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“It’s my birthday today,” I whisper into his ear as I kiss his neck.
He pulls back, stricken. “Is it? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
I smile. “We were busy with other things.”
His expression softens and he strokes my cheek with his thumb. “Happy birthday, Cecelia DeMarco,” he says before kissing me again.
We break apart as Michael’s maid appears with two pizza boxes and a bottle of Chateau Bordeaux red wine and places them on the coffee table between the couches. I clap my hands in delight.
“I thought you might be hungry,” he says as the maid leaves. “We have worked up quite an appetite.”
“Are you sure you didn’t know it was my birthday? Pizza and wine are two of my favorite things! Micah loves pizza too.” I press my lips together as I realize what I’ve said, despite it being too late to stop the words escaping, my heart suddenly hammering furiously.
“Micah?” he questions and I almost sob at the sound of my son’s name on his father’s lips. But I can’t tell him about Micah, not yet. Yes, before we made love, he told me this was real, that I belong with him, but that’s just us, not a ready-made family. What if he’s not ready to be a father? What if I lose him again so soon? What if he doubts whether Micah’s really his son? What if, what if, what if! Not to mention Papa’s unwavering hatred of Michael all these years. No, I need to wait until the right time before I reveal my biggest secret.
“My nephew,” I lie, praying that the emotion in my voice doesn’t cause him to probe any further.
He simply nods. “Well, you’re my favorite thing,” he says with sincerity. “Now, let’s eat. And we can talk about everything that happened earlier.”
We do talk about it all, from the beginning. He tells me about Raphael looking daggers at him at his restaurant last week, to his bad feeling about him, to Gianni and Gustavo keeping an eye on him when we were in Cinque Anni. He tells me it’s his bar, that he named it in honor of us, after what happened five years ago. And then we talk about what happened in the hotel when he found me.
“I still can’t believe Raphy would do that to me! I feel sick and violated! He’s my best friend!” I correct myself, “He’s supposed to be my best friend.”
“I’m so sorry, Cece.” He reaches for my hand and holds it. “He obviously drugged you with an aphrodisiac because he wanted to make you feel amorous towards him. He was clearly desperate, but that doesn’t excuse his actions.”
“I did feel amorous,” I admit. “I had a strong desire to have sex, it felt like a need, not a want. If you hadn’t gotten there when you did, I might have let Raphael do what he wanted with me. I might have begged him to fuck me while I was tied up. But I would have hated myself afterwards. And now I hate him.”
“And you’re definitely sure it wasn’t the drug talking while we were in the bedroom? I would never want to take advantage of you in any way like he tried to do.”
I look at him and shake my head. “No, it wasn’t the drug talking. Everything we did tonight, I wanted to do. You’ve never taken advantage of me, Michael. All you’ve ever done is save me and help me and love me. You’re nothing like Raphael.”
He comforts me as I weep on his shoulder, feeling so sad and deceived and disappointed. How could I not have seen Raphael’s true colors all these years? As he strokes my hair, a solid, steady, supportive presence, I calm myself down, wiping my tears with a pizza napkin and taking a sip of wine.
“You always seem to be in the right place at the right time where I’m concerned,” I say, sniffing. “Does that make me lucky or unlucky?”
“It makes you safe. I’ll always keep you safe,” he replies.
“Cece, there you are! Happy birthday, little sister!” Connie yanks me into a hug after I’ve let myself into the house and walked through to the kitchen. “I thought you’d be home earlier than this. I’ve already taken Micah to school. From your text I assumed you were with Raphy, but he’s not answering his phone either.”
She releases me and I lean against the long island counter, still in last night’s clothes. The same clothes I stripped off myself for the pleasure of one Michael Luciano. Even the mention of Raphael doesn’t take the silly grin off my face.
“Thank you for taking Micah,” I say. “What would I do without you? I’m sorry I wasn’t home in time. I haven’t made you late, have I?”
“No, the committee meeting isn’t until this afternoon.”
I gaze proudly at my big sister. Not only is she the best aunt to Micah but she also volunteers for a cancer charity in memory of Mama, helping to organize big fundraising events. She’s a superstar.
She notices me looking at her and crosses her arms, giving me a long suspicious stare. “Cecelia DeMarco, what is going on with you?” she asks. “Where did you stay last night?”
Whilst drinking a cup of much needed coffee that Maria makes me while raising her eyebrows judgmentally at my inappropriate attire for nine o’clock in the morning, I relay all the events of last night and this morning that I can remember—leaving out a few of the more salacious details that aren’t for my sister’s ears, of course. I blush myself when I think about how brazen I was with Michael, how passionate we became, and it wasn’t just because Raphael spiked my drink with an aphrodisiac. I’ve wanted him again desperately since our first time in Naples, and last night was the explosive culmination of five long years of sexual desire.
Connie gapes at me. Mirroring my own words earlier she says, “Cece, I can’t believe Raphy would do that to you. I feel sick at the thought of it.” She grimaces, shaking her head as though already discarding the old version of the boy we once knew from her mind.
“Me too,” I say sadly.
“No wonder he hasn’t answered my calls. I know he’s been stressed—things have been even more fraught than usual with his father lately, but that’s no reason…” She frowns as she leaves the thought hanging, clearly struggling to reconcile the gentle, funny, eager to please Raphael we picnicked with, holidayed with, learned to ride our bikes with, told ghost stories in the tree house with, sympathized with when his father was hard on him as we all grew up, with the manipulative attempted rapist he has clearly now become.
If it hadn’t happened to me, I would have deemed it impossible.
