The Hateful Heavy Heart | 18+

18 - A Step Closer

It was a kind proposal of him to make, asking me to move in. However, he wasn't the happiest with my 'no,' something that I noticed easily despite his attempt to hide his disappointment.

As he lulled around my apartment, the disappointment was more than apparent. I invited him to bed, as a sort of an apology for ruining his hopes of living together. I knew that he had to work in the morning, but I wanted him here, with me. I liked being next to him and the warmth that radiated off of his body was a constant reminder that he was here.

In my room, we lied in the dark, the room only vaguely lit by the moonlight peering through the window. I kept the window cracked, to feel the cool breeze and hear the gentle whisper of the wind.

He placed a hand on my hip, moving it slightly underneath the black cami that I wore. "I must admit," he stated, "My cuore is a little hurt."

"Your what?" I was a little embarrassed by how little I knew of his mother tongue, but the only language I had ever become close to learning was Spanish, in high school.

"My heart." His hand rested on my stomach, where he used his forefinger to draw circles around my navel. His head was rested on my shoulder, his body curved into mine.

I twisted my hand to caress his face and felt the prickly new-growth along his jawline. "Well, I must disclose that my answer is not a permanent 'no.' It's a temporary 'no.' I'm only saying no, for now."

He stopped drawing circles. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm saying no for only two and a half months; my lease has to end," I happily obliged. "As soon as the lease is over, I'll be in your space. You'll regret—"

I wasn't even finished getting my words out before Ruggiero lifted his head and kissed me intently. He tugged on my bottom lip with his teeth and I smiled against him before parting them to allow his tongue in. His hands grabbed ahold of my waist as he held me in place purposefully, fluidly moving his mouth against mine and then kissing at my cheeks and my chin.

"You don't know how happy I am to hear that, amorina, sono felice," he gushed. At such an angle, with him now on top of me, I was able to look into the honey brown of his eyes. Eye color wasn't something I normally paid attention to, but Ruggiero had beautiful eyes, and they were even more lovely when they were glossed over in moments of happiness.

With my hands on either side of his face, I brought him down for another kiss, letting it linger. "I do know, yes."

He noised a satisfied hum before moving himself down further into my body, soon settling between my legs with his head resting on my stomach. I let a hand run through his dark hair and he sighed even more so contently. "I love you, dolcezza."

"The feeling is mutual, baby," I assured him.

"Do you ever get tired of the snowless winters here?" he mused. "I've only lived here in Tennessee for six years, but I get tired of the snowless winters. I miss the snow."

I was glad he couldn't see my face well, for I knew the puzzled look I wore was ridiculous. "It does snow here, just not a lot. Does it snow in Italy?"

He responded with a warm laugh. "Yes, it does. My family is from Fruili-Venezia Guilia, northeastern Italy. It snows quite a bit—much, much more than it snows here."

I closed my eyes, feeling comfortable underneath him, in his company. "That's...a lot of places to be from," I said.

That time, Ruggiero laughed loudly and I could feel it against my stomach. "I guess?" I felt him shake his head. "It's one of the country's many regions. If it gives you any context, I have family in Cividale del Friuli and Palmanova."

"Where were you born?" I asked him. Honestly, I had no idea where any of these places were, aside from the fact that they were within this boot-shaped country. But it was always interesting to get to know more about Ruggiero and I loved his voice.

"I was actually born in Manzano, a city between the two. My mamma had been very pregnant and my parents had been spending the day there when she went in labor," he explained. "I don't know why she was over eight months pregnant still trying to tour cities, but I can at least say I was born in a historic town."

"Mhmm..." I replied. I was nodding off, trying to stay focused and awake on Ruggiero.

Ruggiero was talking again, but I couldn't make out any of the words he was saying. Maybe he was mumbling or whispering and the wind was too loud.

I let out a sigh and the noise canceled out around me.

❁

The weeks seemed to be flying by and Thanksgiving would be coming up before I knew it. I wasn't sure what Ruggiero did for Thanksgiving, as he clearly wasn't American, but it was the only time of the year where my mother and father came together diplomatically. 

This year, however, I wanted Cleo's Thanksgiving to be special. I knew her children never visited her at Glendshire and I wanted to incorporate her into my day as best as I could.

I consulted with Ruggiero, who was sitting to my right on the sofa, my nearly bare legs draped across his lap. "Any plans for the holiday?"

He looked at me before shrugging his shoulders. "I think it's a little weird to be celebrating a holiday based around the pillaging of first-nation tribes, so no, whatever you want to do."

I raised my eyebrow at him but simply nodded my head. "Well, my family does a thing, but I've been thinking about Cleo."

"Which is very sweet of you," he added.

I nodded in agreement. "Yes, Cleo's sweet. I just didn't want her to be alone on the holiday. I know the nursing home holds an event, but I want to make sure it's special for her, you know?" I paused, trying to think of what else to say. "I just want—"

I paused, feeling a wave of nausea. I put a hand on my stomach and tried to will the feeling to go away.

Ruggiero squeezed gently on my ankles. "What's the matter?" The look he wore was one of concern, his eyebrows pulled together. "Are you hurt?"

I shook my head and waved my other hand at him. "No, no. I feel—" I was hit by the wave again, only worse this time. "Sick."

Before I could say anything else, I felt my body ready to regurgitate. I jumped up from the sofa and ran to the kitchen, the closest place I could have thought of. I nearly knocked the lid off of the trash can, my body lurching forward as I was forced to empty the generous breakfast I had eaten that morning.

Ruggiero had followed closely behind me, one hand on my waist and the other with my hair gathered in it, holding it away from my face. He spoke softly in my ear, "Mia povera ragazza, my poor girl." The hand on my waist moved to my lower back where he rubbed comfortingly.

When I was finished, he grabbed a paper towel off of the counter and used it to wipe my face. I was sure I resembled death; my blue eyes were sure to have circles around them, my lips had to be dry, and my breath smelled like a dumpster.

"Thank you," I told him lovingly and he carried me into bed and tucked me underneath the covers. "I love you too."'

He kissed her on the cheek and then began heading out. He stopped in the doorway and blew her a kiss. "I'll be back. I'm going to get us waters, dolcezza."

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