If Ever I Fall, page 2
“I’m not worried. I’ll hound your skinny ass until you do.”
“Speaking of asses, you should’ve seen Nat in that dress Saturday. Holy fucking shit. Kim and J Lo have nothing on my future sister-in-law.”
“I thought you said she has a rack.”
“She does.”
“Your brother is in heaven.”
“For sure. He practically pants when he’s next to her.”
Amy laughed loud then said, “I’d love to find a guy who pants over me.”
I’m working on nailing mine down.
Eight more months and Sofia would be her own woman. She’d be eighteen and done with high school. She couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of Dutchford and as far away from the Dark Ages as possible.
The bell rang and they had to get to class. Sofia squeezed Amy’s hand, and they went in opposite directions.
On the way home, Sofia told Ro about NatGio.
“Amy came up with it, right? You don’t think like that.”
“Whatever. It’s perfect though.”
“Only when you’re referencing them as a couple. You can’t call them that to their face, especially when the other one isn’t there. It wouldn’t make sense. It’s cool, but it has limited applications.”
Sofia should’ve known better than to try to talk to her sister as if she were a normal person.
The next day, Amy reported that she’d read The Letter Club’s FAQs on their webpage, and she’d signed up online. By tonight they’d email her number, which meant Sofia had a number. She could hardly wait until Thursday afternoon. Only two and a half days until she’d be able to talk to Matteo, who, on that perfect night when they’d walked and talked for eight hours, had pushed up her sleeve and had written his phone number on the inside of her upper arm. She’d copied the number onto the inner cups of three bras and the backs of two pair of underpants figuring her father wouldn’t go through her personals.
Her father. When he looked at her he saw a fragile victim. He had no idea who his middle child was at heart, and she had no intention of sharing that information with him. Even if she were so inclined, it wouldn’t matter anyway. He’d made up his mind about her, and once Don Alessandro decided something, that was that.
What to wear for Halloween wasn’t so much a decision as a chore. She hated the store-bought costumes, so she had to create something from out of her closet. She started in the back where she put all the dresses her mother and Nonna had bought. All fem and flowy. Shit Sofia would never buy for herself. She came upon a pink (blech) sheath with spaghetti straps that reminded her of the dress in the original Carrie. Another thing almost nobody knew about Sofia: she loved horror movies.
The more she thought about it, the more the idea appealed. She’d ask Amy to buy the fake blood, and she’d pour it over her head and let it drip down the dress. She wasn’t blonde like Sissy Spacek, but Sofia’s hair was a light enough brown that she could pull this off.
The next day in the cafeteria, she told Amy, “Don’t forget to stop at the florist and get a wrist corsage.”
Amy looked at Sofia like she’d lost her mind. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Sure. Why?
“You seem way too happy about pouring blood over your head and fucking up a new dress.”
“It’s colored corn syrup, and the dress should have never found its way into my closet. Wait ’til you see the thing. Country club little miss. It’s a disgusting excuse of a garment.”
“What did they feed you in Sicily? It’s like you’re fierce about everything.”
“My shrink told me to take back my power. So I’m all over that shit.”
“I don’t think pouring blood all over you is what she had in mind.”
“My asshole ex wanted to shoot me and nearly killed my therapist. I have two choices, Ames. Either I hide in my bedroom for the rest of my life or I take control of my destiny.”
“Wild guess here, but you’re going for door number two.”
“I’ll tell you one thing about living in Sicily, I saw what allowing yourself to be controlled looked like at the beginning, middle, and end of your life, and I want no part of it. I know you didn’t understand why I stayed with that piece of shit after he hit me, but it happened twice. The first time, the minute after he did it, he got down on his knees in front of me and cried his eyes out. I heard so many ‘I’m-so-sorry, I’ll-never-do-it-again-I-swear,’ that I thought he meant it and I gave him another chance. The second time it happened I went to Gio. I was a mess, for sure. But it was more because I was humiliated that I believed that shitbag than getting hit. Now I know better. No matter what, from now on, I decide my fate.”
“Eight months from now.”
“Don’t remind me. I feel like I’m living seven hundred years ago. No wonder my father took me to Sicily. They’re frozen in time back there. They’re worse than old-school in their thinking, they’re fucking medieval.”
“Not to get you more torqued than you already are, but won’t you be getting that with Matteo?”
Sofia laughed. “God, no. He hasn’t lived there for nearly ten years. He went to Eton and Cambridge. He speaks English with a British accent. He’s back in Sicily because his two older brothers died in a boating accident and he feels obligated to help his father. He’s not going to stay there forever. Maybe a year or two.”
“And where will you be?”
“Ah, duh. In college.”
“Soph, I love you. No question. But think straight. If he’s there and you’re in school somewhere in the States, how’s that going to work? He’s a man. According to you, a gorgeous one. He’s not going to keep it in his pants for years. You okay with him banging randoms to keep him from getting blue balls?”
The bell rung before Sofia could answer. Good thing too, since she didn’t really have an answer. She’d been so sure Matteo had fallen for her, none of what Amy had brought up had even crossed Sofia’s mind.
Shit.
Parisi Family Home
Vittoria, Sicily
Matteo
Standing on the stone balcony of his second-story suite of rooms, Matteo took a deep breath of sea air and for at least the hundredth time replayed that night a little more than three weeks ago that changed his life. A couple of months ago, shortly after he returned to his father’s house, he’d heard Don Alessandro’s family was staying with relatives in Vittoria after their eldest daughter’s ex-boyfriend had tried to kill her. Talk about bloody crazy. Going after Don Alessandro’s daughter? Completely barking mad. Matteo had meant to go over and pay his respects to the family, but there had been more to do than he’d expected. His father was inconsolable after the loss of his two eldest sons, and Matteo’s mother had been dead since he was eleven years old. He was the only one left to shoulder what his father couldn’t bring himself to do. With more paperwork than should be allowed, Matteo was left to handle all the arrangements for his brothers’ memorial service and everything else that went along with it. By the time he’d gotten the time to meet the Di Caro family, they had returned to the States, and only Sofia remained in Vittoria.
Their initial meeting was innocent enough. Enzo and Valentina Conti, and their teenage daughter, Mia, were all in attendance when Matteo approached the family after Sunday Mass. As the usual pleasantries were exchanged, he overheard Sofia and Mia saying they were going to the beach on Tuesday after school. While he thought Sofia was pretty, she was too young and too delicate. Not his type, and the timing couldn’t have been worse.
Serendipity, fate, God’s hand…Matteo didn’t know what force orchestrated what happened two days later on a Tuesday afternoon, but looking back, it seemed inevitable, even though so many decisions had been last minute.
He’d been in town all day taking care of mundane bullshit, when he’d gotten a hankering for pastries and coffee. He’d turned onto Via Ruggero Settimo to go to his favorite pasticceria before he had to visit one of the family’s attorneys when he’d heard what he thought was Sofia’s voice. He turned his head and saw her coming out of an upscale women’s clothing store with Mia – obviously they didn’t go to the beach. Two men were walking behind them, and Matteo had no doubt they were guarding Sofia at Don Alessandro’s behest. Matteo didn’t have the time or the inclination to approach the young women, and he ducked into the pasticceria without acknowledging them. After he placed his order, he went to the back of the shop to use the WC, and when he came out, he bumped into Sofia in the narrow hallway.
“Pardon,” he muttered, cursing under his breath that of all the people he’d almost mowed down, it had to be her.
“Wow. You speak English.”
“Clearly.”
“British English.” She scrunched her nose like a thoughtful rabbit: quick and endearing.
Where the hell did that thought come from?
“Perceptive.”
“Are you opposed to speaking in full sentences, or is there a disability I need to be aware of so I don’t make fun of you and feel crap about it after I find out you’re suffering from some rare disease.”
He shook his head and sighed. Why?
Why was his heart tripping in his chest? Why was his stomach doing somersaults? Why the fuck now?
The thought of telling her, in detailed paragraphs, all the things he’d like to do to her hit his groin like an internal hammer and his knees almost buckled.
He couldn’t, shouldn’t, and wouldn’t.
“Thank you for asking so tactfully. I am not suffering from a disability, and, as you can now discern, I am quite capable of speaking in complete sentences. Good day, Ms. Di Caro.” He took a step toward her to walk past her.
“Good day?”
He stopped and cursed that she wasn’t as pliant as she looked.
“Are you unfamiliar with the term? Would saying bye-bye be more within your lexicon?”
She let out a high, sharp laugh. “Holy shit. A full-fledged look-down-your-nose upper-crust British snob in Vittoria, Sicily. This is rich.”
He should have let it go. He knew better. He really did. “I’m neither British nor a snob. I’m trying to be polite given our proximity in this small space, and I’m mindful that you must be in need of the loo, or else you wouldn’t be here.”
“The loo? I might pee in my pants from laughing so hard at your language usage, but I’m back here pretending I have to use the bathroom so I can escape Cro-Magnon man one and two for a few minutes.”
“Is that wise?”
“What are the odds that my ex, who’s in prison in Connecticut, would have escaped, fled the country, arrived in Sicily, made it to Vittoria, and happened to be hanging out in this back hallway in a tiny pastry shop waiting to try to shoot me again without me knowing it?”
What she’d told him boggled his mind. “I’ll grant you, not particularly high. However –”
“Please. No lectures. No sound reasoning. No homilistic edification about the sanctity of my safety for my parents’ peace of mind.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
She gave him a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile.
“But I would like to point out that you are a young woman in a foreign country, and being alone is not particularly smart.”
“Gee thanks. I love it when a man tells me I’m an idiot.”
“I did not state or insinuate any such thing.”
She straightened her spine and said in her version of a British accent, “I beg to differ.”
He chuckled. “Touché.”
“If you’re so worried about my safety, come find me at midnight when I sneak out and walk the grounds near Enzo and Valentina’s house.” Exaggeratingly, she fluttered her eyelashes. “Good day, Matteo Parisi.” She went into the loo and locked the door.
Matteo turned away to face the back of the hallway and rearranged himself. When he turned back, he strode out to the counter, asked to have his pastries placed in a bag. Sacrilege. He left the pasticceria and never looked to see if Mia or the Don’s men were about. He should have. He should have told them what Sofia did at night. He should have called Enzo and informed him. He should have called his father and had him call Don Alessandro.
He should have been smart and circumspect and behaved as an adult.
Instead, like a randy teenager, he waited in the dark until he saw her walking along the edge of the property. He went to great lengths to make himself known without frightening her. When he stepped out of the shadows, she stated, “It took you bloody long enough.”
As he reexamined every misstep that took him to her that night, his phone rang. The number was international and from the States. He had a few mates who’d moved to New York who knew his habit of staying up until all hours, so he answered the call.
“You’re standing on the balcony, aren’t you?”
“Miffy.”
“You’re still not sleeping, are you?”
“Where are you?”
“In Providence with my brother, his fiancée, and Amy.”
“Your brother is engaged?”
“Long story, and I don’t have much time.”
“I don’t like breaking promises.”
“You made your promise to my father under duress.”
That was a lie, the truth of which he could never share with her. “Nonetheless.”
“Write this down.”
He walked back into his rooms, found a pen, and pulled out a pad. “What am I writing?”
“Go to The Letter Club’s website. Sign up. Get a correspondent’s number then text your number to this phone.” Then she gave him the phone number. “I’ll write to you through TLC and it will be anonymous. No one can trace the letters. TLC acts like a clearinghouse. We’ll talk without talking. You’ll be keeping your promise.”
“I promised no contact.”
“Is that what you want?”
He heard the longing in her voice and it tugged at him right down to his marrow. “It’s what is necessary.”
“Because he said so?”
“No. Because it’s the right thing to do.” Silence. Shit. “Do you trust me?”
“What does that have to do with this?” She sounded near tears. Oh hell.
“You have to trust that your safety and happiness are paramount to me. Honouring that is everything.”
“Then do this for me. It’ll make me happy and it’s safe. Look at the FAQ page. We use numbers instead of names. We address the letters to TLC and they send them on. No return addresses, no tracking down the senders.”
“Sofia.”
“Matt. Please.”
He closed his eyes and wished for things that could never be. For him to be free of his obligations. More importantly, for them not to exist because his brothers were alive. To be back in London, living his life. For her to be old enough, which would mean her father wouldn’t want to kill him for feeling as he did.
Since wishing did not make it so, he sighed, knowing he would give her this. He’d write to her every now and again as she moved on with her life and he became a memory. But she will always be his. In the broken heart he carried in his aching chest, she would always be the shining light that could mend all the cracks in his soul. He knew she was better off without him, and he’d ease her into that. He’d used the letters to guide her away from him.
“All right.” He heard her sob and wanted to curse, break something, get on a plane, cross the Atlantic, scoop her up, and disappear. Instead, he made it worse for both of them. “Hold my hand, little rabbit. I won’t let go.”
Halloween Party
Somewhere in Providence
Sofia
“Thank God.” Amy grabbed Sofia’s hand and dragged her into a corner of the kitchen where the music wasn’t blaring. “I was having a hell of a time trying to explain to Nat what she thought she heard through the bathroom door.”
“What did she think she heard?”
“You sobbing.”
Well, fuck. “Guilty. Hearing his voice, asking him to do this…so hard.” She fought back the tears as she clutched Amy’s phone to her chest. “Too hard.”
“The good news is you have blood running down your face so your red eyes don’t really show. The bad news, I’m sure Nat didn’t believe me when I told her it was probably toilet noise she heard. Be prepared. Your brother is going to find you and quiz you.”
“Here.” Sofia pressed Amy’s phone into her hand. “Thanks.”
“Did he say he’d do it?”
She nodded even though she wasn’t positive he’d go through with it. “I told him to text his assigned correspondent’s number to your phone.”
Amy grabbed Sofia’s hand and tugged. “Let’s go back to the party. So far you’ve been a hit.”
Sofia motioned up and down at Amy’s body. “You’re the one catching all sorts of attention. Maybe you’ll find that guy to pant over you.”
“Please. Who doesn’t have a ‘play doctor’ fantasy?”
“Ames. You’re in a flesh-colored body suit, a lab coat that’s wide open and hits mid-thigh, and you’re wearing bright red stilettos. You have a stethoscope tied in a knot around your neck and lipstick that matches your shoes. I’m thinking this is a ‘play doctor’ fantasy at a BDSM club.”
Amy laughed, and as they moved through the crowd, Sofia was having an out-of-body experience. She knew she was in some student dive house, probably a bunch of guys given the state of the kitchen and…yuck, bathroom. Yet, in her heart and mind, she was standing on that balcony with Matteo. Actually, she wished they were in his flat in London living the life he’d left behind. The way he’d described it, she knew he yearned to return to the city he called home. Three weeks and two days had passed she’d been with him, but she remembered their never-ending conversation as if everything that happened had been only three hours ago.
When he’d stepped out from behind the hedge, her stomach had done Olympic diving flips. She didn’t think he would come, but she’d hoped. When he smiled, she thought someone had turned on all the floodlights. She’d never tell him she’d been thinking up ways to get Valentina to invite him to dinner. The moment Sofia laid eyes on him outside of church, she wanted him. In a split second she knew all those dates she’d gone on, the boyfriends, the sneaking around, Walter, before he lost his mind, was all child’s play. Matteo Parisi was the real deal from head to toe.
