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By the time I get back to my apartment, my ankles are throbbing and swollen. I am exhausted. Dumping my bags on the kitchen counter, I flop onto the sofa, kicking off my shoes with a sigh of relief. Sitting down feels like absolute bliss. The little one inside me, however, has other ideas. I jump back, wincing as the baby kicks me square in the rib cage.
When I first found out I was having a baby, I was so frightened. The thought of bringing up a child into this world that has Valsetti blood running through its veins petrified me. Had I bred a monster like the rest of its family? I went through a long stage of denial. Out of sight, out of mind. Until the morning sickness began, and there was no forgetting I was with child. I could not even stand the smell of soap. Everything made me puke. Once that passed, I even for a time considered getting rid of it, then adoption. But when I felt it move inside me for the first time, my God, everything I had feared went flying out the window.
I knew at that very moment that it was no monster inside of me. It was mine. And I loved it with every fiber of my being. I made a decision then and there that I would do everything in my power to raise this child to know love, happiness, and laughter. I would teach it how to be a good person. I would show it that no matter where or how it was created, it is good and pure, wanted and loved.
I had never pictured myself as being a mother before. It wasn’t something I had ever considered until I thought I was never going to have the chance. Now that I have this life growing inside of me, I feel like I was meant to survive Luca just to become this baby’s mother.
Not knowing the sex of the baby wasn’t planned initially. I wanted to find out so badly, but when the time came to find out, I chickened out. I had no one to share my joy with, no one to take me baby shopping for pinks or blues, so I decided not to find out. For now, I call it my little pickle. I had such cravings for pickles, and believe me, they were not easy to source here. I ate jars and jars of the stuff; I just couldn’t get enough of them. Pickle seemed a fitting name and stuck with me.
I have no idea what kind of mother I will be. Some of the local women around here stop me and offer their advice. Some tell me really disturbing birth stories that keep me up at night. But the one that stuck with me the most was the lady at the bookstore. I was buying a stack of what to expect when you’re expecting, kind of books, and she offered me the most solid advice. ‘Trust in yourself, and your instincts will take over.’
My instincts tell me that this baby will change everything, and as much as that frightens me, it also gives me some purpose.
A knock at the door startles me. I don’t get visitors. Ever. Who the hell could it be? I shuffle slowly to the door, wishing I had one of those peek holes in my front door, so I could prepare myself for whoever is staged behind it. I stand at the door for a long moment, hoping that they will think I am not home and leave.
Pumpkin circles my feet, anxious to welcome a visitor. Turning the handle slowly, I open the door an inch to see who it is, but I can’t see anyone. I quickly close the door, resting my back to it, heart racing a million miles a minute. After the eerie feeling I had to leave the market today, I honestly expected to see Nicolai standing on my doorstep.
Great! So now I’m not just seeing things that aren’t there, but I am hearing shit too.
“You really are doing a number on my brain, little pickle.” I rub my belly, smiling. I can’t help but smile every time I touch it or look at it. What once caused me so much anxiety and dinner dates with the bathroom floor now calms and comforts me. I don’t feel so alone anymore.
Just to be on the safe side, I check outside the door one last time. I open it all the way this time. Still no one. Just as I am about to close it, I see a single white peony flower sitting on my doorstep.
Looking around me tentatively, I pick it up and smell the strong sweet rosy scent of it. My eyes dart left and right, curious yet cautious. Who left this for me? Do I have a secret admirer? I move back inside quickly as my mind sifts through other darker thoughts. What does a peony symbolize? Is it deception? Death? Is Nicolai playing mind fuck games with me?
Grabbing my laptop, I open it on the table and type what is the meaning behind a peony into the search engine. There are a few responses, but I quickly come to the one that resonates the most. My hands tremble as I suck in all the air around me.
Peony- It is believed that Peony is named after Paeon, a healing deity who had healed Hades’ and Ares’ wounds. Zeus, King of all gods, saved Paeon by turning him into a beautiful flower, the Peony, out of compassion for him as he intended no wrong.
Greek mythology.
Luca.
It has to be from Luca.
He is alive, and he is here.
Forty-Six
Luca
It’s been a solid hour since the lights went out inside Scarlet’s villa. I have been sitting here procrastinating on how to approach her, so she won’t grab the sharpest object closest to her and stab me with it. The peony I left on her doorstep was a gesture of peace. I want her to know I come with no ill intentions.
Scarlet is too observant, too smart not to have worked out by now that it was me that left the flower. I should consider it a good sign that she has not fled the villa with her suitcase and cat in tow. Is she asleep? Or is she patiently waiting in the dark for me, weapon ready? Is she frightened I have come to claim my baby? I would like to think she would welcome me. I did set her free, after all.
I make quick work of picking the lock on her door and open it slowly, just in case she has it booby-trapped. The villa is completely dark, so I pull out my phone and use the flashlight on it to see my way around. The place is tiny and very simple. I gave her five million dollars, for fuck’s sake! She could have rented a much fancier place. But when I really think about it. That is not Scarlet. She is not the type to be wrapped up in money and material possessions. I remember how scarce her apartment was in Atlanta when I first came for her. Sure, she was still unpacking, but there was not a lot there.
Creeping quietly through the tiny living space, I stop in the doorway of her bedroom. I can hear her quiet breaths. The soft sound is too calm for her to be awake and aware that I am here. I place my hand over the back of the phone to dim the light coming from it. Her silhouette comes into view. Laying on her back, she is asleep with Pumpkin curled up under her arm.
It doesn’t feel real that after all this time, after all my dreaming, that I am finally here seeing her face to face. She is so much more beautiful than I had ever remembered her being. Maybe it’s the pregnancy glow that people always comment about that has her looking so radiant. She literally takes my breath away as I stare at her, soaking in all her features.
My eyes wander from her face to her swollen belly. My fingers itch to touch it. So round and so full. I stop myself a few times before finally reaching out and placing my hand gently on it. My eyes close as an overwhelming sensation takes hold of me, so powerful it almost knocks me off my feet. Pride, protection, belonging, love.
So overcome with emotion, my phone drops from my hand and onto the floor with a loud thud. The flashlight lights up the roof like a spotlight. Scarlet sucks in a sharp breath, opening her eyes. Her first instinct is to touch her stomach. A mother protecting her young. Her hand connects with mine, eyes weary yet wide from the sudden awakening.
I open my mouth to speak, but she beats me. “Luca?” Her voice sounds panicked as she attempts to sit up in the bed.
“Shh. It’s okay. I am not here to hurt you.” I remove my hand from her stomach and try to help her up. Pumpkin wakes and yawns, glaring at me, unimpressed that I woke him up. I help Scarlet sit up, placing a pillow behind her back as she leans against the headboard, scrubbing her tired face.
