Chapter 13: Where to go from here?

I got a decent night’s sleep despite my discomfort over Marianna’s wanting to talk to me. I didn’t really know what to expect, and I didn’t know how to respond. Ordinarily, that would have kept me awake wondering what was coming, but not that Saturday night.

Marianna arrived just before ten thirty and I ushered her into the house.

“This looks completely different from what I remember. What have you changed?” she asked.

I shrugged, “A coat of paint, some new windows and doors ... and the rest is all internal.”

“It looks lovely, very nicely in keeping with the neighborhood. It’s a big house for you to live here all alone,” she noted.

“Yeah, I’m lazy enough I have a cleaning lady come in once a week. The rest of it isn’t too much trouble. I pretty much live on the ground floor.”

I felt uncomfortable and almost invited her to sit on the sofa by herself while I sat in what was Grampa’s old wing chair, but at the last moment I decided that it wouldn’t make either of us very relaxed. As I examined Marianna, I saw her eyes were red and puffy. There was only one reason for that; she had been crying.

I moved to the sofa and we angled ourselves to face each other. I waited, wondering how she wanted to start.

“Nick ... I ... I ... I’m sorry,” she finally managed before breaking down in sobs. She buried her face in her hands and her shoulders shook as she was unable to say anything coherent.

I couldn’t leave her like that and my natural instinct commanded me to slide over and take her in my arms. She turned her head up to look at me and the sight almost overwhelmed me. The misery and sorrow that I saw etched there was enough to soften my resolve to keep her at an emotional distance. What ever caused her to give up on her marriage and come back home must have been something that weighed mightily on her.

For a while, she was inconsolable. At length, she managed a few words. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this ... but ... I’m so ashamed of myself. I’m so ashamed of what I did to you,” she managed.

She was still sobbing and now the hiccups had begun. Red faced with embarrassment, she just collapsed against my chest and let it all out. However long it took her to work up the courage to come here alone and see me, her guilt overpowered her resolve.

“It’s okay, Marianna,” I said attempting to sooth her. “It’s all in the past. We can’t change that. All we can do is look to the future.”

It was trite, I know, but I didn’t know what else to say.

“You must hate me,” she sniffled finally.

“No ... I don’t. I’m disappointed in what happened. It hurt me a lot. I thought we meant more than that to each other. It took me quite a while to realize I was wrong.”

“No, you weren’t wrong. We did mean more to each other than just friends. I let myself be dazzled by dreams of bright lights and glamour and fame. I lost all sense of what was important to me,” she said forcefully, beginning to regain her composure. “Does that mean ... you can forgive me?” she finally asked.

“I have to, don’t I? The past is the past and I don’t want to be angry or frustrated forever. Maybe I have already forgiven you, Marianna. I don’t know. I gave up hope of ever seeing you again, so I don’t know how I feel right this minute. Yesterday was a big surprise and I didn’t know how to handle it. But looking back, I wasn’t angry, just shocked ... numb even.”

“I’m not surprised,” she said. “I didn’t know if I could face you again. I didn’t know if I had the courage. Maybe the jet lag was a good thing. I was numb too. When I walked in and saw you there, I had a flashback. You are so handsome and looked just like I remembered you. All the good memories came flooding back. I still can’t believe I did what I did. But ... as you said ... the past is the past. Can we be friends at least?”

“Sure. Friends is no problem,” I said quickly. “But, last night, I kept wondering what your life had been like since you left. What about your career? What caused you to give up on your marriage? What about the future for you and your daughters? Talk to me,” I begged.

For the first time since she had reappeared in my life, I saw a slight smile. “It’s a long story. Have you got the time?” she wondered.

“I’ll make the time,” I said simply.

She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes and nose with a tissue, and began.

“At first it was all I imagined it might be. Roberto had booked me into several concerts in Spain and Italy. He was my business manager and looked after all the bookings and my financial affairs. It started slowly with a concert about once a month. Then, as I gained a reputation for putting on a good performance, the word got around and I was being invited to a number of places in Europe and Scandinavia.

“Within a year, I was performing almost weekly and I had to tell Roberto to back off a little. The travel, the rehearsals, the change in diet, all of them were very tiring. He did some cutting back, but I was still very busy. I was very reliant on him and over time, with his smooth way and comforting actions, I started to believe I was falling in love with him. I never had to think about anything except performing. He looked after everything else. We would go to Berlin, fly back to Florence for a few days, then off to somewhere else like Prague or Moscow.

“It was inevitable that he would ask me to marry him. It was no surprise. I was so dependent on him that I mistook that for love ... or devotion. I agreed, although I know I had some second thoughts. He was twelve years older than me, but it didn’t seem to matter. He loved me and I decided that his love was enough. We married, as you know, at his villa outside Firenze in the little village of Impruneta. It was a lovely wedding with the exception of Roberto’s mother, who did not approve of our marriage. She viewed me as not being suitable for her son, a Mexican for goodness sakes. She didn’t boycott the wedding, but she didn’t mind sharing her opinion with a number of the local guests.

“That should have been a warning to me that our life wasn’t going to be quite as happy as I would have hoped. Up until then, Roberto was very warm and comforting, eager to please me. When I mentioned his mother’s behavior, he growled that she would come around eventually and that I should make an extra effort to get along with her. His father had died ... I suppose. He was never mentioned. I wonder now if he didn’t abandon his wife to escape the misery.

“I tried, Nick, I really did, but she was having nothing to do with me if she could avoid it and Roberto was not about to cross his mother. I guessed that she controlled the purse strings in the family, so he had to get along with her. When I was confirmed as pregnant with Anna Marie, I thought things were going to get better. The old girl was adamant that I would have a son, but as you know, that was not to be. It was then that I learned just what the dynamics of the family were. I was there for two reasons: income and to provide an heir for the Botelli family.

“We hired a nanny for Anna Marie when I was on the road and to be honest, I was really at a crossroads about my career. I was successful, but I couldn’t travel with a baby, so I had to leave her in the care of the nanny until I came home. I wasn’t happy about it, but I had contracts to fulfill and I got the impression I was the only bread winner in the family. I have no idea if they had any earnings from their winery. What they produced wasn’t to my taste and I didn’t drink much anyway, so I wasn’t close to the operation.”

“I didn’t take you long to see that all was not as you’d hoped,” I said.

She shook her head before resuming. “A couple of years went by and I fell pregnant once more and again, the old bat ... sorry ... Roberto’s mother ... was convinced this child would be a boy. Of course, Nicole arrived and that signaled the beginning of the end of my marriage. Roberto was disgusted that I had not produced a son. His mother was even angrier that I had let the family down. It was as if I had control over it. I could see the writing on the wall and I began to plan my own future.

“I was still performing and bringing in money to the family, but I saw little of it. I began to wonder just how much I had earned for Roberto. I asked him and he avoided the question, telling me that we had enough money to live as we did and I shouldn’t be concerned about it. He would look after the finances. That just made me more suspicious.”

“I guess it would,” I said. “What could you do about it?” I wondered.

“I did have some freedom. I wasn’t a prisoner. One day, I took one of our cars and drove into Firenze to our bank. I asked to see the manager and asked him to show me a record of our banking. He refused. He said he had strict instructions from Roberto not to divulge this information to anyone other than him. Naturally, the word of my visit got back to Roberto immediately. He was furious. ‘How dare I go behind his back? What business is it of yours?’ he railed.

“I told him that I was his wife and as far as I could tell, I was the sole source of income for this family. I was more than entitled to the information ... or was he holding back something from me that he didn’t want me to find out. Naturally, the started a dandy shouting match between us. He couldn’t stand to have his authority questioned. I stuck to my argument and he finally agreed that he would prepare a statement for me. The fireworks started all over again when I demanded he have it notarized as legitimate.