Taste of Italy

C H A P T E R e i g h t e e n

                                                                               . . .

     When did relationships become difficult? It was something that made Iris ponder what life was like, what it was about. She would think about the what if's on the past: Were people always nervous when they confronted a lover, even if they were in an arranged marriage? Was love and relationships always so special like it was now?

As she sat in the car, being driven to Dante's beautiful mansion once again, she wondered why it was so hard to keep someone in your grip, wrapped around your little fingers.

Jane turned her head to look at her sister as they made a wide turn on the freeway. "You have to face him," she said, breaking the silence. "Tell him how you feel, how age is just a number."

"But what if I can't?" Iris couldn't motivate herself at all to tell a man she's looked up to for years how she felt about him. How it wasn't just his work that made her fall head over heels. It was himself. His actual character, him as a human being. How could she spit the words out and deliver them without much trouble? "What if he just hates me altogether? What then?"

"Then let him know that he's a dick-face and is losing someone that is wonderful and worth keeping." Kelly, from the backseat, leaned forward and began breathing harshly on Iris's shoulder blades. Iris rolled her eyes at the thought of her little sister not wearing a seat belt. Did no one care about safety?

"Exactly! You both had a wonderful time together, and it did look like he was into you. So it makes no sense why he's being a jerk now. You need to confront him and ask why."

Iris just nodded, not wanting to talk any longer. Her nerves couldn't calm down as her heart pounded against her chest with anxiety. How can I say these things? What if he just sends me away? Maybe it would be worth it if he does so?

Her eyes glanced out of the window and watched everything pass by.

                                                                                     . . . . .

The car stopped in the round-about driveway, in front of the house. Iris took a few moments to regain her strength; she looked at the building and remembered what it had been like when she was last here. When they were about to sleep together.

"Any minute now . . ." Jane teased, staring wide-eyed at her sister in the passenger seat. "Just go!"

Iris took a deep breath and got out, closing the door when she stood on the gravel. "I'm insane," she whispered, walking over to the front door. "I'm insane."

With a sigh, she knocked on the door and took a few steps back. Her eyes stared in front of her, full of fear and questions that burned the back of her mind. What if he's just going to turn me away? What if he's going to tell me that he hates me and that everything was a sham? Oh come on, Iris! Why are you setting yourself up for heartache?

After a moment, the door slowly opened to reveal the woman from the last time Iris was here. The woman's brunette hair was now up in a perfect, twisty pin-up and the eyelids above her brown eyes were glazed with black eyeshadow and making an outstanding cat winged eyeliner.

Jealousy instantly crawled on the tips of Iris's skin.

"May I help you?" she said, her accent sounding thin. The woman leaned against the side of the wall.

"I was wondering if Dante was here?"

The woman's eyebrows shot up for a moment, then went back to its resting place. "He isn't here."