Page 200 of Falling for the Wife

Against everything I had decided and my own will, I went ahead with the surgery. It could probably be due to the fact that another branch of my DNA was thriving with life in Kimberly’s womb, giving me a reason to fight for life.

The procedure took hours to finish with the help of four excellent neurosurgeons working to fix me up again. Normally, I would be against such madness and would argue that I needed only one, which was Vittorio, to do the job alone. However, the moment my father insisted on getting the best doctors to help and supervise for whatever unknown emergencies inside the operating room, I knew I had to appease him. I was his only child, his sole heir, so I didn’t want to add more stress on his already uncontainable blood pressure.

There was a sliver of hope in the back recesses of my mind, hoping that she would show up the moment she found out about me getting the procedure. And no matter how much I kept telling myself that I didn’t care if she showed herself or not, it hurt to realize how little I mattered to her on the days that passed without a word from her.

She had campaigned for this operation from the start, but I supposed I wasn’t all too relevant in her life any longer. Her absence was felt, and each day, it gave me another reason to keep on living, to keep on moving and live the life I’d had before I had met her, but with a mellowed out recklessness.

As a result, I lavished in the spotlight, the adored lifestyle, and seeking the company of my old friends, who had no idea of what I had gone through with Kimberly. She was my best kept secret, I supposed.

When Andrés addressed the issue at one point, I had to shut him down by telling him the woman was married, and since the baby would basically be taking Kimberly’s married name, I had no legal right to him or her. Besides, getting involved in such triviality would be too messy. Not only that, I wasn’t ready to have a kid at this point in my life.

He had given me a shrewd look, as if he doubted whatever lies I had fed him, but said no more. There was something about the way he nodded. It was like he knew the battle I was going through, so I need not explain myself. I was grateful for it since it was a hardship talking about it.

Thinking about her and the baby was difficult enough to do; could one imagine breaking it down to someone? It would kill me inside. It didn’t help that I was counting down the months until she gave birth. Not to mention, I didn’t even know the gender of the baby. I supposed it was safe to be in the dark about these things, because if I had found out the gender, I wouldn’t trust myself. I would get too attached—too everything—and I would most likely end up going to the baby store and buying every single thing that I saw in sight.

Every single time I thought about the baby, there was this deep-seated longing inside of me, an ache that kept gnawing at my heart.

The nights were lethally nostalgic. They triggered my weakest points. Therefore, to remedy this situation, I mostly went out at night, finding myself surrounded by people I trusted. I hadn’t thus far gotten involved with any women, though, because I wasn’t sure if I could perform. It wasn’t as if my cock had a malfunction, but my mind and the way it was wired for some insufferable reason made it to where I couldn’t get the engine roaring with other women. But haveherenter my mind at any given hour and my cock would stir without a problem.. Therefore, I left it be, not craving sex but merely other people’s company as I slowly built my confidence in myself and my resistance to all the bullshit this world shoved at me.

I was a wounded man who was pretending that everything was perfect. It was a wearisome façade that I had to keep on for the world to see. However, I believed someday it wouldn’t be a mask anymore, that someday I would be that carefree again.

In the next three weeks, I would be back on the racetracks amongst friends for a charity event. I had thought it a brilliant idea to slowly introduce myself back into the media.

That was one aspect of my life I could control. I had to relish it.

It was time to get back what I had lost.

Otto

KIMBERLY

It was before nine in the morning while I was making myself a ham and cheese sandwich when I felt the baby kick for the first time. Immediately, I tensed in sudden awe and surprise as my hand gently pressed against the spot where it had moved against my tummy. After a few seconds, there it was again, kicking in excitement, as if greeting me, as if letting me know he was alive and well.

Yes, it was a he … a baby boy. I was so overjoyed with the news that I cried for the entire day after learning the baby’s gender. It wasn’t an “it” any longer; he had a gender, forming into a beautiful creature who would greet me in the next few months. It was exhilarating as well as daunting, but I had never treasured anything more in my life than this precious life that was budding inside my belly.

Then, out of the blue, a random thought occurred to me. I had this sudden urge to seek Luca and share this precious moment with him. For weeks, I had known he would be at a charity event in Monza, so I had no doubt he would be there all day since the festivities for such things normally lasted until the wee hours of the morning. And, from what I had seen on the tabloids, he had gone back to his old ways.

He seemed happy enough, but rather much more serious than before. The easy, gorgeous smiles were few and far between these days. I supposed I had contributed to a lot of his sadness. What he had demanded and wished was something I couldn’t give him, and after I had learned a contract had been drawn up specifically for the baby’s benefit, I knew I was in trouble. I could only be thankful he had grown a conscience and withdrawn everything.

There were papers that still needed to be read, reviewed, and signed, but I hadn’t opened them yet. From what the lawyer had told me, it was a contract of how much the baby and myself were entitled to each month, and in the case of Luca’s death, the baby was legally the rightful heir of his family’s empire. It was all too much to take in, so I had decided to keep it somewhere safe, and I would get to it once I was ready, maybe when the baby was older.

According to the lawyer, there was no hurry, and I had no timeframe as to when I should submit it, so I could take all the time I needed to let it all sink in. I appreciated that kind gesture. I didn’t want to think about taking money from him, let alone when he was dead. Our baby might, though; it was his father, after all.

Sighing, I pushed away the thought of Luca and the newly made sandwich all in one gesture, seeming more convinced that I had to see him in Monza. It was risky, but there was something urgent that propelled me to go see him. Although it was odd and irrational, I knew I must, or I wouldn’t stop obsessing.

With my mind set on one task, I gathered what I needed before taking my old yet reliable Citroën that had seen better days. With butter cookies, Aranciata Pellegrino, and a few bottles of water, I was set to go for my drive to see Luca. Anton would probably wonder where I was, so I better not forget to text him when I arrived at my destination, hopefully in less than six hours’ time, depending on traffic.

It was drastic—I realized that—but it couldn’t be helped. The last time I had seen him … Well, that hadn’t gone the way I had planned it, and somehow everything seemed to have evaporated between us.

This event was his first after he had bravely gone through the operation, and I wanted to see him in action. Upon learning he had gone through with the surgery, I had often found myself in the hospital corridors, wanting to visit him. I never had the courage to see him, though, until now.

I hadn’t had a clue about racing, nor was interested in the sport until I had learned what Luca did for a living. Our relationship, if that was how one could consider the fourteen-day affair, was merely spent in and out of the bedroom, tiny cafes, and secluded restaurants. It wasn’t until after I had decided to leave him that I had learned who he was. From then on, I scraped whatever I could about him from the media and all the blogging outlets online.

Clearing my throat, I pressed the white glass coated button before giving it a command. “Directions to Monza, Italy, please.” With the use of Siri, the famed AI of Apple phones, I hoped to get to my intended destination, which was apparently in between Milan and Brianza. Since I hadn’t really been around these areas, I thought it great that I got to see another side of Italy, a country that had begun to root into my heart.

There was just something so different about the people here. I had never been in a place where the people were born proud of their history and culture. From their everlasting faith to their brilliant cars, they could talk about it all day long. It was endearing to be surrounded by people who believed the true meaning of home derived from the heart of a kitchen instead of a microwave. It was shocking to know that most people there didn’t even believe in such a thing, because they liked their food to be made from scratch. I couldn’t blame them. The food culture there was literally heaven on earth. It was the best I had ever had. Sure, my palette might not be all that sophisticated, but I knew good, amazing food, and they had it there.

In the very beginning, I was overwhelmed by it all. However, after months of living there, I felt as though I had become more familiar with it. I was more like a visiting cousin—close enough but not permanent. There was never a day I regretted temporarily moving there, even though things had panned out in such a crazy state. I still loved every single moment in the country. The society’s enthusiasm, its momentum, and their utter passion for little joys in life, such as coffee and the intricate process of how to make and take it as such, all made me smile. It was all an experience to take in, and I was still taking it all in months later.

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