Author's Note: Alright. This is my third attempt to write this story. I had first posted this story on April 11, 2002 and had posted and posted until sometime in May. Then, I took the story down and I was going to repost it (with a few changes here and there) in January…and I did—but then I got bored and so I stopped. So now, here it is again, except the plot is different. Sort of. Plus, I lost the original disk, so that's partially why the plot is different. I guess it doesn't really matter anyway because most of the people who were reading this have probably forgotten about it. So, with all that nonsense said and done, please enjoy.
You're My Santa Fe
-prologue-
She had not complained when her father had moved her and her brother to America. She had been hurt, but had not commented when her father had sold her mother's things once they had reached New York. She had obeyed each and every rule that her father had lain upon her. She went to parties and smiled graciously and even danced.
Her mother had once told her that nothing in life was fair. But now, it just was not fair. It was as if there were forces working against her. What had she done to deserve this? She was just an innocent girl who happened to be the daughter of one of the richest men in New York City. It was a heavy burden on her shoulders and she had shouldered it for sixteen years, but now, now she was really beginning to feel the weight.
When she was a little girl, things had been good. She had her brother to play with and she had a mother and father to love her. And she loved her mother and father dearly.
The love that she had for her mother had not been enough to protect her from her father's drunken wrath. During the day, her father played the loving husband that everyone thought that he was. But at night, he beat his wife mercilessly, blaming her for his many problems. It only stopped when her mother had gotten sick.
After she had died, her father had changed. Instead of exuberating life like he had when he was sober, he was empty, only finding solace in alcohol. He was often alone during his hours after work and sat by the fire, drinking, but never once had he touched his children.
Even so, she harbored a hate so great for her father that she began to despise all men. She was lonely and because of this, she took her pleasures in women, enjoying the feeling of being loved. When she was with a woman, she did not have to worry about being hurt.
But, her father did not know about her feelings. He expected her to marry a rich, prominent man who could support her and share his wealth. And he had found one for her.
She was doomed.
Francesca Generelli was extremely bored. She glanced at her companion and found that he was staring at her. She hated how he stared at her like she was a piece of cake just waiting to be devoured.
"Luigi," she said, lightly. "Please, do not do that."
"Do what?" he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice. He leaned back in his seat across from her and waited for her answer.
She wanted to roll her eyes. He knew very well what she was talking about. "Stare at me like that. It makes me feel uncomfortable."
Luigi laughed. "You are so beautiful," he said. "I cannot help it, love."
She cringed when he called her "love." Francesca began to think of the love that she had left behind in Italy…Cecilia…
The carriage drove over a large bump and Francesca flew forward, landing in Luigi's arms and bumping her head underneath his chin. "Ouch!" she cried out, rubbing her head.
"Are you alright?" asked Luigi, helping her back into her seat. Before she could answer, he yelled, "Stop!"
Once the carriage had stopped, Luigi jumped out and Francesca followed him. He looked up at the driver and ordered him to come down. "What was that?" he demanded, referring to the bump.
"Very sorry, sir," the driver demanded, meekly. He took off his hat and held it in his hands. "Couldn't be helped."
"Could not be helped? Could not be helped? My lady was thrown clear across the carriage and you say that it could not be helped?"
Francesca knitted her eyebrows in annoyance. "Really, Luigi," she said, putting a hand on his arm. "It is alright."
"Francesca," Luigi said. "It isn't alright. You now have a swollen head because of this incompetent man—" he said, advancing on the driver before Francesca grabbed his arm.
"Stop it! Right now!" she demanded. "There is no need for name calling!" She looked past Luigi and said, "I'm very sorry. My companion here has no manners. If you could, could you take me home?"
"Yes, Miss."
Francesca stepped back into the carriage, ignoring Luigi's outstretched hand. When he too had settled back into the carriage, she did her best to disregard him, though she could feel his strong eyes on her.
After a time, Luigi said, "You're angry with me."
She arched an eyebrow. "Of course I'm angry with you. You had no right to—"
"Let me buy you something," he interrupted.
Francesca was in disbelief. Buy her something? She knew Luigi was a spoiled brat (she could spot them a mile away), but this was just too much. "You want to buy me something?" she said, incredulously.
He smiled, mistaking Francesca's disbelief for enthusiasm. "Yes, I want to buy you something. You have not even seen the extent of my wealth."
"I want to go home, Luigi," she demanded, turning away from him once more.
Luigi Dominico was the only child of the rich Bruno Dominico. He had come with just his father from Italy to Manhattan years ago, leaving enough time for his father to reestablish himself as a businessman. In fact, it had been Luigi's father who had suggested to Mr. Generelli that he move his family to Manhattan.
Although he had been young when he came to Manhattan, Luigi was still quite familiar with the language. This, he shared in common with Francesca. But, unlike Francesca, Luigi was spoiled and unkind and did not care about anyone but himself.
Luigi was extremely good-looking. She would not deny that. He had hair darker than night and eyes so green that one might mistake them for a lush forest and lose themselves while looking into them. His voice was rich and smooth and she knew that he had wooed many women with it.
Francesca knew that he wanted her only as a possession and she hated him more and more everyday.
Les Jacobs could not help but stare at the girl who was yelling at her riding companion. From what he had seen, the lady's companion had been yelling at the old driver when the lady interfered. After the lady and her companion had driven off, Les stared after them.
She was beautiful.
"Les!"
Les jerked his head in the direction from which he had been called. How had David gotten so far ahead?
"Come on, Les!" cried David, waving him over.
The young boy grinned and ran to David. "David, I just saw this pretty girl and—"
David shook his head, walking faster. "You're ten, Les—"
"Yeah, but she was beautiful—"
"You're too young for girls. Come on or you'll be late for school."
Les sighed heavily and pushed the thoughts of the girl out of his head. David could be so bossy.
End Note: Don't worry. Jack will be here! So, what'd you think? I'd love some comments of any kind. It'd really help me out. Thanks for reading.
Copyright, theMuse
May 8, 2003