And there was the time I bent her over my desk—
No. I need to clear my mind of her. Put an end to this. And I know exactly what I need to do.
I need to fuck her right out of my system, and then fuck someone else. To prove she means nothing to me. That she’s not special. Because she isn’t.
I’ll fuck her one last time.
That’s all I need to make this hell stop.
7
Frankie
Rico watchesme from the doorway as I get in my Jag and speed out of the lot. I swear I can feel his eyes on me until I get on the highway, and only then do I slow down so I can think.
I’m relieved that Rico’s touch brought out no reaction in me. In fact, it makes me happy to know that the hold he had on me is gone. Of my two husbands, Dante is clearly the better choice. Not just because he’s rich and successful—but because even if he doesn’t like me, or understand me, he’s never abandoned me.
Well, at least not until he thought I betrayed him. Which, I didn’t. Well, but I kinda did. Fuck, I can’t keep anything straight in my head right now. Not telling him about Rico was a form of betrayal. There, I’m owning it.
I never imagined the day I said “I do” to Dante that I would come to respect him the way that I do. I don’t agree with everything he does, and frankly his attitude drives me insane. The constant tug-of-war between us has become so routine that I suppose I’m used to it, but I have to admit…I also enjoy the challenge of it.
Regardless of recent developments, the fact is that when Dante and I are together, we bring out the best in each other. Professionally and personally. At least, that’s the image I have of our relationship in my mind. When I think of it that way, I believe it. I truly do.
I snap out of my whirlwind of thoughts just as I’m passing the Alvarezes’ fruit stand. On autopilot, I turn onto the gravel driveway and park my car outside the building. Delores is wiping down tables with a cloth, and she glances up as I pull in. A smile brightens her friendly face and she holds her arms out to me for a hug as I get out of the car.
Without me even saying anything, Delores pulls back and nods to herself knowingly.
“Whatever the problem is,” she says, “you, my dear, need to feel useful again.”
With that, she disappears inside the stand and then comes back a moment later to throw an apron over my head and shove a basket of freshly harvested corn into my arms.
“Come,” she commands, leading me into the building’s back kitchen.
We wash up first at the large stainless steel sink and then settle ourselves on two chairs that face each other, a wastebasket between us on the floor. Then, together, we strip handfuls of pale cornsilk from the ears and into the trash, careful to leave the green husks intact.
“Busy hands quiet the mind,” Delores tells me sagely.
I grin. “Or maybe this is just your way of conning me into some free labor.”
Silence falls between us as we work, but I know not speaking is her way of easing me into conversation. She never presses. She is a master at waiting, at patience, at always being ready to listen. There’s never been a time in my life that I haven’t spoken to Delores about my problems. Even so, I wonder what she’ll think of me when I spill my guts about Rico.
“I got married when I was in Italy,” I say as I work. “I guess it was a secret up till now.”
Out of the corner of my eye I watch her, assessing for any reaction. But in true Delores fashion she just continues with the task at hand, her expression open and nonjudgmental.
“It all happened so fast; I never thought it through,” I go on. “I thought I was in love. And I thought he loved me. But he ditched me on our honeymoon, and I never saw him again. Except then out of nowhere he showed up at Bellanti Vineyards the other night, to crash our press event. Dante kicked me out.”
That elicits a frown. “Where are you staying?”
“Oh, I’m fine. I moved into the guesthouse. Maybe permanently, I don’t know.”
I huff out a short laugh and rip into another cob. Delores just nods, her concerns about me allayed for the moment.
Haltingly, and then all in a rush, I talk about my love and fear of Dante, my constant worries about Livvie, and basically what a complete dumpster fire my life is right now. I leave nothing out. My knuckles began to ache from the constant grip and pull of the silk, and I almost sigh in relief to find the basket is empty. I go to the sink and rinse my hands off beneath cool, soothing water, still talking.
When I’m finally done, I look over at Delores expectantly. She’s taken out a large wooden bowl and is mixing spices together in it to make her signature blend. I get the butter and two knives, setting them on the table in preparation to dress the corn. Dropping into my chair again, I stab a knife into the block of butter.
“So?” I prod. “What do I do?”
