Control

The clothes I had pulled from the dresser in the bedroom clung to my body in all of the right places. Deodorant, shampoo, conditioner, and some other bathroom products were hid under the sink. A blow dryer, curling iron, and hair straightener were tucked away in the towel closet. There was even make-up tucked away in the top drawer of the dresser. Even though the tone would have matched my skin, I set it back in its place.

Hours had passed since I had left Luca in the kitchen. Through my two hour bath, I didn’t hear any footsteps down the hallway. There was no low murmur of his voice. It was like he had disappeared with the loud thud I had heard earlier.

It was around six-thirty when I had finally spent enough time pampering myself. Pulling my bedroom door open, I walked into the hallway and let the vacant air of the home send chills down my spine.

The eerie silence was a clear indication that Luca had left.

Part of me wanted to run. I knew staying here would cause more trouble between us. I knew he had this deep misunderstanding and hatred toward me. His out burts and strong words were overplayed already. He knew that I was trustworthy, he knew I was harmless.

Deep in thought, I wandered into the large kitchen and took the time to admire its beautiful design. It was a kitchen straight from an Architectural Digest magazine. Everything looked brand new and polished, even after he had cooked and messed things up.

I wandered over to the fridge as a gurgling noise erupted from my stomach. My eyes ran over a few things until they landed on a package of chopped meat and italian sausage. Grabbing the packages, I set them down on the counter and thought back to the many summers I spent cooking with my grandmother.

She would always use a veal and italian sausage mix to make her meatballs, and they were always so good. They were my father's favorite. He always said they came out the best when Nonna and I made them together.

“I’m sure they would be good with ground beef,” I mumbled to myself as I walked around the kitchen, opening cabinet doors and rummaging through things. I figured if Luca was really as Italian as he expresses, he should have every ingredient needed for sauce, or in my father's words, red gravy.

Furrowing my eyebrows as I peered into a cabinet full of spices, “why can’t I stop thinking about you.” I could feel the sadness tugging at my heart strings as I grabbed a few dried italian spices and shut the cabinet door.

“Is this little mafia princess going to have tomatoes, basil, and garlic?” I chuckled to myself as I walked over to the other edge of the counter and started sorting through different containers and bags full of vegetables. Near the end, I found a large bag of tomatoes, a head of garlic, and a bag of fresh basil. He must have someone with a garden, because it was fresh cut from a plant.

Holding the basil in my hand, I thought back to my dad going into the kitchen every morning before work. He would make a cup of coffee, water the herb plants, and then make me scrambled eggs and tell me a story from his childhood.

He repeated himself some days, but I would always listen like it was the first time I heard it.

Tears pricked my eyes as I looked down at the ingredients and kitchen utensils laid out on the counter. Vision blurring, I pressed the back of my hands into my eyes and let out a heavy sigh. I was tired of being so emotional. I was tired of crying every few hours for the last two days. This wasn’t who I was. The little italian girl that needed to watch her mouth, that was me.

This mess wasn’t me.

With a heavy sigh, I shook my head and pushed my hair behind my ears as I grabbed the tomatoes and set them down on the cutting board. “Why am I cooking for him?” I asked myself as I grabbed a knife and started to cut them up. “He’s a short fuse. A bipolar short fuse,” I felt anger surge of my spine and then disappear.

“We aren’t doing this, Andrea.” I hissed at myself as I set a large pot on the stove and covered the bottom in olive oil. Turning the heat on, I gave my cheek a light slap. “He doesn’t matter. Make it through these days, take the money, and start over.” Nodding to myself, I continued to cut up the tomatoes.

“Start over and make dad proud.”

- - - - - - - - - - -

The clock read eight thirty-four when I had finally turned off the stove. The meatballs were cooked perfectly, the sauce came out identical to the way my Nonna had used to make it, and the pasta was taken off the heat and drained at just the right time. Not too hard, not too soft.

Humming to myself, I grabbed a plate from the cabinet and set it down on the island. Over the last two hours, I had managed to figure out where every utensil, bowl, plate, pot, cup, and kitchen gadget was located. Now that everything was done, I found a nice serving bowl and some glass containers for the leftovers.

Scooping some penne onto my plate, I went to dip the spoon into the pot of sauce when the front door of the apartment whipped open and then slammed shut. Letting out a gasp, I dropped the spoon onto the floor and pressed myself against the counter.

My heart was racing as fast footsteps sounded down the hallway. They weren’t the slow rhythm I was used too, they weren’t his. As panic washed over me, I dipped my hand into the sink and grabbed a knife with my shaky hands. Holding the handle tightly, I snapped my eyes to the entrance of the hallway.

Seconds later, the brunette appeared, his eyes wide as he whipped his head to the side, a few pieces of his normally perfectly styled hair falling out of place. “Did anyone knock on the door, Andrea?” Luca asked sternly, his bright eyes locking on mine. When I didn’t answer, he slammed his hand against the wall causing my whole body to shake. “Answer me, Andrea.”

Heart crawling up my throat, I tightened my fingers, feeling the handle of the knife press into my palm. When the pain was too much, I let the knife go and pulled my hands up in front of me, seeing the dark red lines from the sharp angles of the handle.

“Andrea!” His voice boomed through the kitchen, striking a nerve deep within my skin.

“No, Luca!” I screamed back at him, anger pulsing through my veins. “I’ve been locked in this house torturing myself and cooking.” I looked down and noticed the spoon on the floor surrounded with small spatters of sauce. Sucking in a deep breath, I bent down, grabbed the spoon, and then turned to the sink.

As soon as I turned the faucet on, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Shrugging it off, I washed off the spoon and then grabbed the towel, drying it off. Turning from him, I walked back over to my plate and sighed. I just wanted to go back to bed, I just wanted to be alone again. I wanted the peace I had.

“Do you want a plate?” The question set an accidental tension in the air. I knew changing the subject with the brunette was never a good idea, but I was tired of the rollercoaster of emotions. I didn’t want to fight with him. I was depleted, my head was pounding with the ache of starvation and the torture of the memories I had tried so desperately to vanish from behind my eyes. I wanted a cigarette I knew I shouldn't have. I wanted to mindlessly scroll through a social media app and lose myself for hours.

“It smells great,” Luca whispered.

“It’s my grandma’s recipe. You know Italian Grandma’s and cooking.” I gave the brunette a half smile and then turned back to the food. Grabbing a plate, I went to grab the spoon when his large hand fell on mine. As I inspected the colorful designs running over his skin, I felt the front of his body press into the back of mine.

“Go sit, I can make myself a plate.” Luca hummed into my ear, making every nerve under my skin explode. With a small sigh, I nodded and grabbed my plate. Walking over to the Island in the kitchen, I sat down on the stool and set my plate down. As I looked up. I watched as the man piled food onto his plate and then turned to me.

His forest green eyes were locked on mine almost instantly. The calm color they had turned made a fire in the pit of my stomach ignite. I had looked at him so many times in the last handful of hours. I had felt his lips graze across my skin. I had thought about ripping all of his clothes off, but I had never felt this type of fire, these type of butterflies.

Luca set his plate down in the spot next to me along with two wine glasses. As he turned from me, he walked over to a large door along the wall and pulled it open. Peering over, I watched as he looked through a couple bottles of wine before he grabbed a red and shut the door.

“You’re going to regret showing me where that wine fridge is,” I shot him a shy smile and watched as the ends of his lips pulled up into a genuine smile.

“Oh, a true Italian woman.” Luca laughed as he set the bottle down in front of me and then pulled a drawer open. As he looked down, I ran my eyes over him a few thousand times and felt the fire in my stomach radiate to every nerve in my body.

Letting out a small sigh, I caught the brunettes cheeks tint a light red as he glanced up at me and then went back to directing his attention to finding whatever he was looking for.

Was he blushing? Was he blushing at… me?

“My dad gets this imported from Naples.” Luca grabbed my glass and carefully poured the red liquid until it was about halfway full. “Let me know if you like it, I can-”

“I’m not picky,” I chuckled as I grabbed the glass from his hands, letting his fingers graze mine. Biting back the smile that tried to force its way onto my lips, I put the rim of the glass to my lips and tilted it back.

As soon as the liquid hit my tastebuds, the smile I had been trying to hide appeared on my lips. I hadn’t had wine this good since I visited Italy with my father when I was 14. Memories started to flood back into my head. The time I had spent with my father and his family in Italy. The sites and the food. The way he introduced me to all of his family members. The way he was so proud of me at such a young age.

“You there, topolina”

Luca was sitting next to me now, his scent filling my senses as soon as I fell back into reality. Shaking my head a little, I looked down and grabbed my fork. Stabbing a few pieces of pasta, I picked then up and looked over. The bright green eyes were locked on me as he smiled.

“You’re cute when you space out.” Luca whispered as he turned back toward his food and continued eating.

Without another word, Luca and I sat there eating and drinking our wine. When both of our plates were finished, Luca stood up and grabbed them, placed them into the sink, and then grabbed the bottle of wine. As he filled up both of our glasses again, he looked up at me and went to speak when a loud knock sounded at the door.

I watched as he calm green eyes hardened. Every muscle in his face was tense as his eyes darted to me, and then down the hall to the door. Sucking in a deep breath, he looked down and then put the cork into the wine.

“Go to you room, please.”

Without a word, I grabbed my wine glass and stood up from the stool. Sucking in a deep breath, I looked over at Luca and gave him a small smile. “Thank you.” I hummed and before I could see his reactions to the words, I headed down the hallway and into my room.

As soon as I shut the door, I turned the small piece on the knob to lock the door, then walked over to the same spot Luca had found me this morning and sat down. Setting the glass down next to me, I pulled my knees into my chest and listened as the loud voices boomed through the kitchen.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I pressed my forehead into my kneecap and shut my eyes. I didn’t want to hear what they had to say. I didn’t want to know if it was about me. I didn’t know who they were killing or what they were planning.

I just wanted to see his forest green eyes scan over me like I meant something.