When Lovino was 8 he was rejected by his first love, Emma Van Aggelen. She was pretty girl with pretty green eyes and always wore a pretty green bow.
He was young and naive and did not know a thing about love. All he knew was that she was pretty and he liked her.
He told her he liked her. She laughed, said he was cute but she liked the Spanish boy Antonio better. She crushed his first love - puppy love.
It was the only love he would dismiss. The only love that would be forgotten over time. A love that only brought a flicker of remembrance before fading again into the depths of his mind. Because when he was 8, Lovino fell in love - real love.
It was not a fairytale love nor his true love nor last love. It was simply the first time his world revolved around one being.
It was so long ago, that memories are blurred and at times it is difficult to recall her face. But he does. Remember her that is. He could never forget her. The reason he had such a foul mouth was because of her. The reason he thought most men were bastards who do not know how to treat women right is because of her.
Her name was Saraghina, or at least that was the name she gave to her clients. Her given name was Chiara.
He had been walking down the street his Nonno always took when he wanted to talk to a pretty lady about love.
Leaning against a pole stood a pretty woman. She wasn't the woman Nonno usually talked to, yet he stopped. She wasn't like the others. She didn't smile and she didn't smell like cheap perfume. She didn't wear just any drags either. She wore a very pretty beige dress and frowned like she expected the world to kiss her feet in reverence.
He asked her to teach him about love and he was pretty sure her answer was, "I'm not sick enough to fuck a kid."
He then changed the question to how to impress a pretty girl like her.
She replied, "You already know how idiota. You just need to stop being stupid like those bastards."
She pointed at the man speaking to the woman across the street.
They talked for a while more, until she told him he was ruining her business and to get the fuck out of here.
The next morning his head was filled with her, Saraghina - as she had told him them. He went to see her again.
This time he asked how not to be stupid like those bastards. She laughed, and it was beautiful.
More time passed and more bastards came and went. Saraghina eventually became Chiara. She never told him how to impress a pretty girl. She only told him how not to become a bastard like those sons of a bitch.
Her eyes were slowly becoming more and more lonely. He tried to make up for it by not being a fuck up. There was always something. He didn't stand straight enough. He forgot to look at her in the eyes. He was looking for too long, but it was okay. As long as it was Chiara, there wasn't a problem.
When he was 12, Chiara went away. She found a job as a secretary four cities away. She said it was a pain in the ass, but unlike these other whores she didn't want to live in this shit hole forever.
By then, he knew what she did. Understood what her job was. It wasn't a job of love, it was pleasure. And no matter how much he wanted her to stay, he didn't want her living this kind of life either.
It was at twelve that he gave her his first kiss. He told her goodbye and wished her good luck. She was surprised, but gave him a kiss in the cheek. He told her she finds a man who isn't such a bastard. She left with an, "I like you kid. Whatever girl you end up with will be lucky to have you."
At twelve, he had his first heartache but not without a final lesson from Saraghina. Sometimes, when you truly love someone, you let them go.
Months passed and, on the eve of his thirteenth birthday, he fell in love again. For the first time, he understood what love at first sight was.
Her name was Felicita and she looked just like Chiara. But she was nothing like her at all. She was a waitress in her family restaurant. Knowing love and comfort like Chiara never could. Felicita always smiled, was always kind, and was always duped. Comparing them, in his mind, would be insulting.
He made a habit of visiting the restaurant often. He talked to her like Chiara taught him, like a complete gentleman, not some stupid bastard. And while Chiara taught him why nearly all men were bastards, Felicita taught him to say it aloud.
Because unlike Chiara, Felicita was gentle, delicate. Like fine silk. She also had very poor taste in men. They played her again and again. He always comforted her. Held her hand. Held her in his arms. Whispered kind words that she needed to hear, and then he went to beat those bastard's asses even if they were older than him.
Felicita taught him that sometimes a man had to defend a lady's honor.
His love for her was short, only one year. She had found another man, a good man, and he knew it was time to let go.
He was fourteen and she was twenty. He was old enough to know that he would not be taken seriously if he were to declare his feelings.
When she told him she was leaving to Germany with her now fiancé, he kissed her. She was surprised and her cheeks turned red. She became flustered and did not comprehend. She was scatterbrained and it was cute.
Just like Chiara, he wished her good luck and that she be eternally happy with her fiancé. But she should call if that German bastard ever made her unhappy, so he could beat him back into his senses.
He walked away before she replied.
He received an invitation to their wedding. He didn't go. He wasn't going to torture himself. He did send a letter with his best wishes.
He was more than upset when Feliciano became friends with a serious German boy who reminded him a lot of Felicita's fiance. His brother knew. During this year period, Feliciano and their grandfather learned to look past the swearing and listen to the real Lovino. Once his grandfather asked, rhetorically, where did he learn such language. Lovino replied, "My first love."
Nonno and Feliciano never knew of Saraghina and so were confused by his answer. They asked many times after that, but he never told him until he was older.
At fifteen, he learned how to love with a passion so strong you never wanted to let go.
Her name was Carmen Hernandez. She was a street dancer, who had somehow got mixed with the mafia. She was 23 if he remembered correctly. He had seen her performance and thought she was beautiful. He was older and more charming now, so walked up to her and started a conversation.
She was amused by his boldness and they switched numbers. He called her and invited her to a date. Still amused, she accepted. One date turned into two, three, four, and before she knew it he had asked her to be his girlfriend. She agreed.
They dated on and off for three years. During their relationship breaks, they would see other people but they always returned to one another.
She taught him how to love like an adult. How to transform those bastard like urges into passion and love - real love.
If he had his way, he would've never had to let her go but fate willed otherwise.
He was 18, gotten a part-time job and saved all his money - not a penny spent unless it was on Carmen. He went to jewelry store and bought a simple but charming ring. He proposed to her and she said yes. They were to leave New York and move to Vancouver. Far away from the mafia that was after her. He just needed to convince his Nonno and Feliciano to come with them.
He walked her to her apartments and he went home. His brother and grandfather were sleeping. He would tell them tomorrow.
A phone call at 4 a.m.
He was asked to identify the body of Carmen Hernandez. He ran out the door praying in vain that it wasn't her. It was.
Feliciano and Nonno didn't understand why he was so upset and he told them. How he asked her to marry him, how she said yes, how he never wanted to let her go. He wanted to list many more reasons but he was distraught. Somehow, he knew, he would never be able to love another woman again.
He was 19 when Emma Van Aggelen told him she loved him. He was surprised. He had all but forgotten about her. He apologized and said she will always be the first person he liked - he didn't say love - but he did not return her feelings.
He was 26, and true to his word, he never loved another woman. But he knew he was falling in love with the Spanish bastard that got him into this mess in the first place. If it weren't for Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, he would have never met Chiara, Felicita, or Carmen. The greatest loves of his life… at least it was something in the bastards favor.