L'amore: The Luminara Series (51 page)

I’ve never done a pregnancy test before, but she explains to me its procedure, common practice, not to panic, and how it works. I use the public toilet to pee on the stick, and then the doctor comes back for me to enter the room almost right away. I’m thankful as I’d hate to be sitting in the waiting room pondering over the fate of my future.

Not that it would be a catastrophe, but I’m not ready at this period of time in my life, and while I’m here alone without Lucca is not how I imagined taking a pregnancy test to discover said fate.

My stomach is in turmoil, and I’m rubbing my hands nervously picking at my skin.

Please be negative. Please be negative.

My throat is dry and I do feel queasy, but that’s lack of body fuel and possibly dehydration. The doctor looks at the stick then turns around to her metal table and tears a white packet open.

Why is she not talking? What is she going to do?

She politely smiles. “Lexi, you’re not pregnant, so let’s prep to insert your implant. I need to use a local anaesthetic to numb the area. Are you okay with needles?”

Relief?

Yes.

Needles?

Not so much.

“Yes.”

Turning away, I hold my breath and let her carry on. I’m so relieved that I’m not pregnant, now is not the time. I can’t even get through one day without drama, never mind a baby to consider. I know that I love Lucca, and after the weekend with his nieces and nephews I know I’d like kids … babies. Just not now.

I breathe and after the quick procedure she keeps me seated until she’s certain I’m not going to faint or be sick then checks my blood pressure again. Happy with her results, she advises me, I will need to use condoms for the next seven days for further protection.

I smile respectfully, knowing that will never happen, so I’ll continue to take my pill for another week instead. Quickly she reminds me my next cervical smear test will be due in a few months.

Already?

They always get that in at the end of an appointment.
Karma crushers
.

My phone rings. It’s Lucca, but I ignore it. I’ll call him when I’m outside.

When I step out of her office, I need to hold onto the wall. I don’t want to draw attention to myself, so I slip into the toilet. I do feel rather faint. I splash my face and sit on the stool next to the sink. I need to eat, and the needle phobia has not helped that situation.

Sitting with my head in my hands has helped. Once I’m steady, I head back to the limo, slowly bearing weight on my better ankle, thankful that there has been no fainting today.

I slip in the back. “I’m sorry, Marco. It took longer than I thought.”

“No worries, Lexi. Lucca is on the line and he wants to speak to you.”

Persistent bloody pest!

Marco passes over his phone.

“What happened in the clinic?” No hello, hi, or hey, baby. He sounds abrupt.

I’m not sure I want to divulge personal information in the presence of Marco or wait until later.

“Everything is fine. Can I call you later?”

“Pass the phone to Marco.”

Insufferable.

I give Marco the phone.

He nods then hands it back as he presses a button. A privacy screen rolls up and completely separates us. He won’t witness me rolling my eyes then. Is this for real?

Ridiculous.

“He cannot hear you unless you press the buzzer for the intercom, and he cannot see you either, so tell me what happened. I want to know because you are mine and I hate not being at these things with you. It crushes me.” He sounds flustered and he’s breathing awfully quickly. I imagine him raking his hands through his hair or pinching his brow.

I remember Lucca telling me how he missed the ultrasound when Fran was expecting his baby, the day Fran was in a tragic car accident which killed her father and their unborn child. It’s understandable he is concerned and protective about these things and doesn’t want to be shut out, especially when it involves him.

“She made me take a pregnancy test.”

“Fuck, Doc, and I was not there.” This is not going as well as I’d hoped. He sounds hurt, as if he has let me down, his voice is broken. I’m silent, other than my breathe exhaling on a soft sigh.

“Baby, are you …?” He sounds more upbeat and optimistic. I look at the small square dressing on the inside of my arm.

Ironic.

He’s hopeful. I wasn’t.

After our chat in Tuscany and our recent discussions, I know he wants this badly for us, soon apparently.

“I’m not pregnant, but I did get an implant in my arm. I can get it out anytime for when we start family planning.”

“Oh.”

“What do you mean oh?” I snap. I was expecting some support.

“Nothing, it is fine. How did they get an implant in your arm?” He sounds pissed off now.

“They gave me anaesthetic, numbed it, and made a small incision in my skin and inserted it.” I thought that would be pretty obvious but maybe not to a man.

“Lexi, do not tell me anymore. I cannot handle it.” Why is he acting so irrational?

“Handle what? You’re freaking me out here and sound absurd.” I begin to raise my voice. He can’t wrap me cotton wool all the time. This is life, whether he likes it or not. I am upset and agitated from tiredness and hunger, and Lucca is getting the brunt of it.

“They cut your fucking skin? Why would you get that done after all the fears and phobia you have regarding your skin?” He shouts. Either he thinks it’s bigger a deal than it was, or he generally is squeamish and the thought disturbs him. I know it troubles him looking at the small scar on my wrist, but that’s more through guilt rather than the concept of the procedure.

I’m exasperated, but there’s no reasoning with him. I need to learn to keep quiet if he is going to freak out if a feather or snow flake or petal bloody lands on my skin. Heaven forbid.

“Lucca, it’s a method of contraception, a very reliable one, and they insert these in thousands of women every day. It’s a nick in my skin. A tiny little nick.” Slowly and calmly, I try to make him see reason, as if I’m talking to an unreasonable child.

“What is wrong with your pill?”

“Nothing, but it’s not reliable enough with my track record of being sick and dizzy episodes.” I need to win this battle and quickly, as he’s giving me a headache. “Lucca, this means no more condoms, ever …”

“Well, why did you not say so?” He sounds sarcastic but I don’t think that’s how he meant it to sound.

Insufferable.

“I am serious now. When I tell you I want you to get it out, I will be there with you, but when I want it out, baby, it is coming out.” It’s his turn to sound slow and calm trying to convince me.

How dare he?

What the fuck is it with his obsession to have a baby? And this controlling is not on. I will not stand for it.

“Lucca, it’s my body, I will get it out when I’m good and ready. Don’t you dare try and control me. I’ve had a lifetime of it already. It’s my decision to make, not bloody yours.” I’m crass and don’t care how tactless I sound. I’m so angry with him and ready to explode. I like his protectiveness, and I like his possessiveness to a certain extent. It reminds me I’m his, and he’s mine but this level of controlling is not fucking on.

Rage.

Fire.

Burn.

I’m flustered now. I need to put my window down I’m feeling so hot. He is lost for words. For once.

“God, I am so sorry. I did not mean that the way it sounded. I just mean … I hope it is not forever. You already said you would try as soon as we are married. I panicked because at the weekend you expressed having a family is something you would like for us. And it made me so fucking happy, you were coming around to the idea. Then you choose to have something long term like this thing in your arm without mentioning it,” he whispers.

“I … I do not want to control you, or upset you. I am sorry, Doc. I am sorry for the way that came across. I just love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you and family is a big part of that for me, for us.” He sounds sincere but I’m so mad at him still. I worry my fingers in front of my mouth in fast, quick, agitated movements because I’m irritated.

“Yes, and I agree, but not until I’m ready, so stop pressuring me. God, you sound worse than my mum right now, if that’s possible. Or worse,
my granny
. If you keep going on about it, I’ll never get the bloody thing out,” I yell.

I could cut through the air with a sharp edge right now. He doesn’t know what to say. I’ve shocked him and he’s speechless that he’s hurt me or angry with my yelling. I know he’s thinking of apologising because I can hear him suck in a huge breath, as if he’s gasping and preparing himself for a long speech. I don’t want to hear it. Then he exhales the breath he’s been holding onto.

I’m aware I’m snarky and irate with the lack of food today and my exercise exertion, but he’s seriously pissing me off.

“Lucca, I need to go. I’m visiting Mr. Carlin, so I’ll call you later.”

“Okay.”

I was expecting an apology of sorts, but I don’t receive it. I’ve had enough now.

Blazing anger heats my body. Inferno.

“Okay,” I bluntly reply. No goodbyes.

Cutting the line dead, I press the buzzer and ask Marco to lower the screen and hand the phone back to him.

I’m not in the mood for any of Lucca’s lovey-dovey nonsense or complete, possessive alpha male shit either.

“Marco, can you take me to M&S food so I can pick something up, and then to Mr. Carlin’s please?”

“No problem. You know, Lexi, it is not any of my business, but he really loves you. I have never seen him so in love or intense, and he is a different person around you. It is endearing to watch him flourish and enjoy his love for life again, and you give him hope for his future.”

Why is everyone talking in bloody riddles today? His future? What about my future? And the present, hope for today? I slip back into the frame of mind I frequently used before meeting Lucca, that I should take each day as it comes, and if I get through it without falling apart, then I’m grateful for life, here, today in this moment.

“Thank you, Marco, I appreciate it, I do. We’ll work it out. It’s just so new to me, I suppose. I really have never had so much—”

Protection.

Love.

Passion.

“Give him time and give him a chance. I have known him a long time. We grew up together, and his relationship with Francesca was more of an obligation, but with you it is as if his life depends on you. He adores you. He has had a challenging morning today, and he is not himself. He is stressed.” He looks in the rear-view mirror giving me his attention.

So have I.

“Thank you, Marco. I do appreciate your words. I love him too, more than anything else. I’m also out of sorts today, and he’s being overly protective. You know, the funny thing is, I’ve always needed someone like Lucca to secure himself around me and protect me as much as I tried to deny it before, but yet here I am being suffocated.” I worry my fingers in front of my lips slowly and lazily this time in contemplation.

He nods his head in acknowledgement and continues driving. I wonder why Marco doesn’t have a girlfriend or wife. He’d make someone very happy, I’m sure.

I’m not comfortable enough to ask him, but maybe one day I will. I want to call Lucca, to reassure him I’m not mad at him and I forgive him. I lift my phone from my bag and scroll over his name. I think about my mum not having any choices, having to be silent and submissive, and I realise I don’t want to be subjected to similar misfortunes. I need to be in control of my life.

I throw my phone in my bag and look out the car window, feeling remorse about my tension with Lucca, but equally happy I have taken it upon myself to be decisive about my body and the family planning issue.

Chicken, pasta, basil, tomatoes, chili, and mayo—great comfort food. I devour every bit in the back of the limo. I couldn’t wait until we stopped, I was that hungry. I feel better for eating but hope it doesn’t later put me in a carb coma.

I bought Marco a salad and a sandwich and some double chocolate brownies for putting up with my PMS tension, he’s thrilled I think, but says he’ll have it when he stops driving.

When I arrive at Mr. Carlin’s, I invite Marco in as I don’t like the thought of him sitting outside too long. Mr. Carlin is in his usual chair doing the newspaper crossword, and the heating is on full blast as normal.

After the introductions, I storm into the kitchen to turn it off. He doesn’t make eye contact with me. Sheesh, he’s in a foul mood. He continues to grill Marco until he knows everything except his national insurance number.

I make them tea, check his fridge and freezer, and stock it with the niceties I purchased, feeling guilty that I haven’t been cooking. I bring his washing in limping on my better ankle and put another load on.

“Well, are you not going to speak to me?” I ask, finally joining them.

“Hmmm … what’s that? I think there is a stranger in the house, looking for my attention,” he grumbles. Rolling my eyes, I sit on his coffee table, crossing my arms.

“I’m sorry, it’s been a busy week, and I had to settle into the new house. I know you were well looked after with your home helpers, but it’s no excuse.”