowd and began to read her own words:

  “‘Some people view life as a battle or an adventure, one where you fight to overcome adversity in hopes of a thrilling victory. Some see it as a garden, where you weed out what doesn’t w
ork and nurture what does. They tell you to stop to smell the roses.’”

  There was a small ripple of laughter, thank goodness.

  “‘My father saw life as a journey. Traveling was his life and thus it was mine, but I always saw myself as a passenger. I didn’t get to decide where we were going, but I didn’t mind. When you’re with someone you love, it doesn’t matter where you’re going or how long it takes to get there.’”

  She faltered slightly, having forgotten she had written that. She cleared her throat and continued.

  “‘Pappa was my constant, even though the rest of the relationships in my life were transitory. When he died so unexpectedly, I was devastated, but there was a piece of me that accepted the loss as normal. No one is permanent. Eventually, you have to say goodbye to everyone.’”

  Did she, though? It was striking her that she had done this. She had pushed Giovanni away. That’s why she had gone to Dubrovnik that day, to say goodbye. She hadn’t believed there was such a thing as building a life together. Yes, there had been things between them that had to be overcome, but it wasn’t all on him to convince her they had a future. She could make that choice and pursue it herself.

  “‘So I knew...’” Her voice was wavering in and out as emotion overwhelmed her. “‘I knew in my heart of hearts...’”

  She began to shake. She couldn’t do this. Why had she let him go? She wanted to go to him right now. When you’re with someone you love...

  “Freja.” Nels touched her arm and nodded to the floor below.

  Giovanni blocked the aisle between stacks of books. He hadn’t shaved and his hair was ruffled. He was never a man to wear his heart on his sleeve, but as everyone craned their necks to see where her attention had gone, he had eyes only for her. He touched his fingertips to his mouth and blew her a kiss.

  The whole crowd sighed.

  She released a teary laugh.

  “I’ll go down,” Nels whispered, squeezing her arm. “You can do this.”

  “I didn’t expect my husband to be here.” She sniffed back her tears and took a deep breath and pulled it together. “But I’m so glad he is.”

  She set her fingertip under her own words and picked up where she had left off.

  “‘I knew in my heart of hearts that I would not be in North Korea forever. That my journey would continue eventually...’”

  * * *

  Freja was tied up for hours. While she read, the place was so silent, the couple of times the barista caused the espresso machine to hiss, the poor woman earned a dozen dirty looks.

  After a lengthy round of applause, people wanted selfies and her autograph in her father’s books.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said when the crowd finally thinned out and she was able to come down to Giovanni.

  “Why? You were working. Your fiancé kept me company.”

  Nels went red and started to stammer. “Freja and I have talked and we’re not—”

  “That was a joke,” Giovanni assured him and offered his card. “Call me tomorrow. We’ll talk properly about the handoff, which will still be very much hands-on.”

  Giovanni was already thinking he wanted as much time as possible with Freja and, judging by tonight, she had commitments of her own.

  “You were spectacular,” he told her as Nels left them alone.

  She brushed off the compliment with a flushed smile. It faded slightly as she asked, “Why are you here?”

  “To see you. Can I buy you dinner?”

  “I’m not hungry. I could use a stiff drink, though,” she joked.

  “There’s champagne at the apartment.”

  “You want me to come home with you?” She dipped her chin, pleased and not at all as surprised as she was pretending.

  “I do. Right now.”

  * * *

  Freja took a few calls in the car and apologized again as they entered the penthouse.

  “Bidduzza, you have been very tolerant of my work. I’m happy to support yours. In fact, I’m so proud, my shirt shouldn’t have any buttons left.”

  “Even though I left Sicily the way I did? I’ve had time to think, you know.” Time to regret leaving so abruptly.

  “Come here. I want to tell you something.” He rolled closer to the sofa and moved onto it.

  She followed and sank down next to him. He angled toward her and took her hand.

  “Stefano and I were only thirteen months apart. Because of that, we did almost everything together, but when he turned fifteen, he was allowed to get a real job. It was a summer student position and he swore it was no better than glorified babysitting, but he was not at home weeding the vineyard to earn his allowance the way I was. The envy I felt that summer nearly ate me alive. I was excited for the next year when I presumed we would teach fencing together.”

  She saw the shadows closing in on his gray eyes and swallowed. His thumb moved restlessly across the backs of her knuckles.

  “He took after our mother. She was exuberant like him. Quite playful and funny. He got her black, curly hair and pointy chin. I have our father’s eyes and jaw. Papà was a more circumspect man. He had to be, given his position, but it was his nature to be very measured in the things he said and not to give away too much. I used to wish I was more like Stefano. He didn’t mind sharing his thoughts and never let the weight of the world settle on him. He knew how to laugh. And girls? Oh, they loved him.”

  “You do fine with the ladies,” she pointed out.

  “Ah, but the only lady that matters had a crush on him first.” There was only rueful affection in his tone.

  “You loved him very much.”

  “I loved all of them so much I didn’t know how I would survive when I woke after the crash.” His eyes grew wet. He didn’t hide any of the agony he felt to this day. “I’d never felt so alone. So left behind.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, cupping the side of his face.

  He held her hand there and said, “When I realized the crash had been deliberate... I had to do something, but righting one wrong wasn’t enough. It became an obsession. A way to avoid addressing how empty my life was. Then, one day, there you were, a glimmer of gold in all the silt. But it was so complicated.”

  “I know,” she murmured.

  “When the possibility of a baby came up...” His eyes misted afresh. “I hadn’t let myself love in a long time, but I felt the roots of it starting in me. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to have a family with you. You, Freja. I could see it so clearly, I could taste it. And then it was gone.”

  She swiped at a tickle on her cheek and her fingers came away wet. She leaned closer and he set his warm arm across her shoulders, nose to her temple.

  “It locked me up again. It’s really hard to say it. To admit that I love you and want your love. I’m terrified of how vulnerable I am to the pain of loss, but losing you, even to a damned airplane and a day of travel... I want you in my life, Freja. I need you.”

  “I want that, too,” she admitted shakily. “I love you, too. So much. I’m sorry I left. I hated myself as soon as I did.”

  “Well, that will teach you.” He gathered her into his lap. “Don’t do it again.”

  Six months later...

  “Everything looks perfectly normal except...”

  They both lost their smiles. Giovanni’s hand squeezed hers tighter. Freja swallowed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. See for yourself.” The technician pointed to the screen, then pointed to another spot on the screen, counting, “One, two. Twins.”

  “But...” Freja trailed off, speechless.

  “This is very common with in vitro fertilizations...” The technician sent a glance to Giovanni’s chair.

  “But this was artificial insemination. I’m not using fertility drugs. They didn’t implant embryos,
just...”

  “Ah.” The technician looked closer. “There’s only one placenta. Looks like you just got lucky.”

  They stayed lucky. Their identical twin girls were born three weeks early at a clinic in Sicily, healthy and strong. They went home with their ecstatic parents a few days later.

  EPILOGUE

  HIS PASSPORT READ Benjamin Everhart. It was fake, but a good one. The border guard waved the small vanload of tourists along with only a cursory glance at it.

  A few days of touring the sacred Paektu Mountain and Heaven Lake later, the van entered a small village. They were checked into a hotel approved for foreigners.

  Everett double-checked he had the novel in his jacket pocket, then walked downstairs with a handful of airplane peanuts in his hand. The things he did for a friend.

  He shoved the peanuts in his mouth and was gasping and losing consciousness before he’d reached his assigned table in the restaurant.

  He woke in the clinic, an IV attached to his arm, throat still scratchy. An official stood by while a circumspect nurse checked his pulse. The woman disappeared and Everett motioned to the official that he wanted the book out of his jacket.

  It was a British spy thriller. The official flipped through the pages, stopping to inspect the photo Everett was using for a bookmark. It was an image of Giovanni holding both his daughters. Louisa was trying to eat a button off his shirt. Teresa had one little fist tangled in Freja’s hair as she crouched beside her husband’s wheelchair. They were laughing at their girls’ antics.

  This was the tricky moment. Everett held his breath, wondering if the official would recognize her, but he only glanced at the blank backside, then stuffed the photo between the pages. He handed the book to Everett.

  Everett set the photo on the side table and pretended to read.

  Twenty minutes later, the doctor came in, gave him the North Korean brand of an antihistamine pen, and discharged him. Everett neglected to pick up the photo on his way out.