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The last man I took an interest in was Adam. He’s a young, successful, drop dead gorgeous man who works in finance. We met briefly at a business event a few weeks ago and even swapped numbers. But due to us both being so busy with work, we haven’t been able to catch up since. And who knows if we ever will with my life imploding before my very eyes.
As I slowly walk toward the wall of boxes, I feel like a prisoner in this place. With no way out and no one to talk to. Being here in this room, with all that’s left of my father’s possessions, I already know I am not going to like what I uncover. I feel like whatever my father has done is now transferring onto me, and I don’t like it one bit.
I grab a box and sit on the floor, my most relaxing and comfortable place to be, made even better by the soft, luxurious carpet adorning this amazing apartment. Whether it is Nico’s or not, I have no idea, but it certainly looks lived in.
Opening the lid, I pull out some papers and start shuffling through them. As my eyes scan over one document to the next, my thoughts continue going back to Nico. I was quiet during the car ride because I really didn’t want to go anywhere with him. A week ago, I never knew he existed, and now where do I find myself?
Right in his lair.
The last place an upstanding lawyer like me needs to be. The fact I am even here is enough to absolutely ruin my reputation, although my father has already done more than enough in that department. I thought this job for Nico would take the weekend, a week tops. Then I could go on my way, trying to obtain new clients and building my business back up, this small indiscretion never to be thought of again. But now as I stare at the giant wall of boxes, I feel like I am digging myself into a deeper hole, one that is going to be very difficult to get out of, and I am not sure what that is going to mean for me and my career.
I wonder about Nico and what his story is. Clearly Italian, his English is fantastic, but his accent is thick. I am not ashamed to admit that I tried to listen to the fast-paced Italian conversation he had walking from my office yesterday, and I didn’t miss the female's name that flashed on his cell phone screen. As I pull out the next piece of paper, I huff out in frustration. Sometimes I feel like I am the only single person left on the planet. Although, he doesn’t wear a ring on his finger, so maybe it was his girlfriend? If that is the case, he shouldn’t be touching me the way he has been. Either way, she needs a gold medal for dealing with him and his arrogance on a regular basis.
I shake my head, trying to refocus. I start to sort the paperwork into piles, constructing a system I know will make sense only to me, but this is how I work.
Moving to the second box, I find much of the same. All of these papers were thrown into these boxes without a care, and no doubt have already been looked over by Nico and whoever else. Nothing’s organized or set aside; this is like starting from ground zero.
As the hours tick by, I dig into the third and then the fourth box. My paper piles are now almost as tall as me as I sit beside them, my sorting skills being pushed to the limit. It isn’t until I am halfway through the fourth box that I find something interesting.
It is a small envelope. It looks old, and it’s stuck in between the pages of an old ledger book. By the looks of it, it hasn’t been opened in a while, making me think this is something Nico hasn’t seen.
I sink into the carpeted floor and lean my back against the sofa, keeping the ledger book open on my knees. There is nothing but a blank page staring at me, though, giving me no indication of what this envelope may contain. It’s clean except for the words‘My Darling’on the front in a feminine, black cursive script.
Opening the envelope, I take out a small handwritten note that is nicely folded on white parchment paper. The paper is thin and feels like it is about to crumble under my touch. Unfolding the note gently, I begin to read the cursive.
My Darling
I miss you. Your laugh, your voice, the way you make me feel like the only woman in the world, the most important person in the room. I wait breathlessly for your letters each month, hoping that we can be together soon. The desperation I have to be with you overwhelming.
Emilia and I are well. She is such a delight, and I can’t wait for you to see her again.
All my love
Your angel always, Jacqueline
Jacqueline is my mother’s name, so I look at the top of the note and read the date. It is dated just over a year after I was born and a week before she died in a car accident. I never thought my father would be a love note type of man, as he certainly didn’t show any love when I was growing up, but I guess I never really knew him when my mother was alive. I was too young to remember her and have limited knowledge of her appearance since my father didn't have any photos of her in the house. I remember asking my father about her, but he always shouted at me to stop, and eventually, I did. Her name was blasphemy in our house, and as such, I have not much memory of her at all. Not even a photograph. Maybe he was just heartbroken. Maybe her death was what sent him down this dark path of life.
I read it again, then let my fingers trace the words, trying to feel connected to the woman who gave me life, but who I know nothing about. I try to imagine what she was feeling when writing this. She sounds so infatuated with my father, and so in love. There is a small sketch of some wings at the bottom next to her name, but it is faded. Maybe it’s a butterfly or an angel, I am not sure.
I fold the note again and put it back into the envelope, securing it inside the ledger and away from prying eyes. I make a mental note of the box number and place it inside, hidden among years’ old bank statements and other seemingly unimportant documents.
As I start to pull across a fresh box, I am still so deep in thought about the letter, I don’t hear footsteps approaching.
“Any luck?” Nico asks, and I practically jump out of my skin.
I scream and my body jolts in surprise, and he looks at me like I have lost my mind.
“Don’t just creep up on a person like that!” I yell at him, my hand planted firmly on my chest, willing my heart to calm down. He looks at me from where he stands near the doorway with what looks like yet another cup of coffee.
“Do you bleed brown?” I ask him with a bit of sass, as I calm down and look up at him. His brows furrow in confusion.
“Coffee. I have never known anyone to drink so much coffee.”
“I’m Italian,” he replies with a shrug while flashing me his trademark smirk, and I purse my lips. That smirk is going to be the death of me. “What have you found?”
“Nothing yet, much of the same,” I say as my eyes go back to the paperwork piles on the floor.
“You will know when you do. We think it is something pretty significant.” He takes another sip of his strong black, his gaze roving over the piles around me.
