La Donna

Five

I giggled quietly while dragging my lover into la Villa Agata under the cloak of night. I hushed his laughter as we drunkenly stumbled to the rose garden.
I had snuck out of the house whilst my guards were sleeping to go be with Michelangelo in a field. He brought the wine and I brought the conversation. We had been courting for nearly a month and couldn't stand to be apart.
Michelangelo pushed me up on the garden wall and muttered sweet nothings into my ear. I laughed softly between sighs, hums and coos for him to continue moving his lips from my ear down to my neck. I giggled and moaned at the sensation of his hips pressed against mine. One calloused hand rested on my waist whereas the other tugged at my lavender, floral-print dress, slowly finding its way to the hemline. I groaned into his shoulder the further up my skirt his hand got. It landed on the fabric of my underwear and balled it up in a fist. I didn't want him stop, but I knew that I'd gain a reputation here in Vicari. It was bad enough I was this close to him, let alone drunk.
I grabbed ahold of his forearm and removed his hand from beneath my dress.

"Patience, Michele, patience." I panted in his ear. "You'll get to have me soon enough." I teased and pulled him in for a passionate kiss.
"I want you now." He purred. "Bennie," He groaned my name. All of a sudden, I felt a dull object pushed against my thigh. This man was being honest with more than his words.
"I think it's time to say goodnight." I murmured.
"Please, Bennie. I need you. Just this once." He begged.
"Not before the wedding." I laughed quietly at his despair. I kissed him sweetly and sent him on his way.
"Buonanotte, La Bella." Michelangelo kissed me one last time before leaving the garden. I raced after him and kissed him again. I didn't really want him to leave, but I knew he had to.
"Ti amo, Michelangelo." I murmured and without skipping a beat, he replied in kind with a goofy smile carved onto his face.
"Ti amo, Benedetta."

[...]

Three weeks had gone by and that was our nightly ritual. I'd sneak out to see him, we'd get drunk, he'd walk me back to La Villa and we'd get hot and heavy against the garden wall. Some nights I'd press him on the wall, other nights it'd be me, and sometimes we'd fall on top of each other and laugh quietly like fools. On occassion, we wouldn't even make it to La Villa; we would roll around in the field.
As of today, as those nights of sneaking out are no longer necessary because we are getting married. My soon-to-be mother-in-law, Antonina, handmade my wedding dress from a picture she had seen in a magazine and rejected my want to wear a simple white sundress I had brought from America.
My wedding dress was white lace number. Everyone kept saying I looked beautiful, but it was too warm for this kind of nonsense. I put up with it though because there was no use in fighting with family.
The skirt was a long, A-line frame with an accompanying train. Antonina insisted on the train because then I could make baptism bonnets for when I have children. She also went ahead and made the dress with long-sleeves in order to preserve my modesty after I asked for sleeves that ended four fingers above my elbow.
Nearly all of my wants were rejected. My dress, my food choices, the cake; I only got to keep my shoes and my fiancé.

Michelangelo and I sat on our knees in front of the priest as he gave us our final blessing. He signed the cross over our heads and gestured for us to kiss. I turned toward my now-husband and acted as if we had stayed a hundred percent virtuous throughout the course of our courtship. We shared a soft peck and were met with cheers and candied almonds. Michelangelo and I walked hand-in-hand through town to Casa Campobello for the reception. A band of local musicians serenaded the townspeople during our parade.
My heart was so full of joy.

[...]

After the reception, Michelangelo followed me back to La Villa Agata. We decided that this would be our home since we were going to consummate the marriage here.
It was only right.

I stepped out of the bathroom in a sheer white lingerie robe and nothing else. My long chocolate hair was undone from the updo Antonina and Nonna demanded I have for the day. I moved toward the foot of the bed where my husband sat to present myself to him. I felt virginal with him rising to meet me. I had been celebate for all this time, I'm sure I had revirginized myself. God forgave me, my body forgave me, and my husband forgave me.
That was enough.
Michelangelo stood to match my posture. He was more relaxed with his white button-down undone and rolled up sleeves; exposing his bare chest and forearms. He cupped my cheek with one hand and kissed me slowly. I shuddered underneath his lips. It wasn't long before my covering was on the floor and I was on the bed. I got beneath the covers to tease him a little even though there was no point in it. My husband climbed on top of me after losing his shirt and shoes. He ripped away the sheets and admired my body for a few silent moments. His honey eyes became smoky with desire as he drank in my every curve and crevice. I breathed steadily and arched my back a tad to express how ready I was for him.
We returned to kissing and I couldn't help but think back to what Antonina said about her son.
Poor Filomena had to translate her mother's impure words.