I don’t think Cosima knows what is best for her. She let me crawl on top of her and have my way.
“Yeah, see what being here got her?” A psycho held her at gunpoint, and then I went and rutted on top of her before dropping off the planet for a few weeks.
“So you just keep doing this? Fighting with her and having her hate you?”
I flinch, taking a step back. “Hate me?” I repeat. I can’t blame her at this point. I want to beat my own ass, but hearing that she might hate me from someone else's mouth feels like a stake being driven into my chest.
“Hey, I don’t mean like hate.” Tova’s face softens.
“You’re pissed at me,” I remind her.
“Right.” She puts her hands on her hips again. “But that’s a good thing. It’s better than indifference.”
“If you say so.” I rub the center of my chest, a hollowness seeping in. It’s the same feeling I had when I’d come to terms with my parents being gone, this emptiness. I remember theday it went away. That feeling of emptiness disappeared when Rochelle brought Cosima home from the hospital.
“She loves you too.”
“Yeah, the same way she loves you or anyone else.” Cosima can be a brat, but her heart is big. In fact, I think she throws up the brat act as a defense. She hadn’t been a brat when I had her in my bed.
“Now you’re just being dumb.” Tova shakes her head as though she’s getting nowhere with this conversation. “Seriously, Z, open your eyes and figure some shit out before you truly lose Cosima and she agrees to marry one of the many offers she’s gotten.” With that, she turns and leaves me standing there in a moment of shock that is quickly replaced with a flood of rage.
The fuck is she talking about?
Chapter Nine
COSIMA
What the heck is taking her so long? It can’t be that hard to buy a pregnancy test. Then again, this is Marks we are talking about. The girl is either all-in or all over the place. I never know what I’m going to get with her. But I’m not one to talk; my moods and emotions change in seconds. If I’m pregnant, I bet I’ll be worse. That should be fun for everyone else.
My hand goes to my stomach. I can’t help but smile. As much as I want to be with Z, if we never are, at least I have this part of us. A little piece of him. Even if Z regrets it, I’ll cherish that moment in time. Not that I’m still not pissed at him. I am, but I will always love him. He’s been a part of my life from the start. It’s hard to imagine my life without him.
What if in time he starts to date someone seriously? Would he bring her home? I would have to see this person on holidays and at every other important event in our family. That sounds like torture. I can’t help all the directions my thoughts are going in as I wait what feels like an eternity for Marks.
I don’t know anything about my brothers’ or Z’s dating life or, I suppose, fucking life. That’s what the men in our world do.They have mistresses and go to high-end brothels or sex clubs. I have more than once wondered if Z took part in that lifestyle.
No one ever brings people home. You wouldn’t dare unless it was serious. Hence why I knew nothing of that part of their lives. At one point I thought War might be asexual. I have no idea what Ronan's sexual orientation is. That man is tough to read.
As for Z, I could picture him as a dater, I think. I don't want to. Out of everyone, he can be the most social. He has personality, and he’s funny. He has a way of calming a room and easing the tension. A few times I thought it was an act, that I'd catch this expression on his face, but who knows? I thought I knew Z, but maybe I don't know him at all.
"Buonasera," an old woman says in passing.
“Buonasera,” I respond with a smile, leaning back on the wooden bench that is starting to hurt my ass.
Everyone is friendly here, saying hello and smiling as they pass. Marks isn't a fan. She's suspicious of everyone. She has major paranoia.
If I had to guess from the bits and pieces I've put together, she gets it from her father. Even around the topic of him, she's tight-lipped, and I don't know if it's because she doesn't want to talk about him or if she does it on his behalf.
My phone goes off from inside my purse. I’m guessing it’s Marks being overwhelmed by all the pregnancy tests, but it’s not. I see it’s a call from my mom. I answer. Her and my father's faces pop up together when I do. I can tell from the background they're back home but in their place in the city. Since my brother War has taken over more of the family business responsibilities, they have been traveling more, and often came and stayed for brief stints near my school when I was abroad.
“Hey,” I say. Mom gives me a warm smile. Dad’s face is always stoic; even when he chuckles, it remains that way.
"Hi, sweetheart," Mom says. "How is Valle di Luminara?"
"It's beautiful here."
"It is one of my favorites," Mom agrees.
"We have friends there this week," Dad chimes in. "The Amato family." I try to place the name. I know I've heard it before, but I swear my dad knows everyone.
