CHAPTER 5 – The Proposal
1135 Words
I stared at him, half expecting my tired brain to be playing tricks.
“You again,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow. "You again."
Neither of us said a word for a moment. The hum of the bar filled the space between us: glasses clinking, laughter from the table nearby, a low tune playing from the old speakers.
He looked just like that night: composed, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, that thin scar cutting across his jaw. His sleeves were rolled up, and the way he stood was quiet, yet dangerous.
"I've seen your husband parade his mistress on the news, okay with that?"
I felt my stomach twist. "Ex husband... That explains it all"
He nodded, as if he expected that answer. “Didn’t figure a woman like you would be drinking water alone on a Friday night.”
I let out a small, humourless laugh. “Trust me, I'd order something stronger if I could afford it.”
He took the stool beside me and motioned to the bartender. “Give her whatever she wants. Put it on my tab.”
“I didn’t ask for—”
“I know,” he said, cutting him off, his tone very even. “But I don’t like seeing someone look like they lost a war.
I frowned. “That obvious?”
He leaned back a little. “You wear it on your face.”
He set a glass of whiskey down in front of me. I stared at it a long second before lifting it and drinking. It burned my throat, but it felt good.
“Better?” he asked.
“A little.”
He didn't say a word for a time, just watched me, patient but sharp. I hated that he saw through me so easily.
Finally, I asked, "So what, you just hang around bars looking for miserable people to talk to?
“Not usually,” he said. “But you looked like you needed someone to notice you.”
That stung more than I expected. “Well, congratulations. You noticed.
He gave a small smile. “Name’s Alessandro.”
“Isabella,” I said quietly.
He already knew, though. I could tell by the way his expression flickered for a second.
“I’ve heard your name before,” he said. “Leonardo Russo’s wife. The perfect match, wasn’t it?
I looked away. “That’s what everyone thought.”
He didn't push. He just sipped his drink, waiting.
I don't know why I started talking-maybe the whiskey, or perhaps because he did not look at me with pity. In little pieces, I told him everything: how Leonardo had changed, his mother hating me, and how I walked out with nothing but a suitcase.
He did not interrupt once as he listened. When I was done, he set his glass down. “So you’re on your own now?”
“Pretty much.”
“And the baby?”
My hand froze halfway to the glass. "You can tell?"
He shrugged. “You ordered water first. Women who hide things order water.”
I exhaled. “I guess I’m not hiding it very well anymore.”
He tilted his head slightly and studied me. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Find a job. Maybe get a small place. I’ll figure it out.”
He nodded, slowly thoughtful. “You need money, stability, a name that keeps people from talking.
I looked at him, unsure where he was going with that. “And you’re telling me this because…?”
He took another sip before responding. “Because I might be able to help you.”
I laughed softly. “Help me? Why would you do that?”
He leaned in further, bracing his elbows against the counter. "Because I have a problem, too. My father wants me married before the end of the year. Says the De Santis family needs an heir and a wife to keep up appearances. I don't care about either."
I blinked in confusion. "Okay, and what does that have to do with me?"
He looked right at me. "Marry me."
I gagged on my drink. "I'm sorry, what?"
"A contract marriage. You need protection, money, and a name. I need a wife to keep my father quiet. It's business."
“You’re insane,” I said.
“Probably,” he replied easily. “But I’m also serious.”
I shook my head. “You don't even know me.”
“I know enough: you're quiet, desperate to stand on your own, and you don't lie easily. That's more than I can say for most people I know.”
For some reason, his words made my throat tight. “This is ridiculous.”
He shrugged again. “Maybe. But think about it. You get security. Your baby gets a name. I get freedom. It’s simple.”
I stared at him, not sure if I should laugh or cry. "You don't even flinch when you say things like that."
He smiled wryly. "You'll get used to it."
“Right,” I muttered. “And what if I say no?”
“Then you'll go back to the motel and keep on acting like you're okay.
That hit too close. I turned away, staring at the amber liquid in my glass. “You’re an arrogant bastard, you know that?”
He smiled faintly. “I’ve been told.”
I didn't answer for a long time. The noise of the bar faded around us, just the clinking of glasses and the low hum of music.
Finally I said, "I need a night to think.
“Take two,” he said, finishing his drink. He stood up, buttoning his jacket. “But don’t take too long. Offers like this don’t wait forever.”
---
The following afternoon, a knock came at the door of my motel. A man in a suit handed me another envelope.
Inside, fresh divorce papers - stamped.
My hands shook as I signed them. When I was finished, I sat for a long time, staring at the space beside me.
Then I stood, grabbed my coat, and walked out.
---
I think there are few fields more exciting with which to engage and work than the approaches that colocate music and mathematics as a primary focus.
He was already waiting for him at that same bar, in the very same seat.
When I approached, he looked up, almost as though he’d known I’d come.
"So?" he asked.
I swallowed hard. “I'll do it.” A slow smile crossed his face. He reached into his pocket and slid a small box across the table. “Then it’s settled,” Alessandro said. “From today, you’re Mrs. De Santis.” -
- Writer
