Proserpina
Around the same time as Lucien began to grow distant, the strange messages started to come.
I had begun to write a blog. It had begun as a hobby. Egged on by my children and friends, especially James Schwartz, who kept praising my culinary skills, I began to write a blog on social media about cooking.
It had become a runaway hit to my astonishment and I updated it every day, diligently, astonished by the number of followers I had!
So I was mildly astonished at first when I came across the first comment that seemed strangely off.
*
A few weeks ago, I had been scrolling down the comments section when I stopped, startled by a comment. The recipe I had shared was one for a Slovakian dish and I had written a small note about having visited the area and tasted the dish there. The authentic recipe.
It had been, of course, one of the worst times of my life. Lucien had disappeared in Slovakia and I had gone to find him, desperate and wretched.
*
The comment I noticed was bizarre at first glance. But as I reread it, I felt a cold finger trailing down my spine.
Hey there, lady. wanna have a repeat of da experience? get ur man over &we ken have a rerun.
It had been sent from the account of a person called @jokerlaughs.
Shrugging, I had dismissed it but the reference unsettled me.
*
Since Lucien was no longer inclined to care about what was going on in my life, I had spoken to Melissa and told her about it. She had paused for the tiniest beat and then said,
“Ignore it, Proserpina.’
Sharing it with a friend had helped since Lucien had not been home for three weeks now. Schwartz had been vague; there was a meeting with important clients and he was staying over at the Town House. I hated the place and refrained from visiting it as far as possible.
The house had been the place where he had housed his mistress of the moment in the past and I loathed it, beautiful though it was.
But I had pursed my lips, thinking, it is not so far away, he could easily make the journey and come over …
If he wanted to…
*
The comment I had seen this morning had made me even more uneasy.
gotta hand it to ur man; he can get it up. at this age. with a host of women @joker laughs.
It was unsettling since I had put up a recipe for preparing sourdough bread and the comment had nothing to do with my write-up.
I picked up the phone, debating whether I should tell Lucien. But once again, I drew a blank.
All my calls went straight to voice mail.
Lucien was not answering my calls.
And that, along with the photograph, had sent me tearing across to the Town House. Only to discover Lucien’s infidelity first-hand.
*
The discovery of what my husband was up to at the Townhouse made me behave like a crazed woman.
I have no memory whatsoever of what happened next. I must have turned and run out. I must have pushed aside Bosco and the guards who tried to stop me, or did they? For I had seen the pity in Bosco’s eyes when I was stepping out of the car.
I was in luck though, for a cabbie was trolling along the street, aimlessly.
I hailed it, thinking, thank God there was one!
Scrambling in, I managed to say,
“Please, please…just go.’
The storm of tears would come later. Now I needed to get away from the man I loved so much that I ached. The father of my six children…Lucien Delano, the Mafia Don.
*
Lucien
Lucien Delano stood, his fists clenched, his heart racing.
His Woman.
He had not wanted her to come to know about his son in this way and had wanted to break the news to her gently but strangely, he had not worked up the nerve to do it.
And now…?
The hurt, the stupefaction followed by the rage on her face.
And the look she had given him; it had been like a blow, a physical blow
Reproachful.
Disgusted.
Broken.
And then she had whirled out of the room, her long brown hair floating behind her like a banner, shoving his men and tearing out onto the street.
He could feel her pain.
.*
Galvanised into action he turned to his men.
Thrusting Britney aside, he roared at his men. ‘ Stop her! Stop my Woman!’
Too late, she had burst onto the road and climbed into a cab which was hurtling along away from him, now.
“I am going after her,” he shouted.
As he moved, he took out his phone, shutting out what his son was saying, shaking off Britney’s clinging hand.
He spoke to the only man he could trust, the one man who loved Proserpina almost as much as he did.
James Schwartz.
He barked into the phone as the car shot off,
‘She knows.’
He heard Schwartz sigh.
“Mate…you really blew it up, didn’t you?’
And the pause after his words was accusatory.
He strode out and got into the car, shouting at his men to chase his wife. But his mind was on other things. He glanced down at his thick hands with the sandpaper knuckles, hands that had only been known to fight, and again, felt his chest clench as he looked at the delicate ring on his hand.
The Infinity Ring.
*
A few days after they had returned from the first, delayed honeymoon, his Woman had come to him. She had smiled softly as he took his hand and slipped a ring on his thick finger, her cinnamon-brown eyes glowing with love as she whispered solemnly,
“I give you my hand as I give you my heart, unreservedly and unconditionally. I give you this ring as I give you my love, exclusively and eternally.”
What is this? he had asked her bemusedly staring at the tiny, delicate ring twinkling incongruously on his large boxer’s hands with the sandpapered knuckles as he sat down, pulling her onto his lap.
In answer, she had snuggled against him and raised his hand to her soft mouth and kissed it, gently.
An Infinity Ring, she said softly
*
All his life, he had opted not to get ink on his body or wear rings on his fingers.
It had been the memories associated with a particularly violent pimp named Mabuzza which had made him swear off finger rings of any kind . The man had been his mother’s dealer and had gone on to become her pimp.
A violent, aggressive man who spoke with his fists, Mabuzza had been anything but kind to the little boy who had been forced to sit huddled, outside the tiny room where they lived while his mother serviced customers.
Knowing that it was Mabuzza who was forcing his mother to do it had made Lucien hate him.
Mabuzza had been a cruel man given to wearing jewellery, flaunting his ringed hands and as a child, Lucien had regularly taken the severe, unjustified beatings from the pimp who had thrashed him with his ringed hands too many times to count. He had been a child then and the sight of his mother being used brutally by men had made him try to fight them; only to get beaten up savagely by Mabuzza.
*
Now he looked at the tiny ring on his massive hand in wonder, then his gaze moved to the woman who stood, her body pressed against his, love shining in her upturned face. The diamonds winked at him and he was intrigued by the design, the figure eight.
“It’s an Infinity ring, a Tibetan Infinity ring.’ she replied solemnly and he felt his breath catch as she went on, her cocoa-coloured eyes brimming with her love,” It is a symbol of everlasting love.’
And then she clung to his broad shoulders, looking deep into his eyes as she went on, her face glowing in the evening light falling into his study,
“This is a symbol of our love, Lucien.’
And then, seriously, looking into his eyes, trailing a finger over his mouth she went on in a soft voice,
‘Don’t ever take it off, please.’
Grunting his assent, he had pulled her into his arms to kiss her, gently, in an explorative manner. She continued to teach him so much.
*
He had sensed that it meant a lot to her. Later he discovered that it had been sent to her by her friend, Brian, the Buddhist monk, who had blessed it.
Now Lucien studied the small, intricately crafted ring. It had the figure eight, encrusted with diamonds.
His chest constricted.
He had just broken her faith in him.