My engagement ring is missing

I stare blindly at where my gold wedding band sits by itself.

I push myself out of bed by the time I get in the shower myself all of the hot water is gone, but that’s expected. I wrap myself in a towel and walk bankly into my closet. I get dress in a lilac sheath dress and matching heels.

While I’m going through my jewelry I hear the bedroom door open. I still get nervous at the thought of him seeing me, it’s silly after all these years.

“Another late night?”, I asks. It’s mostly a joke because he’s office is on the third floor of the château

“I was caught up”, he said, “I’m sorry”

I kept my hands behind my back and  wake back in the room, just in time to see him take off his tie. His piercing green eyes dart instantly to me and down to my outfit. He runs a hand through his thick dark black hair before collapsing on the bed.

“Wake up”, I said leaning over to kiss him, “Breakfast.”

 “I need sleep, cara”

“You need coffee, Peter ”

“We are Italian, mi amore, we make cappucionos”

“Si”, I said

 “Clara, where is your wedding ring ?”

“I’m getting it cleaned.”

I felt like I was working as starbucks again as I  pulled a few shots of espresso into two cups. His a chipped white cup from his mother and a white and gold one I’d picked up in Vienna.

I jumped when I finally noticed Rose staring at me. I coculd have sworn she wasn’t there a moment ago.

It was always odd seeing someone from my past every time I looked at Rose. It used to make me sad but now I finally saw her for her.

“Want some coffee ?”, I asked her

“She’ a child”, Peter said from the stiar

He’d changed into a Manchester united shirt and jeans.

“Oh, please people in Italy drink wine at younger, we started at ten.”

“Don’t let that get around the French embassy”, He said taking his coffee.

Since Mrs. Martaan was late we had to go for cereal. It wasn’t that I didn’t cook it was just easier.

Things had been easier in Rome We’d had a mid-sized apartment that was close enough to Peter’s office at the Ministry for him to walk and close enough for me to get where I need to be.I’d had a hard time leaving Rome. It had become a second home to me.

When I’d been kidnapped it rattled me, the reality of what happened to me could never be known by anyone. No one would understand. I’d just wanted to get away so I went to Rome.

I had terrible nightmares back then.

Every time I closed my eyes I saw my grandfather’s body in my grasp, he didn’t look like himself but I saw him moving and talking. He looked like a monster and I still wanted to hold and love him because he was my grandfather. I wanted to hear him call me Clarabelle again and for us to play a duet in his quiet house.

I spent days just grieving .I sat in my room writing music and dreading the night, and was losing track of all the lies I was telling. I wanted more than anything to get out and the next best thing was my home away from home, Rome.

The only person I told about my choice to move to Italy was my mother. She understood that I hadn’t been myself in a while and hoped that leaving would get her daughter back.  I packed up my entire life intent on never spending a night in the house that I was taken from.

When I arrived at Da Vinici airport in February I was surprised that Peter was there. Our moms had clearly talked. We had walked arm and arm like a normal couple along the streets of Rome when it began to get dark I wanted to go inside but he insisted we do a little sightseeing and as a regular visitor I knew there was nothing more beautiful than Rome at night.

When we made it back to my hotel I asked him to stay and help me look for an apartment in the city.  It was getting late and I was beyond anxious about Peter leaving. I was suddenly terrified of being alone.

“I’ll stay”, he said before I even asked.

The nights never did get easier. In my dreams I was always afraid of waking up someplace else.. . of being alone.

I overindulged and put my entire savings in a beautiful WWII refurbished apartment overlooking the Tiber, something about being near the water kept me calm. It reminded me where I was and kept me sane. I of course couldn’t afford a place like that on my own, so I asked Peter to move in with me.

Though we were both more than capable of making our own decisions, I sensed we didn’t tell our parents about our living arrangement for the same reason.

It wasn’t long before I felt the need to reciprocate the kindness he had shown me.  I cooked, cleaned and did the best I could while still being independent. At night we would sit on the couch and write music together. Sometimes I would just wander around the city looking for someplace to just hear my own music and then play it when I got back home.

I didn’t want to believe I was falling in love again, but I was. Could fickle hearts be genetic?He honestly cared about me and I felt the same towards him but for some reason it was tearing me up inside.

“I can’t”, I had told him

“I’m not asking you for anything.”

“Yes you are”, I had said kissing the side of his face “and I’m asking myself for something . . . and it’s just too soon.”

“We’ve know each other for years.”


My grief then began to cause me physical pain and I felt as if I were ready to cry again. I sat at the table staring at my entwined hands. At some point he had left a glass of my favorite wine by my bedside and it made me smile.

However as my life seemed to be set, I knew all good things would come to an end. I found out I was three months pregnant, during a visit to the ER. Peter was there and the nurse made assumptions and told him.

Peter was quick with the math. It wasn’t that he thought he was the father it was that he realized when it had happened.

“Clara”, he said, “What happened to you when you were kidnapped ?”

“I don’t remember”, I said, “It’s not what you think. I knew I was pregnant before I was taken. Honestly. I’d found out the day before I was kidnapped”

 It was the first and only lie I ever told. It was what I told everyone and it made things less complicated

“who?”

“He’s dead.”, That was the truth, “One of my father’s work associates.”

Peter had held my hand when we invited my family up and told them. He’d understood when I went home to give birth to Rose Emmiline. I stayed with my family for a few months but my father wasn’t thrilled by Rose.

When she was old enough I took her back to Rome to visit and  . . . we never left. Peter was still there and we started to spend more time together. It felt so good to just be friends again, like we’d been in school.

A year in we saw something out mother’s had seen long ago. We loved each other.  When we got married it wasn’t because our Mother’s told us or pressure. I twaas because we wanted to.

 

Despite Peter being just 33^rd in line for a title in the House of Savoy there was a little bit of public interest our wedding, so we kept it small just 80 people in Northern Italy by the water. At two Rose had been to young and fussy to attend the ceremony but Peter insisted. He wanted to show goodwill.

A candid picture of us trying to get her to smile during wedding photos was now one among many others in the main hall.

I knew what family secrets could do so growing up Rose always called Peter, “Peter”.  When she’d had questions about her father I told her what I could and that satisfied her.

Now she would be tweleve by the end of the summer and I’d have to figure out how to be okay with that. It helped that Clarence was going to be staying with us for the summer. I saw only good things ahead for us.

Peter ahd a job at the Italian Embassy in France and this was a new adventure for all of us.

 

+++

 

Yes. . . yes. . . yes

 

I’ve been kind of cagey on this but here it goes . . . PLT is actually a re-imaginig of Litany Lane. I realized that DSI (or SDI ) and JNRR were all over the place.  WAY TO MUCH going on. SO I’m retconning those away and PLT takes place after HOF.

-          Mr. Fierro is dead. I know I know  . . . but that was the original ending of HOF so he won’t appear in PLT. In HOF he dies to be with Lucie so she won’t terroze Clara. Then I bought him back in DSI in such a clunky way.

 

-          Clara’s Dad is still alive and just as mean

 

If it helps re-read HOF and be in the mindset. I have other notes

 

. . . I’m sorry did you guys think that was the real thing ? It wasn’t. It was actually a joke. I was supposed to finish this by April 1^st of this year so.   Sorry.

Most of that was just Chapter 6 from DSI re-written. Also I gave Clara no indication of a job or agency.

However the thing about Clara telling people she knew she was pregnant bfore her kdindapping does show up in PLT. I realizd that Clara being pregnant after she was kidnapped was (for lack of a  better word).  . . rapey .

Here is the real thing