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After taking a few more days to recuperate totally, Isotta had a lot of time to think. At times, she didn’t want to think. She just wanted to feel better. All she wanted was to not be in pain anymore, at least until the next time she went through her cycle. Hopefully, it would be more manageable because of the birth control pills, but still. Isotta wanted the current cycle to end so that she could be normal for at least a few weeks. Isotta fought against thinking about the long-term possibilities of fertility and infertility. She tried her best to stay present in the moment, even if she still felt the dull thud of physical discomfort.
Massimo was a distraction that she could temporarily focus on, but that wasn’t even fully satisfying because he still treated her like she was less than what he expected her to be. Isotta understood his feelings somewhat, but that still didn’t make it hurt any less. He wasn’t honoring his vows, but he didn’t really mean them anyway. Isotta had to accept that. During those moments when she was alone and supposedly resting, Isotta thought about the conversation in the hospital, but more than that, she thought about the strained relationships she had with her parents and her family.
She waited until Massimo was at work before deciding to leave his residence. Isotta still didn’t feel like it was her home, not most of the time. Most of the time, she felt like a guest who was on probation, especially after the endometriosis diagnosis. Still, it was the place where she lived with her husband. That was all. Nothing more.
As Isotta sat in the back of the chauffer-driven limo that she rode in whenever she went anywhere, she thought about what she intended to say to her family. Isotta even practiced a few lines just to see how they sounded. But she wasn’t convinced that when she was in their actual presence, she would have the gumption to say what was on her mind. Isotta felt like she did. She had been so frustrated by how her family acted in the hospital. Isotta felt like they didn’t listen to her; they had no intention of listening to what she had to say.
She was summarily dismissed like Valentina had been when she voiced opposition.
Isotta missed Valentina. Still…
When they arrived at the Conti estate and entered the expansive rod iron gate, those fleeting feelings of confidence left her despite how she fought to get them back. Isotta felt the hard thump of her accelerated heartbeat. She felt the pulsations that the coursing adrenaline caused. Isotta felt the powerful surge of nervous energy that moved through her. Isotta didn’t think she could do it like she originally thought as the car pulled up to the front door. For a millisecond, Isotta thought about telling the driver to pull off, that she’d changed her mind. She thought about telling the driver to take her home. Maybe she wasn’t ready yet. Maybe she would be ready another day.
But the thoughts occupied the time it took for the chauffeur to get out of the car and open her door.
“Ma’am,” the driver uttered after waiting a moment with no response from the passenger. Isotta heard him through her own thoughts. Reluctantly, she extended her hand and allowed the driver to assist her in stepping out of the vehicle.
“Thank you,” she uttered as he closed the door behind her.
“Would you like me to wait, ma’am?”
Again, Isotta thought about retreating and telling the driver she had changed her mind, but the front door to her family home opened just as she was about to let the driver know. Her eyes were fixed on the servant who invited her in.
“Yes, please,” she uttered as she took the first tentative step toward the house.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Isotta scarcely heard his response as she padded toward the door. Those physical feelings that she had in the car, those feelings of apprehension intensified tenfold. She had no choice, though, as she put on a fabricated smile and nodded as the servant greeted her.
“It’s nice to have you home, ma’am.”
Isotta crossed the threshold and listened as the door closed behind her. It sounded ominous, final, and fatal, like at the climax of a horror movie. She almost jumped inside her own skin, but something in her restrained the motion.
“Ma’am, your parents are in the library, and your grandmother is in her suite.”
“Thank you.”
Although Isotta didn’t ask, she appreciated the information. At least she knew where the points of confrontation were. The servant nodded and vacated the entryway. That gave Isotta another moment to pull it together before she approached anyone. As she started down the hallway, Isotta decided to talk with her parents. Maybe without her grandmother’s presence, they would be more amenable to listening to what it was she had to say. Maybe they wouldn’t feel the need to put on airs and restrict and restrain how they responded because Costanza was there. Maybe they could have an open, honest conversation without the overlord’s presence.
When she neared the entrance, Isotta took a breath to steady herself. Isotta took a few steps forward and stood in the doorway. Neither of her parents was immediately aware of her presence. They were all consumed with their individual activities, although they occupied the same space. Their lack of interaction was reflective of what she’d seen her entire life. Her parents operated collectively when it suited them, but the moment they were able to be themselves, they were still so guarded. Did she even really know them? Did they even really know themselves?
She stood there and watched them, trying to assess their dispositions, although they hadn’t said anything. Her father consumed one of the three daily newspapers he received. Her mother was engrossed in a fashion magazine, observing the latest fashion ideas. Oh, how Isotta wished they had a normal relationship. Oh, how she wished they got along like other children and their parents did.
But she didn’t.
Isotta had the upper-crust version of parent/child relations that failed to allow for authentic interactions under the guise of abhorrent sophistication. Yet, Isotta understood the fantasy of wishing was merely a waste of thought and time. Her parents were her parents. They had the relationship they had. And then, as Celestina casually turned the page of her magazine, she caught sight of someone standing in the doorway.
“Isotta, darling. I didn’t know you were coming over,” Celestina smiled.
She sounded authentic, and her smile nearly reached her eyes, but Isotta wasn’t swayed.
“Hi, Mom and Dad,” Isotta replied. “We need to talk.”
What she said was so direct, so straightforward, and so emotionless. Celestina was taken aback by her daughter’s forthrightness. It reminded her of the last time she heard Isotta speak so directly. She hesitated to respond because she was shocked into silence. Her blunt statement drew her father’s attention, as well. His ears and eyes were initially piqued after her mother addressed her, but that last comment drew Francesco’s undivided attention.
“Come in. Have a seat,” Francesco advised, folding his paper and placing it on the table beside the leather recliner he sat in. Francesco watched as Isotta entered the room, crossed the room, and sat in the most upright chair that was available. She didn’t smile. She didn’t pause to individually acknowledge her parents with a hug or a touch of any kind. Isotta didn’t even let her eyes linger in either of their directions.
“So, what did you want to talk about, dear?” Celestina asked. She, too, noticed the lack of emotionality on Isotta’s face, the lack of small talk. There would be no idle chatter or beating around the bush.
