Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.
~Robert. A. Heinlein.~
 
           
 

                   Mia

"Te Amo, Bella Mia," He Had said. Sometimes, Romano makes love to me while speaking Italian, though I find it sexy, I have no idea what he says and I stopped asking when he did it so often and wouldn't tell me what he meant, no matter how many times I asked.

"Its lover's  talk," he would say," pretty much what I say in English in the same circumstances."

But this was different. He had said it differently, and the circumstances were not the same. I knew what it meant was what I've wanted to hear from him since I started Falling in love with him.

Te Amo Meant, I love you.

He finally said it. Romano was in love with me. I felt as if I had accomplished the impossible.

Butterflies filled my stomach; my heart seemed to have broken some kind of speed limit because it was beating too fast; I felt like my legs were about to give out even though I was seated

I Put that moment In a compartment somewhere in my heart, locked securely so I may never forget. I will forever remember the look in his face, the hand on my cheek, and his face lightly placed on my other side of the cheek, feeling his beard on my soft skin.

I was in a place in my life where happiness seemed to be elusive; I felt battered, but Romano saying he loved me meant so much I wondered if he realized just how much I needed to hear it.

I did not question it, or doubt it or assume he said it because of the circumstances we both found ourselves in. I knew he meant it because Rom never says anything he didn't mean.

We spent the day together. He pushed me out in a wheelchair watching the sunrise. I hadn't been out in days, I thought, as I lifted my face allowing the first sun rays to kiss my face.

It felt like the beginning of something new. It shone as if it came bearing gifts.

"How do you feel?" I hadn't spoken to him since I woke up; it was my way of making sure he didn't start talking about the elephant in the room, but now he had promised he wouldn't.

" I love the sun." I answered. He moved from my back to stand in front of me, his hands in his trousers. I noticed, for the first time that his hair was longer than he allowed it, curls fell beautifully around his shirt collar.

His lips broke into a smile; his eyes stared into mine. I felt as if he was trying to read my mind, something he did often and accurately.

" Thank you." He whispered, his voice filled with gratitude. I narrowed my eyes in confusion as to what he was thanking me for, intently still gazing at me as if I was the answers to all his questions.

"For speaking to me."

Oh God! That made me both sad and guilty. I was so cought up in my grief I didnt stop to think how he was dealing with all of it.

I didn't know how he felt about the baby?

How was he dealing with the loss? Did he think about it? And how was his mental state in regards to what happened to me?

He looked like a man who'd been hauled to gallons and lived to tell the story. He rubbed the edge of his nose with his thumb, giving me one last look before moving his eyes to the surrounding.

"Im sorry I haven't been okay." that seemed to make him angry, his soft eyes turned granite-hard, his forehead creased into four-folds, hand fisting as if he wanted to punch into something.

Luckily, there was nothing he could punch into, except me and he would never hurt me.

"Dont apologize for that," he said calmly, but I felt the remnants of his anger in those words. "Don't ever apologize to me for being sick, you hear me?"

I nodded. I wanted to say sorry for offending him, but I figured that would have probably fueled more anger.

He hunched down beside me, his face directly to mine. I could see the concern in his brown eyes, the questions he wanted to ask but couldn't.

He stared at me for longer, and I could see the wheels turning in his head. He had a lot in his mind. Romano was never at a lack of words; he always said whatever he wanted to say without limit and to hell with anyone who didn't like it. But this was as different to him as it was for me, we were both in a new territory, and neither of us had the directions to the way out.

Tucking my hair beneath my ear, he leaned over me, almost touching my nose, smelling his mint breath, a lock of hair whirling around his forehead. He looked dangerous, sexy, and boyish, which I guess defined him.

"I miss you." he uttered in a raspy voice still hunched in front of me, his bands holding on to both sides of my wheelchair.

"Im right here," I answered even though we both knew what he meant.

He nodded, giving me a sad smile, one that held a little sadness and gratitude.

The sun had sneaked on us somehow, it was fully out, burning my scalp, almost as if my hair was on fire. I could feel sweat under my armpits and my temples.

"Can we go back inside? It's too hot."

He stood immediately, wheeling me back inside. None of us spoke, not for lack of words but because neither knew what to talk about.

"Why can't I go home?" I asked, and Rom jerked his head towards me, "Would you like to go home?"

Hell yes! I wanted to say, but I just nodded. He whipped out his cellphone and called Bruno. I didn't know what to say to him, so I just stared at the wonder and magic that was this man.

"All you had to do was ask me." it was said in a whisper, but it was loaded with a promise.

Bruno waltzed into the room almost an hour later dressed in all black. He looked different; I had never seen him in anything else other that suits and white shirts. Now he was in a tight black jeans, a basic t-shirt, bomber jacket, and black boots. He looked like he had stepped out of a fashion magazine.

"Wow, you look different." he laughed, "good different, I hope," he joked, throwing me a teasing smile. He wouldn't have cared whether he looked good or not; he wasn't a man who gave a damn about other people's opinions; none of then were.

"I was just thinking you look like you've just stepped out of a fashion magazine."  I laughed at how he raised his brows at me as if I had said something forbidden or alien.

Didn't they know how handsome they all were? Throw in their confidence and charm, and you've got a man every woman dreams about.

I noticed Rom looking at me. He stood leaning on the bed frame, hands around his chest, his right leg across his left ankle.

Roman

I was jealous. So madly jealous if I wanted to through Bruno out. But I couldn't. She had laughed, a soft sound that seemed to have come from her chest, her eyes filled with mirth.

She was the epitome of beauty and strength. She was only twenty-three, yet she has gone through so much hurt, both physically and emotionally, than most people will ever experience in their lifetime.

She was teasing Bruno. I stood there watching them interact over a dress code. A woman will forever remain an enigma to men. She spoke about his choice of dressing as if it was a representation of something else.

Like literature, the way teachers asked," what do you think the writer meant by that?" like the words had different meanings from the actual meaning.

She looked so different, not like she was before the ordeal; this was like she had managed to find a way to set it aside for a while. I wished she could do that with me instead of Bruno.

Laugh with me.

Tease me.

Smile into my eyes.

Pushing myself out of the daze to pack up the few belongings we had, my ears still following her sound and words, I found myself wanting to hear her say she loved me.

Throwing the bag at Bruno's chest to carry it,  I turned to push Mia's wheelchair but not before I heard his chortle.

Son of a bitch knew why I did it.

"Its black, excellent, it goes with my outfit."  he mocked me while winking at Mia.

She giggled, her small hands placed on her lap.

Bruno didn't drive like a maniac this time; he followed traffic though he kept tapping on the steering wheel, which indicated that he was impatient and felt tired down.

"Do you mind if I smoke, Bella?"

"No."

"Thank you; I feel like I need something to do while we wait for this motherfucking traffic to start moving." 

"You should call her, Mia."  I interjected. "Not to mention you're always smoking whether you're stuck in traffic or seated at the back of pulse drinking brandy like it's your last drink.

"Why are we pickly this mid-morning?"The corners of his mouth twitched in humor. He was enjoying seeing me jealous. " Don't judge my drinking habit, " he added throwing a smile at Mia through the rear mirror " You don't mind me calling you Bella, right?"

She shook her head.

"See, she has no problem with it."

"But I do" I insisted.

"Yeah, well, that is your own damn problem. You shouldn't have called her that in the first place."

"Its a beautiful name, I love it" Mia said quickly, diving in to protect a name I had given her.

"Do you know what it means?" Bruno asked, his cigarette suspended at the end of his lips, a twinkle in his eye.

"Beautiful" I still couldn't get used to hearing her voice after going for a week without it. It felt magical, I wanted to bask in it. To be honest, I was glad there was traffic; it kept both of them talking, leaving me feeling as if I was a spectator.

"Not that, I mean both your names combined." Bruno qualified, removing a stainless ashtray from the glove compartment, flicking the butt with his hands to put it off before slipping it in.
Silence ensured, but the sound of our breathing and Bruno's puffing.

"Beautiful Mia, " Bruno and I both laughed out loud. She was adorable and clueless.

"Wonna take this one?" Bruno asked me, looking at me and smiling, his cheshire cat grin as he placed another cigarette at the corner of his mouth.

I leaned over Mia's side to open her window slightly to breathe easily from B's nicotine.

"She know what it means."

"No she doesn't."

Mia looked confused, looking from one of us to the other, wondering what she'd missed.

"It's Italian for my beauty." Bruno muffled, driving through the middle of the lane to settle behind an oil truck and a van. The madness has started, I thought.

"But he called me that the first time we met three years ago, how would he know I would be his?"

" Great question, how did you know?" B was like a dog with a bone.

"B, there is no meat on the bone you seemed to be pulling."

He shrugged nonchalantly.

Mia seemed to be waiting for an answer, but none was forthcoming.

We got home quite later than expected, I guess Bruno could be reasonable enough sometimes to respect other motorists, but it was probably because of Mia. I was grateful that he had been considerate.

Our house seemed empty, like it had sensed our absence.

"What do you want to eat?"

"Lie down for a while."

I placed her on top of the bed, then sat beside her.

"Would you please talk to me the way you spoke with Bruno?"

I asked, my eyes begging her.

She shook her head.

"Why?"

"Because you're not Bruno."

"What does that mean?" I was so jealous, feeling like I was about to be punched right into my stomach with her next words.

"My relationship with Bruno is different."

"That means you prefer me, right?" I wasn't sure whether I was jesting or not.

"Of course," she smiled when she said that.

I nodded, touching her nose with my index finger. I realized, every time I wanted to kiss her mouth, I either touched her nose or kissed it. I would let her dictate our next move.

We stayed like that for a while, looking into each other eyes, then she blushed.

"I think of you in two ways sometimes, " she began, lifting her head to place her hand beneath it.

"Which way?" I whispered, waiting in urgency.

"When you play with me, you have this boyish smile that is filled with mischief. I always think there is the boy I love."

And then there those times I have seen you hard, uncompromising, standing tall with a gun in hand or lifting someone off the ground by their neck, and thought, there is the man I love.

This woman kept surprising me every chance she got.

"I love you too, Bella Mia." this was the second time to say it, and it was more comfortable each time.