Bella Cosa Far Niente
His harsh breath fills her ear and Kay decides to close her eyes; it is better than staring at a pale ceiling for fifteen minutes.
Strangely, she finds herself daydreaming about the day of Connie's wedding, so many years ago, a lifetime gone by. She recalls Michael in his soldier's uniform with his handsome medals and his drunken older brother swaying into her and being charming. She thinks of her first impression of the great Don Corleone, a round man with firm hands and the face of a revered businessman and father. She recounts the small joy she felt seeing Johnny Fontane serenade a blushing bride and the feeling of her boyfriend's hand in hers.
That boyfriend is her husband now. And the great Don Corleone has passed away, leaving another to claim his throne.
Michael let's out a small exhale, barely a moan. Kay reflexively tightens her arms around his neck as he increases the pace of his thrusts.
It didn't use to be like this. They used to have lots of fun in bed, and most of the time he'd be gentle and they'd laugh at mishaps. He liked it when she was on top of him, giggling into his neck and holding his arms above his head. He let her take charge in the way women do and followed her easily, going with the motions of young soft love.
Now things are much different and they're different. He likes to be atop her. He likes to meet her with harsh thrusts and strained arms. Once his hand even reached for her neck and she watched his eyes grow black as night as he held her, keeping her firmly in place. Kay had never been so scared and curious before in her adult life.
When she is on top he keeps his smooth hands dig into her hips. His eyes often pierce her even when she's closing her eyes or looking at the wall, so much that it firmly convinces her she is not the one in control. Once in a while he'll murmur "look at me" and she has no choice but to comply, because he has a specialty in making her offers she can't refuse. He rarely negotiates.
Now there is always something at the tip of his tongue and he has no problem keeping it from her. Now when he looks into her eyes and tells her to look at him all she sees is coldness and possession. Sometimes she thinks there is love there, hidden, but it could possibly be simple affection. She wonders what he sees when he looks at her: the sweet little Protestant girl from Yankeeland or the submissive wife of a rising mafioso?
His eyes, his black eyes, are often what scare her the most. She's seen them grow wide with monetary lust or swallow grown men whole on the other side of his desk just before the door of his office closes. She's watched them grow small and calculating as he talks to an associate or sits by himself on the couch. She's noticed how they take on an almost purple hue when he stands still and takes himself somewhere far away in his memories.
She's strangely intimidated by his eyes-something she thinks he knows and takes a perversive liking to.
Now, as Michael is coming to his finish, breathing above her and staring at the side of her ear, she feels trapped. She doesn't know why.
He comes to the end silently. The only evidence is shaky breaths on her neck and small trembles throughout his back. He strokes the patch of skin above her ear once he's done and asks her if she's come. She lies yes and smiles at him, letting him cup her cheek and kiss her softly, pulling the covers around them.
"I have to go to New York tomorrow, but I'll be back in time for Anthony's communion." He says, laying his arm over her stomach, patting it tenderly. It amazes Kay just how much adoration he has for the unknown child growing in her stomach. It is probably one of his only incentives for joy.
"Oh, Mike, he's so excited. I wish you wouldn't,"
"I know, I know. There are some things I can't help. This is one of them." He rolls over and reaches for a cigarette on the nightstand, lighting it and turning onto his back.
"I like those new drapes you bought for the playroom," he says quietly.
"Do you? Your mother helped me with those. She told me the funniest story about your father and how he came by this new carpet for their apartment."
"That story?"
"That one."
"That's one of the only stories she tells us about their earlier life, when her and my father came here. That means she considers the two of you close."
"She's very dear to me. She has your humor, too."
Michael looks at his watch and pulls the covers aside. He rises from the bed and slides on a pair of boxers, dousing the cigarette in the ashtray. "I promised the guys I would help fix the tick in the car. Will you stay here, in this bed? Until I get back?"
Kay, herself rising from the bed, pauses. "Why, Mike? I was going to go play with the kids and organize for the-"
"I know. I don't want you to work too hard. I'll get my mother to watch the kids today. I want you to rest."
"I'm fine, Michael."
"I want you to stay here, darling."
He disappears into the closet and emerges wearing pants and a dress shirt with rolled up sleeves. He walks to where Kay hovers hesitantly on the bed, confused as to what he could ever mean by "rest," and leans in to kiss her forehead. His rests his hand protectively over her belly and he murmurs, "when I get back, we'll make love again."
Then he leaves.
Embarrassed and perplexed, Kay lowers herself back down onto the bed and stares at the ceiling. She feels light suspicion in her stomach turn into a sinking dread.
Deep within her, ever since Michael approached her on the street years after he'd left without a word and she'd agreed to be with him, she's always understood the game and knows that he would never, ever let her or her children go. She knows they hold the key to the future of this family, and Michael intends to squeeze at least two more children from her to insure there is one. Now, she knows very well she is trapped. This simple, puzzling interaction has assured her she can no longer pretend to be so naive.
Kay, what are you thinking? Michael loves you; you're going to bear his child. Stop being irrational. He's your husband. You are his wife. Both of you have roles to play.
Roles to play? Is she thinking like a Sicilian wife now?
Her small hands ball into fists as she fights a sudden surge of fury and irritation. She rises without pretense from the bed, throwing on her robe and striding off to find her children. She finds them in the playroom with Carmela and her tense mouth widens into a genuine smile when they run into her arms.
She closes her eyes again buries her face in Mary's hair. She begins to wonder if they are the only things keeping her from feeling empty and alone.