Compromising Positions(13)

Like going to a museum and offering someone the opportunity of a lifetime--just to convince them to give him a chance. Mina bit her lip. Hard.

“And he’s always been almost devoutly monogamous,” Giovanni’s train of thought carried him further afield. “Mamma and Babbo had more than a few questioni di fedeltà when we were growing up. It bothered him, I think. It certainly affected his relationships. Once he was involved he never strayed--and he had no patience for others who did.” He looked at her face and realized what he’d said. “Or at least that’s what I thought. But then, what do I know? I’m a physicist, not a psychologist, right?”

Mina didn’t answer and he sighed, his expression apologetic. “I’m sorry, Mina, truly I am. I just don’t understand any of this. Marco and I have had our differences in the past, but this?” He shook his head. “This is so far from the brother I know, that I can’t help but question it.” He looked at her intently. “Serafina hasn’t been in the picture for months--almost a year! And while Mamma and Serafina weren’t happy about it, I never got the impression that Marco regretted ending that affair.”

The fact that Marco had been involved with someone as stunning as the aforementioned Serafina just made Mina more certain that she had no place in his life. How could she compare with that?

“I saw what I saw, Gio. And it wasn’t finished--not by a long shot.” Mina scrubbed a hand over her face. “It isn’t like he couldn’t have told her to stop it, or even push her away if he wanted to.” She pushed herself up from the couch and forced herself to stand up straight. “She was clinging to him like a poison ivy vine, and he wasn’t doing anything to stop it, so I have to assume he was a willing participant.”

“That’s just it,” Giovanni said. “It’s all an assumption--a hypothesis, if you will. Doesn’t Marco deserve a chance to explain? Isn’t whatever was between you two worth fighting for?”

They were all arguments she’d had with herself: Do you want him? Is he important to you? Is he worth fighting for? And the answers were all easy enough--yes, yes, yes! The harder questions came after, though: Do you trust him? Do you love him? Do you deserve him? The answers to those questions were usually: Let me get back to you on that.

“It isn’t that easy, Gio.” Mina headed towards the kitchen. Giovanni’s apartment was almost spartan in comparison to the Genovese compound, but what it lacked in size it made up for in style. She stopped in front of an enormous lithograph--an artist’s interpretation of an atom, the solid center surrounded by particles, never stopping circling.

“That’s you, you know.” Giovanni stood behind her and pointed at the picture. “At the center you’re complex, positive, stable, maybe a little boring even--but around you is nothing but a storm of negative effects.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “You’ll never be able to connect with someone else until you let some of those negative things go. Or at least share them with someone. They’ll keep you isolated until you decay, becoming less and less until you’re unrecognizable.”

Tears had threatened to overwhelm her when he started, he was so serious and caring, but she couldn’t get over how ridiculous it all sounded and she ended up snorting in disbelief.

“This is your idea of motivation?” She rolled her eyes and grinned half-heartedly at him. “Dr. Phil does physics, the newest show to take Italy by storm.”

She turned her back on him and made it the rest of the way to the kitchen. She opened the freezer and grabbed some gelato with a disgusted face. “You’d think in a country obsessed with love and food that you all would have better break-up ice cream.” She opened a drawer searching for a spoon and the doorbell rang. She pried the lid off the carton and waved the spoon in the direction of the door.

“You’d better get that. I’m busy.”

Giovanni watched her stab the gelato and shook his head, but he knew better than to get between a woman and her comfort food.

“Are you expecting a delivery?” He called, and she made negative noises around a mouthful of strawberries. “I didn’t tell anyone I was staying here.”

When he pulled the door opened Mina half-expected it see his mother standing on the doorstep, ready to drag her baby boy away from the terrible influence of the American floozy.

It wasn’t.

“Buon Giorno, Signor Genovese. I am sorry to drop in on you like this, but my name is Ivy Fielding. I’m a friend of Mina’s. May I come in?”