Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
I’m surprised when I hear the patio door open. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Francisco has joined me. He’s not wearing a swimsuit. In fact, it looks like he hasn’t changed at all, except that his suit is wrinkle-free.
I watch, astonished, as he sits down in another lounge chair and begins to take his shoes off. This isn’t something I expected. I don’t know why, but I consider him above all the childish verve necessary to enjoy a good time by the pool. He strikes me as someone who would be at home in a gambling den or in a smoky back room with a couple of showgirls.
Yet here he is, pulling off his socks and rolling up his pant legs so that he can dip his feet in the pool. He doesn’t say anything to me at first, simply walks around to the other side of the pool where the water is shallow.
I’m mesmerized by his movements. I feel like a voyeur, even though I’m the one in the bikini. I take another sip of my cocktail and watch as he descends onto the first step. I know the water is cold, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. He takes another step down, and now the water tugs at his pant legs.
He sits down at the water’s edge, perfectly content. I wish I could be like him. I wish I could forget everything happening back home and just enjoy myself. But I can’t. Life isn’t fair, and I’m wallowing in it.
“Can we talk?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. Here it comes, his impassioned plea for me to forgive his blatant lies. I almost shut him down, but I’m feeling a little bit loose after the exercise and the drink. So I decide to hear him out.
CHAPTER 28
FRANCISCO
Marlena doesn’t say yes, but she doesn’t say no. She looks incredible in the little bikini I had the forethought to order before I passed out last night along with a few other things. Luckily, they delivered, and I find myself the happy recipient of a vision even more stunning than the Italian countryside.
She sits there basking in the sun, a martini in her hand. Her legs are so long, stretched out on the lounge chair like an exotic animal. I want to sit down beside her and run my hand up her thigh, but I know that won’t go over well. So I occupy myself in the best way possible, by stepping into the chilled waters of the pool.
I want to tell her about Carmine, but I find myself drifting to more personal matters. Yes, the steps I’ve taken since arriving in Italy have been fruitful, but there are things I want Marlena to understand before we get any further.
“I think I owe you an explanation,” I begin.
She gives me a pouty look that I can’t read. It’s halfway between exasperated and interested. I take it as a good sign, and continue.
“I’ve been married before. Obviously, since you know I have a son. My first wife’s name was Alessia. She died when Frankie was a young boy.” This is hard. I didn’t realize how hard it was going to be until I started. Now, halfway through the story, I need to keep going. I pause to find my strength to continue, even though the emotions my words dredge up are painful.
“It was an arranged marriage. I kept to myself when I was younger. My father was the leader of the family, and all I wanted to do was follow in his footsteps,” I explain, going back even further in time to fully describe my situation. “I wasn’t the kind of kid who had a different girl every night. I really wanted something meaningful. I wanted to meet someone and fall in love, but my father didn’t see it that way.”
Marlena is watching me intently. She’s caught up in my story, and I feel like that’s a good sign, even though repeating this tale is like chewing on broken glass. “He arranged for me to meet with the daughter of one of his business associates. It was a good match for political reasons, but it was also the best thing that ever happened to me. I did fall in love, and she fell in love with me.”
Marlena softens, and I can see a faint smile tugging at her lips. We’re connecting, and that gives me the courage to finish. “Frankie was the best thing that ever happened to either of us. We were a family, a real family, not in the sense of a business partnership, but mother, father, and son. And then… she got sick.”
I swallow the heartache that erupts at those five small words. I found myself back in the hospital that fateful evening, learning that my wife would not survive her cancer. “I reacted poorly,” I admit.