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“Why?”
“Because refusing it would have attracted questions and it was the last thing I needed.”
“More details, Salvatrice, come on. How did this mysterious person convince you to go out? I thought you were done with dating after Marco.”
My body shivered from the jolt of pleasure remembering Roman’s reaction after Remy sold me out. Marco and I had dated for a few months, and yes, I was sure that I was done with men after I had to kick him out of my house. He was a good guy, a very sweet, gentle guy actually, but there were two major problems. One, he’d made no effort to get to know my daughter and it made me feel like I had to split my time between them which sucked; and second, I’d felt nothing. No butterflies when he brought me flowers, no shiver when he kissed me, no orgasms anywhere in sight. I didn’t expect love, not after Roman. I knew the moment I stepped out of our New York apartment that I would never find someone who can ignite that in me again, but I expected something. Something that never came. I lived with that lack of fulfillment until he insisted we go to Rome for a week; he made all the arrangements and paid for the hotel for two. He hadn’t even asked if Romina wanted to go, so I kicked him out and had to change the locks because the idiot somehow had copies of my keys. Dating Marco only confirmed my fear that I ran away from my happily-ever-after for good.
“Francesca, I need you not to make a scene about this, because I can’t handle any more drama. Remy’s father showed up.”
Fran choked on the wine and spit it back in the glass, like the delicate, classy lady she was.
“Shiiiit. Are you serious? How? Did you call him?”
“No, I didn’t call him. I don’t know how, but he is here. He came to have a vacation and Romina bumped right into him.”
“So what? It's not like Remy had a paternity test in her hand, right?”
“You haven’t seen him, Fran. Remy is his spitting image, but the muffins gave it away.”
“Huh?”
“The Persian love cakes? I used to make them for him all the time. He’s the only person in my life who knows the recipe.” I got it from my mom, and I wasn’t going to give it up until Romina was old enough to learn it.
“That’s romantic as shit.”
“No, Fran, it’s batshit crazy. I thought my mind was gone when I saw him walking through the door.”
We stayed in silence for a couple of minutes until Francesca finished her wine glass. She poured herself a second and I frowned.
“You know, you never told me what happened with him. Did he walk out on you?”
It was too painful to talk about him. Fuck, it was painful to think about him for the past six years.
“I walked out on him then left New York entirely when I found out I was pregnant.”
“That’s why you came to Italy? You were running? Because you told me you just wanted to come back here to be in touch with your roots. Salva, was he…umm, violent or something?”
“God no!” Not with me. “No, every day we were together he was perfect but he lied to me every day, too. It’s complicated.”
“Did he cheat?”
“No, Fran.” I’ve seen women jumping him in the street. Not once I was worried that Roman might stray. No, he was mine every second we were together.
“So what you’re saying is you cheated.” I opened my mouth to deny it and she put up her hand. “I mean that you cheated yourself of a good man. You do that, you know? You jump to conclusions, you don’t accept any mistakes. The only person whom I see gets a second chance with you is Remy, but not anyone else. The moment your last cashier messed up an order, you fired her. And how about the restaurant we love to go to in Genova? The pizza was undercooked one time out of a hundred and now you won’t set foot there. I’m scared of fucking things up with you because I know that I won’t get a chance to explain. Did you do it to him? Cut the guy off before he got to say his part?”
“Yeah, I guess I did.” Every word she just said stung. Yes, I was closed off because this shitty life taught me to believe people when they show you their true colors. You don’t give someone ten chances to prove they’re assholes. “Hey, Fran, I don’t want you to walk on eggshells around me. I’m not just being a bitch, ok? I’m just…scared.”
“Of what, Salva?”
Of this cruel, evil world. Roman’s world.
“Of getting hurt, I guess. My childhood was rough, Fran. When you go through what I did, you tend to be more guarded. Maybe I need to see a shrink or something.”
“Ah,” She pointed the wine glass at me. “You’re doing it again. You speak like a New York girl. Maybe you do need a shrink, who am I to doubt the power of therapy? But wouldn’t it be easier to just try once in a while? I mean, you were scared to raise a kid and look how fucking awesome your baby is.”
“That’s true.” My daughter was a heavenly miracle. She was worth every drop of sweat, every ounce of fear was worth it to wake up to her little face smiling every day. I wished the world for that little girl and I’d had to make some cut-throat decisions to make sure she would be safe.
“Ok, back to daddy. When did this happen?”
