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“All is well,” Zia says nodding knowingly.
“Has Croccifixio asked you to start trying for an heir yet?” Mama asks.
“Trying?” Zia scoffs. “By the size of him he wouldn’t have to try hard,” she says while lighting a cigarette.
“It’s barely been a month, Ma, I’m just settling in there.”
“Well, don’t wait too long, you don’t want him getting ideas.”
“Like what?”
“There’s always other women waiting to take your place, don’t give them the chance.”
“Oh, Ma,” I grimace, putting my head in my hands, trying to get the horrible images out of my head.
“I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.”
—A.S Byatt
ROCCO’S FAMILY PHYSICIAN PRESCRIBED ME WITH THECONTRACEPTIVEPILL AS SOON AS WE GOT HOME.
Although I was sleeping with him already, it was more intimate having nothing to separate our bodies.
He took my hesitation as thinking he was still sleeping around, to which he assured me that he hadn’t slept with anyone else. I was waiting for him to say he wasn’t planning to either, but he didn’t. I’m sure he knew I was waiting for those words, but they just seemed to sit in between us awkwardly.
How could I say that although it’s customary for him to have a side piece, I don’t want him to, because I want to be enough for him. I guess some things are better left unsaid.
The first night we slept together minus the sheath, I finally understood why Rocco was so keen to do this. I could feel every inch of him stretching out my flesh as he pushed inside me, our two bodies fusing together as one without any material coming in between us.
“I love fucking you raw,” he moaned in my ear as heclimaxed. He had never outrightly said I love you, and neither had I.
He loved my body; he loved fucking me but never quite me as a person or as his wife. It wasn’t romance, it wasn’t soft and special, but there still seemed to be something I couldn’t put my finger on. What did I expect? Sex was just another business transaction included in the marriage contract. Could I expect someone I barely knew to develop deep feelings for me?
A couple of weeks later, I was back home visiting Mama and Zia. Rocco was busy with some club business, so it was a perfect opportunity to see the family and go into the city for some much-loved retail therapy.
“Are you cooking for him?” Mama asks, eyeing me hawkishly.
“Yes, Ma,” I say exasperatedly as my fingers trace the beaded cover on the couch cushion.
“Good, he won’t have any cause for complaints if you’re doing your wifely duties,” she says, sniffing approvingly. “$5000 for shoes?” she yells, outraged, after looking in one of my shopping bags.
“They’re Giuseppe Zanotti, Ma. Am I here for a visit or interrogation?” I snap.
“Interrogation? So dramatic. I just wanted to ensure everything was going fine. I know how your mouth often gets you into trouble.” She gives me a questioning look.
“Well, Rocco doesn’t seem to mind,” I say, smiling demurely.
Mama frowns at me as if trying to read between the lines. Did she think Rocco would be bored of me already? I want to make a joke about Mafia wives, but I swallow it. Instead, I just have to simply accept that we are always going to have different outlooks.
“She’s already got him under manners,” Zia says, nodding. “These men may think they’re the head of the family, but the women are the necks. They control where the head turns. Remember that, and you’ll have a good marriage,” she says, hiccupping.
“How many times have you been married, Zia?” I ask curiously.
“Three times, and I’m not ruling out a fourth.” She chuckles.
“Dio Mio!” Mama says, crossing her chest.
“Can’t you come here more often instead of leaving me with this one?” Zia sighs.
