Owning the Mafia Don

Proserpina

I took to spending time on the comfortable rocking chair on the bluestone patio. My eyes followed my children, Ria and Piers as they played on the wide lawn. Little Claude was on the grass, a nanny beside him. Sophie’s nephew Paddy was with the twins and I could see the way Piers was protectively helping him, trying to make him understand the game of chase they were playing.

I smiled. I was now in my first trimester and although it had been relatively smooth sailing till now, I was suddenly finding it difficult. The morning sickness had returned with a vengeance. Sleeplessness as well, which kept me tossing and turning. I would sometimes get up in the middle of the night and steal down to the kitchen for a cup of tea.

Yes, tea.

I smiled to myself.

I had discovered that I enjoyed tea. Especially flavoured tea, the masala chai I had first tasted when I was in Bhutan.

Last night, I had been doing the same when Sophie trailed in, looking concerned and vaguely unhappy.

“Please Sophie, do not bother to wake up because of me,’ I implored her but with a tight smile, she had sunk onto one of the wooden chairs opposite me and sat watching me.

Something about her attitude bothered me.

***Content © provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

It was now three weeks since we had shifted to the house. Three weeks and except for a terse conversation every evening with Lucien, we were as far away from him as we would have been if we had been on the moon.

Yes, he made regular video calls to speak to the children every day without fail, listening to Ria chatter on for a long while. But when I took the phone, he would immediately have a shuttered look on his face. Excuses on how busy he was, how he had to leave for someplace or the other; in short, he did not talk to me. At first, I had believed him. But slowly and surely, a sense of unease crept up in me.

He did not want to talk to me.

It was also increasingly obvious that he was drinking heavily.

When he was speaking to me, I would notice the bloodshot eyes, the slightly glazed look on his face. The evasiveness in his demeanour.

And my worst suspicions were coming true.

***

Tony Beston and his boys had turned up. A more than reticent Beston which made me feel puzzled. He sometimes looked at me with a mixture of pity and regret in his eyes and I had caught the look on his face on more than one occasion.

There had been another surprise in store for the children.

Ria had whooped with joy to see her old friend, Philippe , the gardener’s son and his family who had also been transplanted.

The shy looking lanky youngster had grinned disarmingly and hung back awkwardly when she had rushed to him and thrown her arms around him, impulsively. I had smiled, feeling glad that Lucien had thoughtfully arranged for the family to be brought here; he knew that Philippe was Ria’s loyal friend.

Her lackey, more appropriately, Lucien used to say drily.

The entire family and the ground staff who had been with us in our house in Hollowford were housed in the old buildings at the edge of the sprawling estate.

We had also adopted a family of stray cats. The kids were definitely settling in.

But my relationship with the man I loved was strained. He did not seem to want to talk to me. The conversation was clipped; he was actually, I thought in confusion, actually trying to shut me out of his life!

A few almost disinterested queries about my health, whether I had met the doctor he had vetted for me, but it all seemed to be as though he was going through the motions. Not like a man who was interested genuinely. He was always in a hurry to cut the conversation short by the time Ria handed over the phone to me. Either he was going somewhere or someone was waiting or he had some important tasks to do. The excuses were becoming too predictable for comfort.

When I asked him finally, exasperated beyond belief, if he was planning to come down to meet us anytime during the following week, he answered curtly,

“My work is not your run of the mill business, Woman. I need to settle some matters.’

He had cut the call abruptly and I had sat for a while, taken aback by the rude reply.

I was beginning to feel lonely and unwanted.

If I attempted to call him after the kids were in bed, he would not respond.

That hurt me.

Was he not happy because I was expecting our fourth child? I asked myself, the sense of unworthiness growing within me.

Physically, I was feeling awful but I did not share my problems with anyone. I had been to the doctor, under heavy escort, of course. Studying me quizzically, the doctor had said that it would be nice if my husband spent some time with me.

I had smiled wearily.

I was plagued by heartburn and general tiredness. My lower back ached. My breasts were sore and swollen. I felt like a mess and looked like one too, I thought gloomily.

I have to stop this, no more babies, I told myself wretchedly.

***

Sophie was staring at me now.

Not a friendly look at all. Grimacing inwardly, I wondered what was wrong with her. I had enough on my hands to worry about another mole in my life!

I frowned slightly. I was getting to be sick and tired of thinking of other people’s feelings.

Finally, I snapped.

“Is something wrong?’ I asked wearily, pushing the tendrils of hair that had escaped from my heavy braid., wrapping my hands around the mug of steaming , fragrant masala tea I had set before me.

Sophie shook her head.

***

Sophie wanted to dislike this young woman, this girl-woman with the beautiful brown doe-eyes that seemed to hide a hidden sorrow.

But she could not.

She simply could not.

Proserpina was one of the nicest people she had met. Genuinely nice at that.

She treated Paddy with real affection, going out of her way to make the food the little boy liked, treating Paddy like one of her own children. Paddy adored her, following Proserpina around, sitting on her bed, watching intently when she was tapping away on her laptop, sitting on a stool beside her when she was in the kitchen, preparing food. She would scoop him into her arms, hugging and crooning to him like she did wither children, making no difference whatsoever. If her children were eating chocolate truffles, so was Paddy.

He tagged her everywhere and Proserpina did not seem to mind.

It almost made Sophie jealous but she knew that her nephew was loved and that made her feel charitable.

Now she studied the younger woman curiously. Even with dark circles beneath her eyes, she was beautiful.

Before she could help herself, she blurted,

“Is there something going on between you and Schwartz?’