Page 93 of Third Degree

There was a long pause on the other line.

“Okay. So tell me about what you did after the event that happened here.”

I laughed and told her what we were up to, leaving out the, erm, explicit details.

I told her about the hotel in Chicago. I told her about the house he bought me but purposefully did not say where it was in case my father was also somehow listening in on the call. Finally, I ended by telling her my plan to make Elio an Italian feast for dinner.

“You sound so incredibly happy.” I could tell that she was smiling.

“I truly am, Mamma,” I replied, a sense of urgency lacing my words. Swiftly, I felt compelled to elaborate further, to clarify my feelings. “I want you to know that when I saw Elio on the day of the wedding, my surprise stemmed more from the fact that he hadn’t told me about the arrangement with Papa. But ever since I first met him at eighteen, I had this innate certainty that he was the one for me.”

A pause lingered between us, pregnant with unspoken thoughts.

“I knew it. Your father did too,” my mother finally spoke, her voice laden with a mix of admiration and disbelief. “For a Made family to allow their daughters any form of independence is practically unheard of. What your father did for you—”

“What Elio did for me,” I interjected, my voice firm yet filled with an undercurrent of gratitude.

She amended, “Yes, you are right, cara. What Elio did for you at just eighteen is beyond extraordinary. There were moments when I yearned to be in your position, but I became pregnant with you before I even turned twenty. I admit I sometimes act without thinking, but my love for you is boundless. I care deeply about your happiness.”

“I know, Mamma,” I responded, my voice brimming with empathy. I understood the complexities that had shaped her, the sacrifices she had made.

“Tell me more about what you have planned for later today for him,” she quickly changed the subject, her voice betraying hints of vulnerability.

“I think we’ll have a quiet evening at home, nothing extravagant.” I hesitated for a moment before continuing, my voice tinged with longing. “And when we settle down here, I would love for you to come and visit.”

Deep down, I knew that without my father’s consent, such a visit would never be allowed, especially for my mother alone. He held an iron grip over her life, exerting control at every turn.

“I would love to,” she replied, a bittersweet undertone coloring her words, aware that her wish would likely never come to fruition.

“Okay, I should get going.”

“Please call again soon, cara.”

“Of course, Mamma.”

“Make sure to pass along my birthday wishes to Elio,” she murmured, her attempt at reaching out evident in her words. A tug of mixedemotions pulled in my chest.

“I promise,” I assured her, our conversation drawing to a close. With renewed focus, I returned to the task at hand, skillfully scrambling eggs, the bacon sizzling, and the fragrant coffee brewing.

It wasn’t more than a half hour later that I felt Elio’s presence before I heard him.

I was still in his oversized tee from the night before and when I looked over at the bottom of the staircase, he had on a pair of joggers and nothing else.

“What are you doing up already? I missed you in bed.” He then looked at me with a face of concern after glimpsing the spread I had prepared. “Wait, you did go to sleep last night, right? No insomnia?”

Oh. That was fucking cute. It was weird to have someone worry about me and my mental health.

“No insomnia.” I looked behind me, where I had hung a very small Happy Birthday banner I’d picked up from the store yesterday. “Happy birthday?” I half questioned while he looked at me like I had the day wrong. “Happy birthday.” I tried again, this time way more certain that somehow, I had gotten the date wrong all these years. “It is your birthday, isn’t it?”

I looked around like suddenly the clock was going to tell me I was correct or something. He walked over to me and then wrapped his deliciously large arms behind my back to dip down for a kiss.

“Yes, it is my birthday,” he murmured into my ear before pressing one more kiss onto my forehead.

“Okay, then why did you look at me like I was losing my freaking mind?”

“Amore, no one has celebrated my birthday with me in fifteen fucking years.”

“But you are fifty!” I exclaimed, knowing that this was somehow a new decade, but instead, he returned my sentiment with a groan.

---