You're dead to me

Chapter fifty-two: Infertility

Infertility

My eyes are widened with horror. The cake is about two and a half meters high and is covered in white fondant with pearls on it. But that is not what everybody's attention got. With big rosa fondant letters, the word Infertility was placed right below the number twenty on the top of the cake. My throat goes dry and my lung squeeze together.

Giovanni hasn't said a word until now, he turns aggressively to his father with clenched fists.

"What is this?". His teeth are grinding together and no one dares to speak up. The guests look at me with shock and confusion. "What? Oh...this?". Mr. De'Bardi steps to the cake and smiles. "Does somebody wants a peace of cake?". I hear myself gulping down whatever vomit wants to come out of me right now. But the shock is replaced by an angry version of me. I am so sick of being punished and to be thrown to one side and another like some weird pic.

I grab the plate from the table and my gold cutlery setting. With a genuine grin on my face, I walk up to him and hold out my empty plate. Mr-De'Bardi checks me out with a furrowed forehead. That's exactly what I try to achieve. I plump my red lips together and nudge him a little. "Me please, I am the birthday girl so I shall receive the first slice of cake". Everyone observes this absolutely weird conversation between me and my father in law. I tab my eyelashes at him a nod, then he cuts a peace.

I interrupt him.

"Oh no, not this one, it looks way to boring. I want the peace with infertility on it". His head jerks back to me and I hear Giovanni pull out his chair out of his way, but my attention is bundled on his father.

"Fine". He grits out and cuts the word away and hands me my full plate of a massive slide of cake. With large steps I reach the table again and sit down, take my fork and pierce through the layers of dough. As soon as the peace is chewed by me, I look around again. "Wow it taste wonderfully, doesn't it Giovanni?". I playfully lick my lips and it seems that only a half of the people got the joke.

"Why are y'all still staring? Please help yourself and take a slice, it really tastes good!". I encourage the others and slowly the crowd gets into chatter again and plates get filled with cake. When everyone is seated again and Mr.De'Bardi talks hesitantly with his wife, I get up and leave the room. In the corner of my eye I see Theresia with father and mother at the end of the other head of the table. I snort. Typical shit, Mr. De'Bardi likes to control even the fucking seating situation. I push open the women's restroom door with my shoulder and stroke into the dark marble room.

With both of my arms, I support myself on the sink and let my head drop between my shoulders. I feel like I've just eaten straight up shit. My stomach feels sick and I guess it wasn't the best idea to eat that word, putting it into my body where there real problem is living inside of me. I sigh frustrated and hold my head. Sweat is glistening on my skin and I feel like I am about to dream head to the floor. The cold marble under my palm is a comfortable balance between the heat I make my body go through. At least that fucking word is gone from the cake and no pairs of eyes are still staring at it and connect the dots with me.

"Take a wet towel and press it to your forehead". A voice stern appears from the entrance of the women's restroom. I fix the person with my gaze through the mirror.

Of course, who else would step into a private room to help me out?

Giovanni leans against the doorframe and studies my acting.

"Haven't you eaten anything today?". I scoff and laugh. "You should've known, because you have trapped me in that room to make your eyes like what they're seeing, I hope I made your fucking ego proud". No reaction whatsoever.

But on the other hand, I already should've known that, it ain't typical for Giovanni to jump into emotion.

"When you've nothing else to say, please leave".

"In fact I do". He pushes himself off the frame and walks up to the towels, he grabs one and wetness it. With his large veiny hand he grabs my chin forcefully and presses the towel on my head. I remain silent and wait for his saying.

"In Japan". He starts and stops again. "I'm listening".

"I've met Sal and he confronted me that you're not safe in my childhood home. He said there is a threat lingering around you and at first I thought he's stalking about Eden, who I have known, is living under the same room. But as soon as he said Francesco, my heart fell to the ground and I stormed out of the restaurant to catch the next flight home. Caroline you have to believe me that I didn't knew anything about Francesco's outburst. I would have never agree to the arrangement from my father".

My eyes look straight ahead. "There is something else". He mumbles and drops the grip on my face. My hand crawls up to the towel and lays it onto the sink next to me.

He takes a step back and pulls something out of his suit pocket.

I watch him opening a velvet box. I gasp at the sight of it.

My ring...

I remembered the day I threw it under the furniture in our home, angry at him and this fucked up marriage. He takes my cold hand in his warm ones. He slides the ring onto my ring finger and closes the box. "I found it under the wardrobe and...". He drifts off and sinks his eyes into mine. "Caroline, ...please never never take it off". A few seconds apply and then I notice that he's wearing one too.

"You have a ring on?". He looks down on ur intertwined fingers and nods, tracing his tip along the golden loop. "I thought you wanted me to wear one too". He's right, I wouldn't want a husband with no ring, no sign of marriage and commitment to me on his hand.

I really wanted to kiss him but so much still feels weird and wrong between us, it's like fog lingers between us and blurs our love for each other. Fuck it feels like we are at day one again, despite what words were exchanged between us night after night.

"Thank you for that". I mean both of the rings, no words seem to come out of my mouth. He comes closer and wraps his hands around my cheeks. His lips briefly brush mine and we stay like that, forehead on forehead.

"Happy birthday belissima". A sting of tears prick my closed eyes.