AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As I anticipated, her reply comes immediately, thanking me for the phone and asking how the flight was. I like that about her, that she’s honest and direct without indulging in games. Only women who are uncertain of themselves play hard to get. Sabella is straightforward and uncomplicated. She doesn’t see a need to hide her feelings, which counts in my favor. It’ll be easier for me to get to know her and to learn what makes her tick.
In my line of work, being an open book is a weakness, but I prefer that trait in women. Sabella is sweet and innocent. Some would say naïve. I see the characteristic for what it is. She’s unspoiled, not yet poisoned by the toxic side of life. She’s fresh and gorgeous, a beautiful young woman on the precipice of adulthood. I could’ve done a lot worse for a wife.
At the harbor, I snap a photo of me on our luxury yacht that we use to sail to Corsica. The sky is a cerulean blue and the sea a translucent turquoise. The scenery makes a pretty picture. It’s never too early to get her acquainted with what her future home looks like. I send the photo with a message to take care of herself.
The weather conditions are good. It takes us roughly seven hours of cruising at twenty-five knots to reach Bastia. At the familiar sight of Terra Nova, a centuries-old citadel with ramparts that was built by our Genoese ancestors, the tightness in my chest eases. I breathe easier, inhaling the familiar smell of salt and sea with the crisp air.
I’m happiest on the water, a quality I inherited from our seafaring forefathers. On land, Bastia is where I’m most at home. My father comes from a long line of Italian ancestors. My grandfather came to Corsica when Italy occupied the island in 1942. My mother is from local origin. For that reason, my sister and I didn’t speak Italian until we went to school. My father was hardly involved in our lives when we were young. He was too busy building his business and making his riches.
My uncles and cousins wait for us when we cruise into the marina. It’s a cold winter’s day with a clear, sunny sky. They have cars waiting, but my father says he wants to walk for exercise. Uncle Nico sends the drivers ahead. While we stroll to a bar in town, he fills us in on what’s been going down in the business.
The owner clears the bar when we enter, sending the clientele outside. No one argues as they carry their espressos to the tables on the pavement. They know who we are.
Uncle Enzo closes the door. My father’s younger brothers are identical twins. They look so much alike, it’s difficult to distinguish them, but if you know them as well as I do, you can easily differentiate them by their mannerisms. Uncle Nico is the more boisterous one. Plus, he’s rounder around the waist than Uncle Enzo. My mother says their extra weight is the result of eating so unhealthily since both their wives passed away at a young age. Uncle Nico’s wife died in childbirth. Uncle Enzo’s slowly faded away after her menopause medication triggered a stroke at the age of fifty.
My father sits down at a table and wipes a handkerchief over his brow. Despite the cold, he’s sweating. I order a glass of water and coffee. The owner serves them personally, leaving both at my father’s elbow. A waitress brings a tray with pastries and coffee for everyone else while we remove our coats and get comfortable.
“How is she?” my cousin, Tommaso, asks, nudging me in the ribs.
His gleeful expectation rubs me the wrong way. I play dumb. “Who?”
“Your bride. Who else?”
“Do you think I’m going to discuss my betrothed with you?”
“I just want to know if she has nice—”
I give him a slap upside the head.
“Hey.” He leans to the side. “What was that for?”
“If you insult my wife, I’ll break your nose.”
“Future wife,” he says with a disgruntled look.
“Same thing,” I say.
“Tomma,” Uncle Nico grumbles.
Tomma rubs his head. “I didn’t mean anything, Papa. I just wanted to know, seeing that it’s my turn next.” He adds in a sulky tone, “And I’m not even eighteen.”
I hit him again. “Show some respect for your future wife.”
“Hey,” he cries out. “I was just saying.”
Uncle Nico says in his gravelly voice, “Don’t give the impression that you’re not keen on meeting her. Angelo is right. It shows disrespect and a bad character.”
Gianni pats Tomma on the back and grins. “Tomma only just lost his virginity. He’s not keen on being reminded he’ll be shackled soon.”
When Tomma turns red, the men chuckle. No disrespect intended. In our circles, seventeen is considered late for being initiated into manhood. Normally, that’s taken care of on a son’s fifteenth birthday. Tomma had issues, it seems. The hookers his father paid didn’t do it for him.
