Dipping Into Sin (a BWWM Alpha Male Romance) (13 page)

I
shouldn’t be here,
I repeated in my head—somehow trying to convince myself that being here was wrong. Deep down, I knew that she deserved so much more, and I hated myself for all of the pain that I caused her. I should have stayed away from her the moment I felt the unrelenting need to pursue her. It was love the whole time, and I confused it for lust. I thought that the more I fucked her, the quicker I will get bored with her. I should have never allowed our feelings to manifest into a love like this. She should have never been in this position. But I was selfish and wanted her, regardless. Her body shook as she cried. I’ve never seen her in this much pain, and it cut me deeper than I could imagine.

“Simone, are you ok?” asked Victoria.

“Victoria can you please give us a moment?” I asked sternly. She harbored tears in the midst of her eyes as well. For a moment, I felt as though she was going to fight me too, but she turned around and walked back to her car.

Simone looked up at me and attempted to push her body away from me—I held onto her tighter. Leaning down, I kissed her deeply, in an attempt to replace her hurt and pain. She kissed me back more intensely than I expected her to respond. She held onto me tightly, as our mouths mated. Breaking away from the kiss, in order to catch her breath, she attempted to free her body away from mine once again.

“I can’t do this with you, Andriano. I just can’t. You lied to me. We were never in a relationship. It was all a lie. I know that you are engaged to marry Josephine. I saw the invitation. You led me to believe that you and she were family friends. But all along, you were in a relationship with her. I was your dirty little secret. I was the woman that you didn’t want to bring around your family because I was not good enough. I was only good enough to fuck,” she said, with anger and hostility in her voice. Shoving her body free of mine, I reluctantly let her go.

“
Bella mia
—Simone, we were real. Our relationship was real. The love that we have for each other, even at this moment in time, is real. No other woman, but you, could make me feel powerless and free,” I helplessly confessed, as I held her arms tenderly in mid-air.

“Do you remember that morning when you left to go to your father’s house, and you ignored all of my calls and texts? I called you, and Josephine picked up your phone. Still I believed that it was a mistake and that you wouldn’t hurt me like that. But it wasn’t true for me until I saw you enter
The Land
with her. I called you and watched you send my call to your voicemail. You never loved me. You loved the distraction and the new pussy that you got from me. I was stupid enough to sleep with you unprotected. I wonder how many other women you’ve done this to,” she said, with a sarcastic chuckle.

Anger brewed deep within, as I shoved her onto the truck door, “You don’t know shit. Yes, I fucked up, but I never lied about my feelings for you. It was always you. No other woman could move me as much as you do. This is what you do to me,” I said, as I pressed my erection against her pelvic abdomen area.

“I could be with any other woman, but I fell hard for you! I love only you! Do you fucking hear me?” I shouted at her. “I fucking hate myself for falling in love with you! I hate myself for hurting you like this! I hate that I pushed you to terminate our baby!”

She visibly shivered at the onslaught of my anger and shouting. With quivering lips and shimmering eyes, I knew that I did more damage than good. I knew that I had to part ways with her forever. “I am sorry. You deserve someone better than me. I will leave you alone forever. But please keep this,” I said as I shoved my hand into my pocket and retrieved a letter attached to a small box. “Please take this, and I swear I will never speak to you, look for you, or have anyone check on you. Please read this letter and open this box when you have truly forgiven me.”

Placing the contents into her hand, I leaned forward and shared with her our last kiss. It was a farewell kiss that I knew would haunt me forever. Regretfully releasing her, I walked around her, opened the door, and hopped into the truck. I left the love of my life behind me.

I
stood in the parking lot and watched him leave my life forever. A part of me died as his truck exited the parking lot. I wanted to hate him, and I wanted to rip his letter to shreds while tossing the little black box into the Atlantic Ocean. I wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt me, but love stopped me.
Love made these three babies in my stomach,
I thought, as I held onto my stomach tenderly. He’s been drinking—I could smell it and taste it against his mouth. He was dealing with his own share of suffering. Deep down, within the core of my stomach, I believe that he really does love me. Just listening to Victoria about his life and the mafia, I knew that I couldn’t stay angry. I knew that for the sake of my babies, I had to take the time to heal and forgive him. I placed the letter and box into my bag, with all intentions of reading it when I forgave him.

Even if we did decide to remain together, I knew that it would only end up endangering my life and my babies’ lives. Now was the time to focus on creating a plan to leave my school in New York City and leave New Jersey. As I hopped into the car, I looked over at Victoria, whose face was beet red and her eyes were filled with tears. Reaching over to her, I hugged her tightly.

When we returned home, I brought her into my room, and I knew that I had to come clean about what happened while I was in the examination room. Taking a deep breath, I proceeded to tell her everything. She sat in silence for a moment after I told her everything. “Simone, are you sure that you want to do this?” she simply asked.

“Yes, I am prepared to deal with this on my own. No one, not even Andriano, can know. He believes that I had an abortion, and I want to keep it that way. So please promise me?” I said as I turned to face her.

“I promise, no one will know. But what are you going to do?” she asked.

“For starters, I have to drop out of school. I’m not going back to Florida. I have a little over $4,000. I know that it is not much, but it is enough to relocate to another state.” After a brief pause, I reached for my cell phone on the nightstand and said, “I have to call my grandmother. Maybe she will take me in temporarily until I can get back on my feet.”

After spending an hour on the phone with my grandmother, she decided that she wanted me to live with her in North Carolina. I explained a portion of the story to her, without delving into the part about Andriano being in the mafia. She only knew that I was pregnant with triplets, that I was dropping out of school, and that the father of my babies didn’t want to be a part of their lives. I knew that she was disappointed, despite her calm demeanor and continuous insistence that God has blessed me with three babies—while other women out there are begging for one.

When I mentioned dropping out of school for the second time in our conversation, she said, “One monkey doesn’t stop a circus from going. You have me. You will finish school because now you have even more of a reason to succeed in life.” After assuring her that I will buy a ticket for the next available flight this week, we ended the call with a short, heartfelt prayer. That night, I cried myself to sleep.

“Tonight is your proposal and engagement party. Are you excited?” asked my younger sister Katerina with a wide grin.

Before I could answer, my father interjected with his thick Italian accent, “Of course he is happy.”

“You’re the first out of all of us to get married. You and Josephine were meant for each other,” Katerina said, as she threw her long delicate arms around my neck, bringing me into a hug. I couldn’t take my anger out on her. The last few weeks were devastating. I tried to convince my father that I don’t want to marry anyone. He equated my apprehension to the fact that I wanted to have a selection of women at my disposal. In his best effort, he attempted to assure me that it is normal for “us” to have
goomahs.

He didn’t understand that my heart only beats for one woman. My dick only jumps for one woman. As much as I tried to replace Simone with different women, who I fucked after her, I couldn’t even nut unless I had a vivid picture of my
bella mia
in my head. I couldn’t kiss other women intimately or fuck them without feeling like I was cheating on Simone. After a while, I gave up my relentless pursuit to flush her out of my system.

Sensing my mood change, Nicolai pulled me to the side one night and demanded to know what got me so on edge. Everything that I held bottled up inside exploded as I confessed to my cousin the heartache I felt. For the first time, Nicolai stood speechless as he allowed me to vent. I told him that I’m ready to kill whoever, just as long as I could be with Simone again. The usually wise Nicolai stood frozen in place at a loss for words. His silence caused me to punch holes in the walls and break every object in my office. I was spiraling down and going insane, and no one could save me. Not even Reed could pull me out of this rut.

When the limo stopped in front of the Grand Ballroom venue, I convinced myself that Simone was better off without me. I could deal with Josephine getting harmed as a form of retaliation; however, I refused to accept that happening to Simone. That was the biggest difference between what I felt for Simone and what I felt for any other woman. I would gladly let thousands of innocent women die, but not Simone. I knew that this life would only bring death to her.

Nodding my head silently, I hopped out of the limo and strolled into the ballroom, ready to claim my throne. Putting on a show, I dropped down on one knee and proposed to Josephine. I even convinced my father that we should get married within the next few months.
I fulfilled my duty for La Cosa Nostra…

“I
haven’t been here in years, Grandma,” I said as we swung on the raggedy rickety swing on the porch, watching the sunset on the warm August afternoon. Taking a sip of my ice tea, I said, “It’s so peaceful out here.”

“I remember when your granddaddy and I bought this house. We’ve never been prouder or felt more accomplished than we did when we walked through those doors,” she said, with a soft smile plastered on her lips. Every day we took a walk around her block and would watch the sunset before we ate dinner. Before I arrived in North Carolina, she made an appointment for me to see the town obstetrician/gynecologist. She remained supportive and encouraging, even though we never spoke about the man who fathered my children. Since I have a high-risk pregnancy, I decided to postpone school until after the babies were born. Grandma insisted that I look for work after the babies were born. The second day after I arrived, I told my mother about my pregnancy. At first she seemed unbothered by my news. She remained passive and distant each time we spoke, which was every couple of days.

Within the first two weeks of being there, my stomach grew bigger. I saw my first stretch mark and was busting out of my clothes. My second trimester of pregnancy consisted of unusual cravings and non-stop eating. After a few days of uncomfortable sleeping, I invested in a maternity pillow, which helped tremendously.

Victoria checked up on me every day since I arrived in North Carolina. The first couple of days, since leaving New Jersey, seemed like an endless emotional roller coaster. I would cry often throughout the day, pray for strength and guidance, and cry again at night. I would often pull out the box and letter and stare at it; yet, I could not bring myself to read the letter and open the box. My pain ran too deep to forgive him right now.

On the day of his engagement celebration, I couldn’t bring myself to leave my bed. The date was etched into my mind, from the moment I read the invitation. Victoria attempted to avoid the subject when I called that evening. She was getting ready to attend the event with her parents. The next day, I mustered up the strength and asked her about the event. She faltered and stammered on her words before she got straight to the point.

“Andriano…seemed…happy,” she said sadly. Instead of crying, I willed myself to move forward with this piece of closure. My focus had to remain on my babies. A couple of weeks after his engagement, I received an unmarked package in the mail. The obnoxiously large box was filled up with decorative paper and foam balls. Digging in a little deeper, I unwrapped the thin medium rectangle box. I bit my lip to hold back the tears that threatened to stream out.

“Asshole,” I shouted out, as I violently thrashed on the floor. I held onto the picture frame tightly and looked at the large engagement photo of Andriano and Josephine. He held her hand tenderly, as she flashed her large diamond engagement ring. She looked beautiful…they looked perfect.
He’s happy
, I thought, as I replayed the conversation that Victoria and I had. Even though she told me this, I couldn’t believe her. My heart told me different.

Grandma and I worked hard on the nursery room. We used one of her spare bedrooms that was used for storage and revamped the room with a new paint job and old furniture pieces from the thrift store. We painted the two dressers white to match the triplet crib set that Victoria bought for the babies when I became seven months pregnant. She came out here two weekends out of the month and would help prepare the room for the babies. She had the stroller and car seat set delivered last week, despite my protest. Victoria was more than supportive throughout my pregnancy. She and Grandma were extremely excited when they found out that I was having three girls. They made plans and started buying clothes for my daughters. We were blessed enough to be able to trade in Grandma’s car for a truck when I became four months pregnant. In spite of everything, I was happy and in love with my babies growing inside of me. I knew that it was going to be a hard job, but somehow being a mother to them was the most rewarding feeling.

Looking outside of the window, I rubbed on my belly as I said my morning prayer with my daughters. At seven months pregnant, I wobbled and walked slowly everywhere. On numerous occasions, I never made it to the bathroom on time and had more accidents than I wanted. When I was put on bed rest at five months, I thought that I would go crazy. The first week of being on bed rest, I spent most of the time writing in my journal and writing letters to my unborn daughters. I found it therapeutic to write down my emotions. More recently, I would pull out the box and letter that Andriano gave to me and sleep with it at night. Although I couldn’t forgive him, I stopped harboring negative feelings about him. As my pregnancy advanced, my emotions were spiraling out of control. There were times that I loved him, and there were times that I hated him. Yet, every day I thought about him. I envied the happiness that he shared with Josephine. I envied the time that she got to spend with him, as his wife.

By the time I was seven months pregnant, I was taking more naps throughout the day and still slept throughout the night.
I never imagined going through my pregnancy alone,
I thought, as Grandma bought up my favorite meal. Every night, I had a big platter of my favorite home cooked foods. Grandma enjoyed the idea of cooking all of her favorite southern dishes.