Farewell, my Loves by Jen Tirone


I’m woken by Gio pulling the covers off of me.
It’s dark and I’m a little disoriented, when I remember what happened earlier, and now he’s home.
With his hand skimming my body in a caress at odds with the angry man who sent me home earlier, I was nervous.
“I know you’re awake, Gianna.”
No bella, no tesorina.
Not even Gia.
I’m tempted to ask every question running rampant through my head, but it was all crystal clear.
The late nights working, the family meetings with Domenico, vague talks of business and how they could afford so much with said vague businesses…
If I couldn’t be bothered to ask in-depth before, after what I witnessed tonight—I knew better than to dare anymore.
The question I have to ask instead is not for him, but for myself: can I ignore it?
Did I even have a choice?
“What you did tonight, won’t be tolerated again, Gianna. Capisce?” His soft voice doesn’t do anything to take out the bite of his words.
“Yes, Giorgio,” I answered immediately because I wouldn’t disobey him again.
After the way he grabbed me, my God, I can’t even look him in the eyes, I’m so upset I don’t know what to think anymore.
After a long silence, he sighs loudly in exasperation and sits closer to me like tonight was nothing to be alarmed about.
“It’s time you make an effort to learn English. I’ve indulged your little immigrant tourist stage long enough; I need you to start engaging at the dinners we attend and make friends with the other wives.”
Tourist stage?
I just nod my response because I imagine anything I could say to the contrary might provoke him.
He’s been too nice as it is since he’s woken me, I don’t want to push it.
“It’d be good we make a baby, too, bella. Keep you occupied,” he said with a squeeze, letting me know exactly what he wants and part of me wishes I could deny him.
It’s not like I’ve been doing anything to not have one. But I didn’t want a baby because I needed to do something other than twiddle my thumbs. I wanted our baby because we’re in love.
Remembering the sage warnings from my mama’s womanly crash course, it was a man’s marital right to have his wife as he pleased.
And after the small taste I got earlier tonight of what he’s capable of in anger, I’d rather not incite any of it toward me more than I already have.
So I didn’t hesitate.
But instead of making love to me that night, he fucked me for the first time.
I had been nothing short of cherished each time since our wedding night, with soft caresses, and sweet, sweet kisses.
Only complete adoration had reflected from his warm brown eyes.
Tonight however, nothing was sweet.
Nothing about me was cherished.

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