“I don’t understand,” Mira said. “Didn’t you say her stories about growing up with the Binachis sounded really genuine?”
“They did,” I said. “Maybe that’s just how good she is.”
“If she’s so good at it, why would she use her real name?”
Just like the last time I did research, the answers I found only raised more questions. The one thing I was certain of was that Denise wasn’t who she said she was. Whatever she had to do with the Binachis or the Carduccis didn’t matter to me. I wanted her out of my house and out of my family’s lives.
My phone rang, and I answered it without looking. “Hello?”
“Hey.” Alessandro’s voice crashed against me and pushed me below the waves. “Where are you?”
“I’m out getting drinks with Mira. How are you?”
“I’m okay. I don’t like it when you’re not here when I wake up.”
I remembered saying the same thing to him when I woke up that morning. “It won’t happen again.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m glad you’re out and getting away for a little bit. Be careful, enjoy yourself, and tell Mira I said hi.”
“I will. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I dropped my phone from my ear and just sat there, looking at it. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to be back in his arms.
“Sandro?” Mira asked.
“Yeah.” My nose started to burn. I looked up at Mira, and tears were already streaking down my face. “I miss my husband, Mira.”
She nodded before scooting her chair around to snuggle next to me. “I know, sweetie. I know.”
Mira did her best to nuzzle the pain away, but no amount of comfort was able to ease the pain I felt when I missed Alessandro.
15
Alessandro
It was well past the time that Willow would normally be awake. I didn’t think much of it. I knew that she’d been out late last night with Mira. I was still awake when she walked in early that morning, around three. She had definitely been drinking and was trying to rattle something off about Denise and her research. She wasn’t making much sense and was probably as tired as she was drunk, so I promised to listen to what she had to say after she woke up, and I helped her to bed. That was a handful of hours ago. It was nearly ten o’clock now, and she still hadn’t emerged from the bedroom. She wasn’t the type to sleep in, and even if she’d only had a couple hours of sleep, she always woke up around seven like clockwork. She’d learned to sleep in a bit after Alexis was born, but once Alexis was on a normal schedule, Willow went right back to her old habits.
My stomach growled, something it had been doing for the past hour or so. It never occurred to me before that moment, but I never skipped breakfast, mainly because Willow always made it for me. Even before we started sleeping apart, even before we came back to Philly, Willow would wake up and make me breakfast almost immediately. Whether it was just toast and coffee or a full breakfast of bacon, eggs, and pancakes, she always made sure I was fed. I’d subconsciously been waiting for her to wake up and make me breakfast and, as such, was sitting on the couch hungry.
One day, in the painfully close future, I wouldn’t have that luxury anymore. I’d be on my own to feed myself. If I wanted bacon and eggs, I’d have to get up and make them. I’d sit at a table by myself and eat them, knowing that the woman I loved was in some other house, at some other table, maybe even making someone else breakfast. The thought made me want to set my own gun to my head. I didn’t want to be without Willow. Not because she made me breakfast, but because she made me…me.
The years between her leaving for college and coming back to Philly were so much more empty and painful than I gave them credit for, and when she came back into my life, it was like I’d replaced the light bulb in a long burnt-out socket. I didn’t want that light to burn out again. I was terrified of that darkness, the kind I knew could only be illuminated by her. Once she was gone, it would consume me, and I feared I wouldn’t be able to claw my way out.
Instead of dwelling on that any further, I decided to start small. I’d start with breakfast. One couldn’t face the impending doom of heartbreak and endless isolation on an empty stomach, so once another fifteen minutes had passed without Willow waking up, I finally got off the couch and walked into the kitchen. I wasn’t so dense that I didn’t know how to cook at all. I’d seen my mom do it, I’d seen Molly do it, and I’d even watched Willow cook. I knew bacon went in a pan. I grabbed one out, only after opening every cabinet in search of one, and set it on the stove. I turned on the burner, unsure of how high I should put the heat but hoping medium would work, and then I lined in a few pieces of uncooked bacon.
I poked at the meat curiously with a fork. I could see it bubbling and hear it crackling, but the color didn’t really seem to be changing. How quickly was it supposed to happen? In the back of my mind, I remembered Willow flipping bacon, but when in the process did she do it? I fought with the flabby pieces to try and bring them to their other side, but the fact that they were still totally flimsy made me think I’d jumped the gun. I hated feeling like I’d have to Google how to cook bacon. Maybe, once everyone knew that Willow and I were split up, I could swallow my pride and ask Molly for some tips.
My phone started to blare from the living room so loudly that it made me jump. I normally kept my phone on vibrate or silent, but when I realized Willow was gone last night, I turned it on its loudest setting so that if she called, I’d wake up immediately. It didn’t make much difference. I wasn’t able to sleep while knowing she was outside the house. After she returned, I forgot to turn it back down. I bolted into the living room, grabbed my phone, and answered it just to shut it up. I didn’t want it to wake Willow.
“Sandro?”
I looked at the screen and saw Luca’s name on it. “Hey.”
“We thought you’d be in your office by now.”
I walked back into the kitchen. “Yeah, Willow went out last night, so she’s still sleeping.”