*****
The next few weeks of my life had passed like a dream. I couldn’t believe the happiness I had been gifted with.
Aldo had visited me as often as his obligations had allowed and we had spent many a night of passion.
He liked to watch me cook, his eyes lighting up whenever I asked him to taste the food, like wanted to be involved in every small thing I did. I had grown accustomed to finding him home on some nights, either watching TV or napping like a child.
I loved the way we had become a couple. Neither of us had ever said anything about our future, we didn’t need to. It was all there, in the way we embraced and kissed, in the way he made me his, in the way we shared our moments of laughter, a stolen glance or the pleasure of just being together.
It felt right.
I did, however, noticed something was tainting his joy. His smile had become smaller, his eyes had lost some of their spark and he suddenly needed to hold me longer in his arms.
One night, after we had dinner, I wrapped my arms around him as he stood in front of the window, and asked:
“What is it, baby?”
“What is what?”
“You seem upset lately. Did something happen?”
He turned to me, a smile on his face that I could see he faked.
“No, my love. Everything is in order. I love you, that’s all.”
“You what?” I asked and pulled away.
What he had just said?
He seemed to be taken aback by my reaction. I looked into his eyes to make sure he told the truth.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just sprung it on you like that,” he retracted.
“No,” I wouldn’t have it. “You sprung it just the right way. I just never thought you felt this way too.”
“Too?”
I nodded, tears prickling my eyes. “What?” he pressed, a grin starting to form on his lips.
“I love you too,” I mumbled, too emotional to speak clearly.
“Oh, my love.” He lifted me in his arms and pinned me against the wall. “I love you so much. I don’t deserve you, but I can’t help it. I just love you.”
“What do you mean you don’t deserve me?”
My words seemed to have brought him to reality. He pulled back.
I understood it was a subject he wasn't comfortable disclosing yet. It hurt, but I wanted to give him the space he needed, I wanted him to trust me. When he tried to pull farther away, I held onto his arms and looked him in the eyes, trying to share the warmth I had to give.
“What does ‘Aldo’ mean?” I asked, changing the subject.
He looked surprised and grateful for my decision.
“It’s just a name. It comes from -”
“Aldobrandino,” I remembered.
“Yeah. It means ‘little old sword’. Do you know Italian?”
I giggled but his phone rang before I could answer.
“Pronto,” he said, frowning. “What is it, Matteo?”
I took a few steps back, looking for something to do so it wouldn’t seem like I was snooping.
“I can’t talk right now,” I heard him say between gritted teeth. “He what?”
His expression turned serious and I couldn't look away. Something wrong seemed to have happened.
“Cavolo!” he cursed, stealing a glance at me. I looked away. “Look, I can't talk right now. Tell The Spider we need his services again. I’ll call you.”
He hung up and I tried to look busy fumbling through a stack of old magazines.
“I’m sorry, love.”
“It’s no problem. You could’ve talked, I was just about to… make some coffee.” I didn't want him to put his business on hold, especially when it looked to be this important.
“No, it’s alright. I’m sorry you had to hear that… sort of conversation.”
“Excuse me?”
“I didn’t mean it like you were listening in. It’s just not something everyone can stomach.”
“Baby, I grew up in the hood. You have no idea what I can stomach,” I replied, my fists defensively balled to my sides.
His eyes widened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were a tough girl.”
He seemed amused, that familiar glint of mischief back in his eyes. His expression made me laugh.
“You never assumed?”
“What? That because you’re black, you had to have lived in the hood?”
When he put it like that, it did sound silly. I looked down, embarrassed for misjudging him.
“I thought that, you know, with your… friends’ predisposition to…” I tried to explain myself.
“You mean their racism?”
I nodded.
“Would I have loved you this much if I was a racist, my love?”
Something in his tone made me look at him. That sadness was back.
“What is it?” I asked again.
He tried to look away but I caught his face between my palms and forced his eyes back to me.
“Tell me, baby,” I encouraged him.
“It’s nothing that you should concern yourself with,” he attempted to elude the question.
“If it makes you feel like this, it concerns me very much. Please, let me in, baby.”
I could see the struggle in his head. He seemed torn between keeping some bad news from me or lifting a weight off his chest. I chose for him:
“Tell me. You have to tell me if you say you love me.”
He grabbed my wrists and freed his face. “You won't like it, my love.”
“You don’t either. Why should I?”
He kissed me before confessing what I had already known.
“We cannot be seen together, my love.”
I nodded. “I knew as much.”
“You did?”
“Like I said, I have seen your friends’ attitude towards me. Is that what was bothering you?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “But it’s not all.”
“Oh?” I took his hand and pulled him towards the couch. “Come, sit here. Let’s talk about it.”
He laid on his back, his head on my lap. I massaged his head as he spoke.
“My mother, she’s worse than all of them. I can deal with them, I’m their boss, but Mamma, she’s something else entirely.”
I didn’t say anything, leaving him space to think, to find his words.
“She wants me to get married. She thinks that I am losing face if I remain a single man. You see, we have rules. Unspoken, like a code of conduct. And one of those rules says that a leader needs be an example. The way he leads his own family is the way he’ll lead his other family. Do you understand?”
“La Famiglia, I know.”
Where he had kept his eyes closed while he spoke, he opened them now to look at me.
“You know Italian?”
I shrugged. “A bit. I studied in Milan for two years.”
“You did? I didn’t know that.”
I laughed. “Of course you didn’t. We haven’t had that much time to talk. We’ve been… busy.”
He grinned. “You’re full of surprises tonight, Miss Knight. Do you have anything else to confess?”
“Why don’t I show you, Don Galeone?”