Page 2 of Maddest Temptation

“Because I can,” I corrected her. “This is the first time I get to choose.” And although I was terrified of being alone right now, I needed that. I needed to learn who I was, and I could only do that on my own.

At some point throughout my marriage, I had lost myself, and I had no idea who I was, but I knew one thing, if I moved in with Marie and Antoine, I was never going to find out. As terrifying as it sounded, I needed to be alone.

“Plus, we’ll all be in the same city, if I need you, all I have to do is visit you.” I reminded her.

“I can’t wait to move to Chicago,” Antoine exclaimed.

I wished I could share his excitement. Moving back to Chicago was the last thing I wanted or needed, but I was no longer welcomed in Indianapolis. Without Paolo tethering me here, there was no reason to remain, and with him gone, our so-called friends had all turned their backs on me. So had his family.

Moving back to the city I was born in and where my family lived, made sense. Even if it seemed like a bad idea. I couldn’t put it into words yet, but this move… it frightened me.

It was like revisiting the past, and that was the last thing I wished to do, I still had open wounds that refused to heal, even four years later they still festered. I feared that with this move they would grow worse. But there was no point in staying.

“Yeah,” I agreed, lacking excitement.

In two days, I would be back to the city where I had my heart broken, where all my hopes and dreams were destroyed.

So yeah, I was so excited to go back.

1

FRANCESCA

Istared at my phone looking at my mother’s number flashing on the screen. She had been calling for the past three weeks. We were supposed to have had coffee a few days ago, but I had been too tired to go out. Now, I didn’t have the courage to answer, nor did I have any excuses to refuse this encounter.

I covered my eyes as the white screen blinded me, depriving me of much-needed sleep. All I wanted to do was crawl back into the darkness that had cradled me gently and lovingly.

Why did she want to talk to me? It wasn’t like we had talked much in the past four years since I was married. I slapped the covers with both hands and groaned loudly, scaring Reginald, my five-month-old gray whippet, who had been sleeping beside me.

My mother wasn’t going to stop calling unless I answered her, and this time around I was actually curious enough to know what she had to say.

“Francesca,” came Mamma’s loud, smoker’s voice.

“Mamma.” I pinched my temple as a headache started to bloom. I shouldn’t have drunk all that wine last night.

Where were my pills?

“Che maleducata you have become, making me call you over and over again.” I threw the covers aside and left my bed. Where are those damn pills? I searched through the mess in my room, but the orange bottle was nowhere to be found. “It has been weeks, Francesca?— “

I put Mamma on speaker and continued my search as my mother rambled about how I was useless and how I couldn’t pick up the phone. It went on and on for an eternity and I tuned her out.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Mamma.” I stopped rummaging through the mess and gave her my attention. “You were saying how I’m such a bad daughter.”

“Oh, don’t be such a victim, Francesca,” said Mamma, who had just attacked me with her sharp words.

“Mamma, I am busy.” I pinched my nose, attempting to stave off the massive headache approaching. “I have stuff to do.” Like sleeping and staying locked in my apartment, reliving my traumatic past, while in the meantime, fighting a massive hangover, and probably drinking more wine to chase it off.

“Fifteen minutes, Francesca. I won’t take no for an answer. I would come to your house, but you haven't given me your address, which is absurd. You should have come back home.”

“Mamma, we talked about this.” I sighed. That place hadn’t been home for years now. Ever since the day Donato sold me into marriage to a man I hated. I wasn’t going to step foot in that place ever again. “Meet me at Magnolia’s.” I caved.

When Mamma wanted something, she got it, she was stubborn that way. If I did not concede, she was going to make my life hell, and I wasn’t sure how many of her calls I could avoid.

I ended the call and thought about changing my clothes. Mamma would kill me if she saw me dressed in leggings and an oversized turtleneck sweatshirt. But I wasn’t in the mood to dress up. Dressing up meant I gave a damn, and right now, all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and watch my cooking shows for the rest of the day.

Instead, I threw on a wool dress that reached my knees—which happened to be the most modest piece I owned—put on some boots, and tried to tame my waves, which had been a messy bedhead for days. The fight resulted in a bun that barely held my hair.