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Because in my head and my heart, I was convinced I knew who I wanted.
‘Don’t you think it’s pretty?’ Mia questioned.
The dress.
‘I do...’ I answered quickly as her question pulled me out of my thoughts. ‘It’s pretty, but probably not what I would have chosen for myself.’ I pacified her, not wanting to upset my little sister, whose head was filled with precisely what she wanted for her wedding day, when I hadn’t even given a single thought to what I would like for my wedding.
Although, my wedding night seemed to consume all my thoughts.
Salvatore’s face featured in many of the erotic dreams I’d started to have recently. Many a night in the year since the only time we’d spoken, he’d featured heavily in my dreams. Especially the nights when I was in Italy and had heard the tell-tale rumble of his bike in the daytime and had fought an internal battle as I refused to give myself permission to go down to the beach.
To be stronger.
To stay away.
To not allow him to understand how much I needed to see him there, because I was convinced that it could never be.
Then, in the early hours of the morning, with him featuring prominently on my mind, I’d often woken up with my hand inside my pyjama shorts. I’d find that my skin was damp to touch and between the lips of my vulva I was saturated.
My head would be filled with recollections I had of Salvatore. He was exactly what I’d read was the embodiment of beautiful.
Tall, dark, and handsome.
I remembered how his dark eyes had sought me out during the many times we’d been alone on the beach together, the way the wind coming off the sea would move his hair until I longed to run my fingers through it, and I was at times fixated with the need to feel his rough, abrasive looking stubble against my face as he devoured my mouth with his own. With the smell of his cologne permeating my nostrils, containing the hints of citrus that I knew wafted off his warm body and the taste of his minty breath on my lips, I could virtually envisage him in the bedroom I shared with Mia.
The feeling of his presence in our room was so convincing that he could have been standing concealed in any one of the corners of our sea-facing room. With the thought that he might be there watching me, I would stimulate myself by stroking and teasing my soft pubic hair and finally, when my need became too great to deal with, I would press my fingertips onto my clitoris to get some relief from the ache that had as always consumed my body. As my body tensed and bucked against my fingers as I rode out my orgasm, I would open my eyes wide and stare deeply into the blackest eyes I’d ever seen.
The whole thing was absurd. I knew there was no way he, a De Luca or not, would be able to get into our room, during the day or night, but each morning a mixture of disappointment and relief would battle for position. Those were the hardest days, because I knew that without a doubt Salvatore would somehow be able to feel the need I had to be close to him and would ride out to the beach. Even after allowing myself to wander down to the edge of the water to be as close in proximity as I knew we could be, eventually I had to make my way back up the worn path, meaning he was once again out of my sight. As the day wore on and believing he was still close by, I would feel the strong pull of the connection between us, until once again my knickers were soaked with need.
This year our long, late summer holiday was beginning to affect my sanity.
No more romance books for you. That’s it!
They had to be the cause of my newly found desires. When I wasn’t revising for exams, I’d managed to snag a few Mills and Boons books from our cook, Gaia. They’d helped to fill in the missing pieces of my sexual education. I knew all the biological terms for sex, and what was required to procreate, but those tattered, dog-eared paperback books with their turned over corners marking the favourite pages of other readers, taught me so very much more. By torchlight under my bedclothes, my heart and body reacted to the descriptions of love and lust. More importantly, they’d taught this cossetted catholic girl not only how it would feel to experience the touch of a man, but how much more intense the experience could be when love was also involved. As I lost myself into the written words of the author, Salvatore’s face was always the male protagonist I pictured inside my head.
‘Serafina.’ Our mum’s voice sounded as the door to our bedroom was opened wide, making me jump. ‘Time to get ready.’ I heard the smile in her voice and felt a cold shiver of apprehension work its way down my spine.
* * *
A small group of girls and their families were gathered outside, as my carriage arrived on the cobbles in front of our destination. Their joy and excitement as they anticipated what was to come, was palpable. But it was the laughter and camaraderie I could hear coming from the side of the building that caught my ear and I turned my head a little to the right to catch sight of who was making the noise. On the steps that led up to the roads above the church, I could see the dark grey and black suits of the boys who were also taking their first communion.
See? Relax. Everyone is happy.
I gave myself a quick pep talk and accepted my papa’s hand to disembark the highly sprung carriage.
For no apparent reason, the dread and apprehension I’d been feeling all day slipped away.
I didn’t think I’d ever seen my papa looking as proud, as he’d helped me down from the horse-drawn vehicle he’d hired especially for me and him to travel in. But then, as he’d fallen to his knees in front of me and taken both my hands in his to kiss each of them in turn, I knew I had also never felt so powerful.
The Ndrangheta were among the most feared men on earth, but standing there in my finery, I caught a glimpse of how persuasive a strong Italian woman could be.
‘You are beautiful, Serafina, never forget who you are and how much your family love you.’ His rich voice drifted up to me as he stood up once again in front of me and took hold of my face with both of his hands, before proffering a kiss on each of my cheeks.
‘Thank you, Papa.’
‘You look good, Serafina.’ I watched as Alessio walked past me with his suit jacket hooked on one finger over his shoulder.
‘Very pretty.’ Dante nodded his head just the once at me as he rushed past to catch our older brother up.
