The Body #1: Santo and Fiorella

Chapter 2 (Fiorella): Right On Time

I'd feigned sleep when Santo had gotten out of bed in the morning. Normally, he'd kiss my shoulder, and I'd turn to him and then he'd kiss me on the lips...maybe more, depending on how much time he had before he had to go into work...but today he got out of bed without disturbing me. Lack of interest now that he had a pregnant mistress with a baby on the way or was he respecting my wish for him not to touch me?

Either way, it didn't matter. I'd spent the night on my left side, my back to him, right at the very edge of the mattress. Had I fallen asleep, I probably would have tumbled off the bed. But sleep didn't come, and I spent the entire night with tears silently leaking from my eyes, planning my way forward and thinking about the pregnant woman just down the hall carrying my husband's baby. 

While it was known that Body men often moved their mistresses into their homes -- it was actually considered a status symbol -- it was extremely rare that she became pregnant. Pregnancy would interfere with the man's pleasure, so mistresses were obsessively careful not to become pregnant. That's what wives were for.

We even had a saying for it: bambini per le mogli, piacere per l'amante. Basically babies for the wives, pleasure for the mistress.

The minute I heard the bathroom door shut this morning, I leapt out of bed and went to his dresser and took the watch I'd given him yesterday. I wasn't quite sure what to do with it; all I knew was I didn't want him to have it. Santo didn't get to wear a gift from me that had Love, Fiorella on it. He didn't deserve it. I also opened the bedroom door a tiny bit. As if someone had come into the room.

My mother would have scolding words for me -- not getting up to cook your husband's breakfast  and make his coffee was a cardinal sin in this world. Well, call the priest and he could hear this sinner's confession because I wasn't doing anything around the house unless Santo gave me a direct order. His little girlfriend could cook him his meals and see to his needs since she was carrying his baby.

Obviously I knew about this happening in our world since it was one of those widely-accepted facts of life. It was just the way it worked in the Body. Being married to a virtual stranger when she was only eighteen shouldn't interrupt the man's pursuit of true, not duty, pleasure. If the wives didn't like it, well...that was unfortunate. They just had to endure it and accept it because it was what her husband wanted.

A good wife accepted.

Accepted her husband's hours.

Accepted that her husband couldn't and wouldn't talk about his work.

Accepted that he'd move in another woman if he wanted. His mistress.

Accepted that, as the man's wife, you could be sharing a home with his puttana.

I thought about my mother's words I'd heard on repeat growing up.

You take care of your husband, Fiorella. Your purpose in life is to care for your husband and make sure his needs are met. And if he needs a mistress to make sure his needs are met, you accept that. Don't bring shame on your father and me, on your entire family, by not being a good wife. Never bring shame on us.

So, in theory, I'd known this was a possibility. But when it came down to it, I couldn't accept. I couldn't accept that he had moved his mistress into our home so soon after we were married. I couldn't accept that I wasn't satisfying him when I thought I had been. I couldn't accept that she had clearly become pregnant after we were married. I couldn't accept that he desired her above me and they'd been careless enough to get her pregnant.

Were all his words a lie? How many times after he'd had sex with me had he said Being with you like this is perfection, Fiorella. You feel like nothing else in the world.