Matteo

by L. M Anthony

  “Get out.”

  The words were out of me before I could stop them, but I didn’t regret it. Lorenzo stared as I wrapped a careful arm around Laura’s shoulders. She leaned into my hold, completely at ease. I looked up to Lorenzo’s reaction.

  He was furious.

  “Scusami?” he snapped.

  As if he hadn’t heard me. I drew myself up to my full height and stared Lorenzo down, my eyes narrowed.

  “Leave,” I said. “I will not have anyone in this house spoken to like that. I believe Laura has told you that she doesn’t want you. Respect her wishes.”

  Lorenzo sneered, his face twisting unpleasantly. I’d hoped he would simply turn and leave, but it wasn’t that easy.

  “So, she went running to you once she was done with me,” he said. “Fine, have her; I have no need for a puttana like her.”

  I was so angry I couldn’t speak. How dare he use that insult? I opened my mouth to say something, but then Laura moved, glaring.

  “You’re a sad, pathetic man, Lorenzo,” she said. “You have no power over me anymore. I don’t want you or your rotten personality. Leave before Matteo calls the police.”

  Lorenzo scowled, but he left, slamming the door behind him. Dina grinned widely.

  “Nice,” Dina said appreciatively. “You sure told him.”

  “Yeah,” Laura said, glancing at me. “Thanks for standing up for me.”

  “You did most of that yourself,” I said. I managed a smile, but it dropped quickly. “Now that the unpleasantness is over…what time is your plane? We will need to leave earlier so that you can get through security.”

  “Oh…” Laura said, a little surprised by the sudden change. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.”

  Maybe, if last night hadn’t happened, I would have chosen this moment to tell her that I wanted her to stay here with me. I still didn’t know where our relationship was going to go now. In a few hours, she would be back in America, which meant…

  “I want to stay.”

  My thoughts derailed. I stared at Laura, who had a determined expression on her face.

  “I want to stay here in Italy,” she said, and I was grateful that she repeated it because I wasn’t sure I would have believed her words otherwise. “I want to stay with you. I love you, Matteo… I don’t want to leave.”

  My heart thumped. Had Laura really just said that? Overwhelmed with emotion, I reached out to kiss her gently, cupping my hands around her face. Then I pulled back and finally smiled.

  “I can’t imagine my life without you,” I said. It felt amazing to hear the words finally being said aloud. “Please stay.”

  Laura choked on a sob, and tears started to fall, but her smile almost split her face.

  “Yes!” she said.

  I kissed her again. Did this mean Laura was staying for good? What about America? Her parents? Her job and her studies?

  But, despite all that… she wanted to stay?

  “That’s brilliant!” Dina said enthusiastically, and I felt Laura start. “We need to celebrate!”

  I exchanged glances with Laura, grinning.

  “What about the ice cream bar?” Laura suggested, and Dina’s face lit up.

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said. I felt almost giddy with excitement. “Afterward, we can have our own private celebration.”

  Laura blushed heavily as Dina giggled. Hurriedly, Dina turned and walked toward the garage. She grinned back at us.

  “I’ll meet you at the car!” she said, and then she was gone.

  “Which one?” Laura asked. She poked me lightly in the side. “Do I get one now that I’m staying? I’ll need some way to get to whatever job I find.”

  Laura was staying. She could have anything she wanted. Then, what she said finally registered, reminding me of something.

  “Whichever one you want,” I promised. “Actually…are you interested in being an English tour guide? I know someone who is looking for one.”

  “That sounds great,” Laura said, looking up at me happily. Touring old places would be right up her alley. “Thank you.”

  We walked through the front door. The sun was low in the sky, telling me that we only had a few more ours of daylight. A light breeze rustled the trees and bushes. It was so perfect, and it was even more so as I glanced down at Laura. She returned my gaze with a smile and then leaned up to kiss me once more.

  “Let’s go,” she said when we pulled back.

  There was still so much we had to work out, of course. There were visas to organize, a job to find, and things to change in my life now that Laura would be here for a little longer. There was a lot to consider.

  But none of that mattered. Against all the odds, Laura was choosing to stay here in Italy with me.

  That was worth all the money in the world.

  - The End -

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  The Conti Place

  Where Enemies Become Lovers.

  L. M. Anthony

  Chapter One

  The sky was a deep, cloudless blue as if even the weather was mocking her grief. Jane Bancroft stood in the perfect late spring morning, the sun shining gently on her smooth golden hair and discreet black hat as the minister implored the mourners to use this time as an opportunity to search their hearts in preparation for the afterlife. Jane wished he would just stop talking, wished they would all stop talking. Between offering their condolences and trying to gently pry into her future plans, it seemed like people had been doing nothing but talking to her for days. Couldn’t anyone see that talking was the last thing she wanted to do?

  From her impeccably tailored black dress, complete with gloves that failed to hide the tremble in her hands, Jane knew she was doing her best to carry on as she had been raised to do. Attend to the details. Follow convention. Never, ever let them know what you’re thinking. She knew her father would be proud of her if he could see her now. She was standing straight and strong, alone in the front row, head held high, and not a single tear in her hazel eyes. She could almost hear his voice, That’s my girl, Janie. Never let them see you weak. They may act sympathetic, but you can bet your ass they’re plotting your downfall behind their false smiles. Yes, he’d be very proud, indeed.

  But he couldn’t see her, not anymore. George Bancroft, trusted banker and financial mogul, was being lowered now into a hole in the damp, cold earth. He would never see anything again, and the blank, yawning hole inside Jane threatened to swallow her completely.

  It had happened suddenly, a heart attack in the night. She had found him the next morning, still in bed and looking like he was asleep. He had looked peaceful, younger. She remembered thinking she must convince him to take more time off, especially if his body was telling him he needed this much rest. She hadn’t known anything was wrong until she leaned over to shake him awake and realized he wasn’t breathing.

  That was four days ago. Four long, black hole days full of details and arrangements and so many people. She could feel them all, arranged behind her, crowding as close as they dared as the casket continued its descent into the deep gash marring the vibrant green of the surrounding sod. She couldn’t hear what the minister was saying anymore. Sound became a blurred hum in her ears, a background annoyance. All of her senses arrowed to the last, disappearing trace of her father’s earthly remains.

  Oh, Dad, she thought desolately. What am I going to do now?

  Elliot Lowell, her father’s trusted lawyer and closest friend, stepped up beside her. “It’s time,” he said, his voice low. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  She shook her head imperceptibly, “I don’t want to do it at all, Uncle Elliot. It’s ghoulish.”

  Elliot sighed, but not unkindly, “We’ve been over this. It’s necessary to observe the traditions. Your father would expect nothing less.”
He laid a hand on her shoulder, warm and comforting. “I know it’s hard. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Jane felt the warmth of his hand on her shoulder almost clinically, as a detached observation. She felt none of the comfort he tried to convey with the gesture. She was tired of the constant need to observe protocol, behave properly and never make waves. She was tired of everyone watching. She wanted a quiet room, and solitude, where there were no more decisions but freedom to mourn. The lid of the casket disappeared into the ground, leaving nothing but a gaping void to be seen from the surface. Jane took a deep breath and stepped forward, her back straight, her chin level, her stomach roiling like knotted snakes.

  She was a Bancroft, dammit. She would do what she must. She would do this last, awful thing.

  The sun warmed her shoulders. Shouldn’t it rain at a funeral? she wondered hazily. The scene wavered, soft at the edges, like a photograph long pored over. She felt that maybe this wasn’t actually happening but was, instead, a memory. Maybe it was a play, one she forgot she was participating in. Maybe any minute her father would step up beside her, softly praising her decorum under pressure.

  But no, she realized, as her fingers closed around the symbolic handful of dirt. If this were a play, it would be raining. It’s what would be expected. She stepped to the side of the grave and looked down, still trapped in that dreamlike, detached blanket. Was it really her father in that shiny wooden box down there? Would he really never laugh again, his booming voice filling up a room? Would she never see him smile at her? Would they never potter around their rooftop garden again?

  “Daddy,” she whispered, stretching out her hand. “Who will take care of your tomatoes?” She opened her fingers and watched the dirt rain down, listening for the slight, hollow thud as the damp clumps struck the casket below. “I don’t want you to be gone. I miss you. I don’t know what to do now.” Her throat tightened, feeling as if a hand was squeezing the air out of her. She took a step back.

  The minister intoned, “For from dust you were taken and to dust you will return.”

  But Jane barely heard him. She turned on her sensible black pumps, perceiving but not really seeing the crowd of people who had come to pay their last respects to her father. Elliot insisted it was a mark of the esteem her father was held in, to have such a large gathering to mourn him. Jane supposed that was true, but to her, it just felt intrusive. Like even this aspect of her life was not permitted the privacy she craved.

  She had to escape this hell.

  She walked, slowly but deliberately, looking neither right nor left. The crowd parted for her, moving out of her way seamlessly. She felt their eyes on her, saw their quizzical faces, but she ignored them all.

  Jane Bancroft walked away from her father’s funeral, her back straight and giving no sign of the tumult inside her. No one saw where she went.

  Chapter Two

  Three days later, Jane woke to a heavy banging on the door. She stumbled to her feet, rubbing her eyes in the late afternoon sun beaming in through the living room window. What time was it? She reached the door and pulled it open.

  “God, Uncle Elliot, you’d think the house was on fire,” she said, making an attempt to push her fingers through her hair. She turned back into the apartment and left the door open behind her. Elliot walked in, his expression stormy.

  “Do you think this is some kind of joke?” he said, his voice barely controlled. “You can’t pull a stunt like that, can’t just fail to appear at the reception for your father’s funeral, and then disappear for three days with no contact. I’ve been calling every hour, and it goes straight to voicemail.”

  Jane turned, shrugging uncomfortably, “I haven’t wanted to talk, so I turned off my phone. I didn’t think you would worry.”

  Elliot blew out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, “You didn’t think I’d worry.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling, “My closest friend’s only child is left alone, and she didn’t think I’d worry.” He looked at her almost pityingly. “Jane, I’ve known you since you were in diapers. I knew your lovely mother, God rest her soul. I’ve helped to manage your father’s estate and spent many nights talking with him about his hopes for you. Do you really believe he would leave you friendless? That I would just disappear on you, or allow you to?”

  Jane shook her head, avoiding his gaze. Guilt crashed over her, making her tired, “No, of course not, Uncle Elliot. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just needed time.”

  Elliot nodded, appeased but not yet calm, “That is entirely understandable. In the future, please advise me if the situation arises again. Now, I am not just here to check on you, though that was the primary objective.” He held up a thick leather briefcase. “We have business to discuss.”

  “Of course we do,” Jane said under her breath, blowing out a breath. It was all she could do not to chew on her nails. “I don’t suppose we could postpone this awhile?” she said louder. “Maybe a month or two? I don’t think I can do this right now.”

  Elliot stared at her blankly, “Nonsense. You must know what your position is in order to make decisions to move forward. I’m here to apprise you of your situation. It won’t take long.”

  Jane shook her head, feeling defeated. He was implacable, and she grew tired just thinking of the effort it would take to argue him around to understanding her position. It didn’t seem possible. The fastest way to get him to leave her alone, she decided, was to let him in to have his say.

  “Okay, Uncle Elliot,” she said, turning wearily. “Let’s get a cup of tea first. Do you know what time it is?”

  She led the way, straightening her t-shirt and stretching her arms overhead. She noticed the clutter that had built up over the last few days. Clothes sat in heaps where they had been dropped, and half-open books were scattered around as if they had been started and then abandoned where they lay. She could see her coffee cup from - wait, was it yesterday? - sitting on the coffee table, a pair of socks abandoned on the floor.

  The kitchen looked little better. There were more books abandoned on the counter and on the table. A blue ceramic container of coffee sat with the lid off on the counter, grounds scattered around it. The afternoon light was more diffused in here, shining through the thin muslin curtains on the window over the sink. Jane picked up a stack of unopened mail from a chair at the table and gestured for Elliot to sit.

  “I see you haven’t allowed Miranda in, either,” he observed dryly, referring to their - her, she corrected herself - housekeeper. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and laid his briefcase on the table. He looked around, his sharp eyes catching every detail.

  “Have you been eating?” he asked. “I see no real evidence of it.”

  She shrugged. “I eat enough,” she said. “I haven’t been that hungry.”

  “Of course. Well, be that as it may, you have responsibilities, which you have put off long enough. Decisions must be made, and there’s no one to make them but you. For that reason, if for no other, be sure you’re taking care of yourself. Have you been sleeping?”

  Jane thought of long nights of streaming movies, unable to sleep and unwilling to take the pills her doctor had prescribed for her. “Yes, Uncle Elliot,” she lied. “I’m sleeping fine.”

  Elliot made quietly hrumphed in disbelief and opened his briefcase. He began to lift folders from it, placing them in neat stacks on the table. Jane busied herself with the kettle and teabags, breathing deeply, in and out, through her nose. She didn’t want to do this now, didn’t want to have to be Jane Bancroft, ideal daughter and heir apparent. She wanted a little more time to hide away, to wrestle with her grief and the surprising anger she had discovered intertwined with it. How dare her father die with no warning, leaving her alone with no roadmap for the future? Three days wasn’t much time to grapple with the enormity of her position. Wasn’t she entitled to more? Couldn’t she be a private human, for just a little while longer?

  Elliot cleared his throat. “If you’d care to j
oin me, please,” he said, gesturing to another chair.

  Jane sighed, setting down the mug she was turning around and around in her hands. “I am a Bancroft,” she reminded herself quietly. She went to the table and slid into the chair across from him. “Okay,” she said simply, resting her hands on the table, fingers laced. “I’m here. What is it that puts that look on your face?”

  “What look?” he asked, surprised and momentarily distracted.

  “The one that makes you look like you swallowed a lemon,” she said. “The one that says there’s going to be a right answer and a wrong answer, but you’re not sure which one I’m going to pick.”

  Elliot sighed, “I’m sorry this is so difficult for you.” He closed the folder in front of him, steepling his hands over the top of it. His voice softened. “I know losing your father this way was a big shock. Believe it or not, I understand that you’re grieving. I have no wish to prevent you from doing so or to interrupt you. But the fact remains that your father controlled an extensive and far-flung collection of real estate and businesses. People work for him and depend on him for their living. Decisions must be made to manage the estate, to make sure the folks waiting for their paychecks will receive them on time. In his absence as president of the board, there is no one to make those decisions but you.”

  Jane lowered her head, cradling it in her hands on the table. “I don’t know how to be responsible for other people,” she said, her voice muffled. “I don’t remember what I ate for breakfast or the last time I showered. Everything seems so unreal right now.” She raised her head and looked at him dully. “Why am I all there is? Good God, Uncle Elliot, how am I meant do this?”

  He patted her hand. “Jane, you are one of the most competent, capable people I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing,” he said. His smile was gentle. “You can manage a multitude of details at once without missing a beat. You’ve made good use of your educational opportunities, and you have a natural aptitude for business. In addition,” he continued, holding up a finger as though to make his point. “You care. You won’t think of bottom lines and budgets as much as you’ll consider the reality of the lives of the people counting on you. And somehow, you’ll manage to make both balance out.”