“Hmm, I think this nude hue has potential. Turn for me,” I said as my hard-on fought like a wild animal to burst free from my pants.
“How’s this?” Ella did a little turn. Her form made my mouth dry.
“Oooh, this is a fabulous mirror, Tarzan. Shall we take it for a test run?” She hopped onto the marble slab, the cold stone sending shivers up her spine, making her nipples hard and dark. I took one nipple into my mouth as I stepped out of my pants. Ella was so sexy. She opened her legs, making space for me to move in between them. The sight of her beautiful sex made my shaft ache.
My pulse raced as I slid into her with a sense of urgency. The sensation of pushing her against the tiles with every stroke got me hot and bothered. I could see our reflection in the mirror, her body moving perfectly with mine. I lifted her off the counter and carried her to the wall opposite the mirror. My back was turned to the mirror.
“Open your eyes, my sex bomb,” I whispered. “Look.”
Ella opened her sleepy eyes and watched my body in the reflection of the mirror as I drove myself fast and hard into her. The delicious sight made her come quickly. Her orgasm exploded as I held her up, driving, pushing, and rocking. When she was satisfied, I put her down on the floor, bent her over the counter, and drove hard into her until I came with a groan.
“And that’s just the bathroom,” she gasped. “I can’t wait for the other rooms to be complete.”
“Why do you think I designed such a big house, my sweet?”
ELEANORA
The house was finally ready for us to move into. It was spectacular. A gatehouse, tennis court, swimming pool, billiard room, wine cellar, outdoor entertainment room, the works. We were ready to host our parents in style. I couldn’t wait.
Joe’s parents would come to visit in three weeks’ time and my parents a week before that. We also invited Mario and Franco to stay with us, and naturally, Fabio and Bria would visit too. The preparations were going well. I had appointed the best staff available, some from Sicily and a few local people. The wine cellar was filled with everyone’s favorite, and the whiskey bottles were stacked up beside the racks. We were ready! Queue parents!
Three days before my parents were scheduled to arrive, the phone rang at three o’clock in the morning. Joe answered. He listened and waited a while before he answered.
“What is it, my love?” I waited for him to turn to me and answer. He spoke briefly to the caller and hung up. “Joe? What’s wrong?”
“Come here, my darling,” he said as he put his arms around me.
“What!”
“Darling, I’m so sorry. Your father had another heart attack.”
“Oh, my god. Is he okay?”
“No, my love. I’m so sorry. He passed away.”
I remember hearing a guttural sound escape my lips as I screamed at the top of my lungs. Joe held onto me tightly as I tried to get up.
“Shhh, my love. Shhh. I’ve got you.”
“No! No!”
JOE
Ella lay crying hard like a small child in my arms. I held her for the longest time. When she went quiet, I took her face in my hands and kissed her on her eyelids. “I’m so sorry, my love. I’ll make traveling arrangements immediately to get us back to Sicily. Pack a few things. I’ll do everything else. I love you, my Ella.”
I called Fabio and Bria. They were at our home within half an hour. Bria went upstairs to help Ella pack, while Fabio and I took care of the traveling arrangements. The four of us flew out of Florida that evening at eight o’clock. My Ella hardly spoke the whole way there.
Mario and Franco met us at the airport and took us straight to Alicia’s home.
ELEANORA
My heart ached. Seeing my mother’s face caused me physical pain. She fell apart in my arms as I held her. I tried not to cry—I had to be strong for her. Joe’s parents came to be with us. Bella made sure everyone was fed, and Antonio took care of the funeral arrangements and the wake. The house was a hive of activity, friends and family, in and out. But amid the comings and goings, a chasm of silence surrounded my mother and me.
My overwhelming emotion was guilt. Guilt for not being there to say goodbye to my father, the man I adored, my rock. Guilt for not being there for my mother when she needed me most. So much guilt. The days preceding the funeral, I locked myself away in his study, surrounding myself with his smell, his books—all the things that reminded me of my hero.
I paged through old photo albums of us on family holidays, laughing and exploring. Too soon we grow and leave home. We never understand the void we, as children, leave in the hearts of our parents when we grow up and live our own lives. It took me many years after the death of my father to forgive myself. But at that moment, I was a mess.
“Come eat something, my darling.” My mother stood at the door to the study. She watched as I surrounded myself with everything Giovani.
“I’m not hungry, Mama.”
“Come, let’s have some coffee. I could use a break. How about you?”
I understood my mother’s need for the familiar. I went downstairs with her, and together, we sat at the kitchen table we’d spent so many years at.
“Mama, did Papa say anything before he died?”
“He did, my sweet. He told me that his girls had made
