The Italian Heartthrob: Forbidden Standalone

by N J Adel

  “You’re my baby girl, Maggie. I’ve always hoped you’d choose better. You deserve better. Gennaro is—”

  “Is what, Dad?” I jumped to my feet.

  “A filthy womanizer, to say the least.”

  “Okay. Um…I really didn’t expect that from you.” Had coming here been a mistake?

  He rose and touched my arms. “How can I trust someone like him with you?”

  I kept shaking my head, unable to find the right words. This was even more shocking and hurtful than when I’d come to him asking for help with my first movie. I didn’t need this…doubt from him. Not again. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I gotta go.”

  “Maggie.” He held my hand before I turned. “At least tell me you’re happy.”

  “I am. The happiest I’ve ever been.” I felt every word. “I would have been even happier if you’d given me your blessing. But just like making movies was the right choice for me and you couldn’t understand it, Mike is the right man for me. I’m not backing down even if you don’t approve. I hope one day you’ll accept my choice.”

  He barely smiled, nodding. “I don’t think I can ever do that, but make no mistake, baby, I’ll be giving you away at that wedding.”

  A long, shivering sigh escaped me. “That’s enough…for now.”

  He chuckled, pulling me into a warm hug. “Take care of yourself, baby.”

  “You too.”

  There was a knock on the door and Anna entered. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dawson, but if you don’t leave now, you’re going to be late for the Medusa meeting.”

  “Thanks, Anna. I’ll be right out,” he said and glanced at me. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

  “No. My ride is still waiting in the parking lot. Do you mind if I take a look around? I wanna see what you’ve done with the place.”

  “It’s your place. You don’t need my permission. I’d love to stay and show you around, pick your brain even, but you know…”

  “I know. See you soon, Daddy.” I strode out of the office and waved goodbye at Anna. Then I stopped at the offices area where I’d caught a glimpse of a smooth waterfall built in the wall. The water cascaded over slate-blue stone. A small cluster of employees hurried from elevators to various offices, throwing nervous glances at me.

  A girl, probably my age, walked toward me, ducking her head. “Are you Maggie Dawson, the director?”

  “Yes,” I replied with a smile. “And Nick Dawson’s daughter.”

  “You’re so cool. Can I take a picture with you?”

  “Sure.” I posed, and the girl clicked her phone with a selfie. In no time, employees circled me, asking for autographs and photos. My chance to see the new place had timed out.

  After satisfying the crowd, I rushed to the elevator. The doors opened, and the one person I wished I’d never see again came out. This was not my lucky day.

  “Maggie. What are you doing here?” Andrea asked.

  “Leaving.” I jumped into the elevator, pushing the closing button fast.

  Andrea held the door with her manicured hand. Then she got back inside, her face stern. “What’s the rush?”

  I swore in my head, hiding my hand from Andrea’s sight, wishing to God I’d worn something with pockets.

  Eight months ago, Mike said Andrea wouldn’t bother us again, and to Andrea’s credit, she hadn’t done anything to disrupt the peace since then. But something told me that if Andrea knew about the engagement, she’d cause trouble like none of us had ever seen.

  “Why are you here?” I asked.

  “I came to see Nick. Sometimes, here is the only place I can get hold of him.”

  “Well, you just missed him.”

  “I know. They told me downstairs.” She smirked as the doors closed. “By the way, you don’t have to hide your ring from me.”

  My hands clenched into fists. That Anna bitch. “They told you that one, too?”

  “Yes. That’s why I came up.” Andrea grabbed my hand and examined the ring.

  I stiffened in response to Andrea’s touch, wishing I never had come here today.

  “Ten carats?” Jealousy dripped from her tone.

  “I don’t know. I never cared to ask. Why don’t you ask him?”

  Andrea dropped my hand, inching a brow. “Don’t get smart with me. You know he’s no longer my client…or friend.”

  The elevator reached the parking lot and the doors opened. I rushed out. “Look, I’d love to sit and chat, but I’m running late.”

  “For the Oscars?” Andrea scoffed, her heels clacking on the cement. “You think you’re going to win?”

  I stopped, closing my eyes, my jaws tightening. Some things would never change. Don’t let her ruin your day. Just walk away.

  “We both know that you won’t. I’m gonna ask you a better question. Do you really think he loves you?”

  I spun, my cheeks burning. “Yes, Andrea. I know he loves me. Why can’t you just see me happy like any sane mother?”

  “Happy? You poor little thing.” She barked with laughter as she stepped forward. “I’ve been trying to spare you the heartache, but you just won’t listen.” Her stare shot daggers at me. “Let me ask you this.” She lifted her finger in the air toward her neck. “Do those little kisses on his neck still drive him crazy? Or better yet, when he goes down on you and smells your cunt first, who do you think taught him that?”

  No.

  He wouldn’t.

  He’d never.

  Mike and Andrea…

  No!

  Her words were like knives slicing my heart to shreds. Horror and denial whirled through me like toxic fumes, my stomach turning with a sharp pain as if filled with broken glass. “You’re lying,” I whispered, shuddering. “You’re a sick, lying monster.”

  “I can’t believe he brainwashed you like that.” Andrea rolled her eyes, her hands held up in the air. “You’re so stupid, Maggie. You always have been. I don’t know what else to do to make you understand. Just ask him what happened on the night of March 17th sixteen years ago. Maybe you’ll finally get that he’s only with you because you’re a younger version of me.” She started away. “Enjoy your Oscars. I really hope you’ll win.”

  Scene 69

  Maggie

  I didn’t know how I made it to the car or inside Mike’s house. Shaking, I passed by the hair and makeup team swirling around the house and took the elevator to Mike’s bedroom—our bedroom.

  “Mike?” I called out, my voice trembling.

  “In the bathroom. Come in.”

  He was in his underwear, holding an electric trimmer, looking in the bathroom mirror, when I came in. “What took you so long? How did it go?”

  I just stood frozen in place, my eyes locked on his face.

  “Amore?” He glanced at me, and then his face went pale. “What happened?”

  “An…Andrea.”

  The trimmer fell from his hand in the sink, and my heart—what was left of it—fell to my knees. I’d hoped against all hope Andrea was lying, but the quiver of his hands bracing at the sink confirmed my worst nightmare.

  “I thought she was lying,” I breathed, my legs wobbling.

  He dashed toward me. “Maggie, cuore mio, please listen.”

  “Listen to what? Listen to what, Mike?” My chest hurt. “Did you or did you not fuck my mother?”

  “Maggie, please…I was eighteen, and she got me drunk. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. She—”

  The room spun, and I tilted my head to the side, its weight suddenly too heavy. His lips were still moving, but I couldn’t hear a thing. “Shut the fuck up.”

  He mumbled another plea.

  Rage and resentment welled in me as the last fragment of my heart was torn from my chest. “How could you?” I burst into tears. “How could you? How could you?!”

  “It was the worst night of my life. I didn’t know any better. Per favore…” He gripped my arms. “I love you, Maggie. You have no idea what happened that night.”

  I
yanked myself out of his hold, my stomach revolting. “Don’t touch me.”

  He winced. “Maggie…”

  I spun around and started for the door, but he jumped in front of me, blocking the way. “No, Maggie. I won’t let you leave. You promised.”

  “Promised what? To let you fix things before I left? How can you fix this?” Fresh tears blurred my vision. “Just tell me how can you fucking fix this?”

  “I’ll do anything. Anything.” His voice broke, and he tried to touch me again.

  “I said don’t touch me!” I darted to the toilet and vomited my guts out.

  “Oh God. I make you sick now?” He came behind me. “Please, amore. This is the past I’ve been afraid of. The reason I haven’t told you I loved you all those years.”

  “You should’ve never said it!” I scrambled to my feet, aiming for the door. “That fucking night I told you about my feelings, you should’ve slapped me and told me to fuck off.”

  His breaths came in short gasps, and his eyes brimmed with tears. “Maggie, I beg you.”

  His hand reached for my face, and my palm rang across his cheek, my fingers leaving marks on his face. “Don’t fucking touch me!” I couldn’t bear another second of this. Quickly, I grabbed the doorknob, and I bolted to the bedroom door.

  “Please, Maggie, don’t go,” he moaned. “Please!”

  I grabbed my backpack on the way out and went to the garage, ignoring Mike’s shouts. My designated driver was smoking a cigarette next to the blue Mercedes Mike had given me when they’d returned from Belize. I nodded at the chauffeur, and he stomped on his cigarette.

  “Get out of the way,” I ordered.

  “I’ll drive you, Ms. Dawson,” he said, opening the back door.

  “Maggie!” Mike yelled, running half-naked across the garage. When I didn’t stop, he yelled to the driver. “Don’t let her go alone!”

  “Get the fuck out of the way!” I pushed the driver and slid behind the wheel. My eyes took one last glance at Mike, who was banging on my window now, desolation and despair enveloping me, choking me. Then I slammed the gas pedal, and the tires screeched, part of me wishing I would crash and end this misery called life once and for all.

  Scene 70

  Mike

  SIXTEEN YEARS AGO

  Mike glanced with eyes half open at the ice clinking in his glass as Andrea poured more martini in it. “I think I’ve had enough.”

  “Come on.” She gulped on her drink as if it were water. “You only had two.”

  “Four.” He chuckled. “I’m not used to drinking, Andrea. I’m not even allowed to drink.” He probably shouldn’t have come here, but drinks with the agent who promised to skyrocket his career was too tempting to pass up.

  Her laugh rang in his ears as she dropped on the couch next to him, the hem of her miniature dress inching up her thighs. “You’re a movie star now. You gotta learn how to party.”

  He tore his eyes from her legs, scratching the back of his head. “No, I’m not. I’ve just signed my first gig.”

  “And we’re celebrating.” She shifted closer to him, bringing his glass to him. “To many more movies to come.”

  With no will or energy left to argue, he took the glass, tapped it with hers, and took another sip. “Thank you. For everything.”

  Her long fingers twirled around his curls. “Don’t thank me, Mickey. We’re friends. We gotta help each other.” Their gazes met, and she leaned in. “You know you have a very beautiful mouth.” She smacked her red lips, tossing her long hair across her shoulder.

  He wiped the sweat on his forehead as he swallowed. “Uh…thanks.”

  She moved even closer. The deep V on the front of her neckline revealed an ample expanse of her breasts. He leaned back, trying to get to his feet. “I should go.” He barely made it off the couch before he plopped back down. “Wow. O-kay. I’m officially drunk.”

  “You can stay here tonight.” She rested her hand on his knee. “Nick is in New York. There’s only me and Maggie.”

  He shook his spinning head, which made it spin further. “No.”

  “I like you, too, Mike.”

  “What?”

  She smirked. “You think I don’t see you when you stare at my boobs or my ass?”

  Cazzo. “Andrea… I…”

  “Hush.” Her finger brushed his lips, and he gulped. “I’ve always wanted to do this.” Her lips parted and touched his.

  He felt paralyzed, chained to the couch by the beautiful lips of the older woman he’d had a crush on growing up—like any boy growing in a house with a sexy, teenage girl. He blinked himself into awareness. She was married. She was a mother. His inner mention of her family shut down his sex drive. “Nick,” he gasped out the name in a protest.

  “Leave my husband out of this.” Her breath was hot on his skin as she softly spoke. “It’s just you and me now. Two adults who find each other attractive and act based on their desire that can’t be contained anymore.” Her hand slid up his thigh. “Don’t you find me attractive, Mickey?” Her palm reached his dick, and she smirked again.

  He moaned, shifting, trying to block out the push against his pants. “Andrea, per favore. This is wrong.”

  As if she hadn’t heard him, she sat on his lap and took off his T-shirt. “You really are beautiful.” Her wet kisses on his neck made him shudder. “Do you like that?”

  “I’m a little sensitive there. It drives me crazy. Please stop.” He made a feeble attempt to push her away, but his limbs were numb and he could barely move. “Get off me.”

  “Do you know what drives me crazy?” Slowly, she slid her panties down her legs. Then she pushed the hem of her dress higher. “I like to watch a man’s face when he smells me.” The couch sank beside his thighs as she pushed herself up to his face, and then down on his hips.

  Scene 71

  Mike

  SIXTEEN YEARS AGO

  Almost a week later, Andrea tried to get him into bed one more time, yet he managed to politely refuse. He asked her never to touch him again, and she tried to convince him she loved him. He almost believed her, but in a few weeks he found out she was sleeping with her new client, another eighteen year old.

  Mike confronted her, but somehow she made him believe it was all his fault. She told him she’d never cheated on Nick before him. It was Mike’s fault he was too beautiful. He seduced her. He ruined her marriage. And now that he didn’t want her, she’d been lost, stumbling, sleeping around to forget him.

  Although he never loved her, Mike was ready to accept the consequences of his mistake and make things right for her. He asked her to leave Nick and be with him. Of course, she couldn’t because of Maggie. Her only girl needed her. She had to sacrifice everything, even her heart, for Maggie’s sake. Andrea was a saint, and he was the devil himself.

  Scene 72

  Mike

  Mike drew the back of his hand across his face, wiping off his tears, wishing he could do the same with the memory, with the night that ruined his life. Then he called the driver he sent after Maggie. “Where’s she now?”

  “In her car by Santa Monica Pier. She’s been sitting there since she drove off.”

  “Keep following her, and don’t let her see you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mike hung up and texted Maggie. I’m not going to the ceremony. You should go. Plz come home. I promise I won’t try to talk to you or see you.

  Scene 73

  Maggie

  I stared with swollen eyes at the waves. Wild raging waves, thunderous like the thoughts murdering all hope inside me. How had I wound up here again? The same darkness. The same pain. Sadness burst back into my chest as the visions of what I used to believe was the worst day of my life—today was definitely the worst—forced their way into my head. I was only sixteen when I saw the true colors of the narcissistic sociopath called my mother…

  When I walked in the house, it was quiet and dark. I jogged up the stairs, taking off my jacket, the sound of
the shower starting above me. Shit. I glanced at my watch. Almost one a.m. Dad was on a business trip, and my mother was supposed to be sleeping. Now, Andrea would give me a lecture about being late. Again.

  I tiptoed to my room, hoping I’d slip by unseen. However, my parents’ bedroom door was open, and I knew I wouldn’t get away with it.

  I passed by the room, but Andrea didn’t come out or call my name. Awesome. All my fears were for nothing. I continued to my room with a smile. Sweet freedom. Then a strange voice stopped my smile, an unfamiliar masculine laugh.

  I whirled back to my parent’s room and took one step inside. The light from the hall spilled into the dim bedroom, and the lit bathroom illuminated in clear fashion what no child should have ever seen.

  Andrea’s hands were on the counter. Her perfectly manicured nails dug into the tan granite, her head tilted down, a boy’s head at her neck. He was saying something against her hair, gripping her bare butt.

  I stepped out of the bedroom, my head pounding, almost throwing up before I reached my own bathroom. The sound of my feet was roaring, yet they didn’t hear, didn’t notice. They were too busy moaning.

  Andrea didn’t even bother to close the door or remain quiet. To that extent, she didn’t care about getting caught. She didn’t care about the pain she could cause her family. Her own husband. Her own daughter.

  I locked myself up for days after that night, the picture of my naked mother with that boy—he couldn’t have been older than nineteen— haunting me. When Dad returned home and noticed my agony, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. To hurt him. Even if I had the audacity to bring it up, Andrea would lie, and he’d believe her like always.

  I thought about facing my mother. Perhaps knowing she’d been caught would shame Andrea into stopping. But the fear she’d long sowed in me was crippling. Andrea would have turned it on me. She’d have found a way to make it all my fault.