Page 189 of Falling for the Wife

“An estimated fifty to eighty percent, roughly.”

This was a dire bet…but I suppose as long as I avoided the crap that skyrocketed my blood pressure, I should survive this ordeal. I could very well live with it without having anything drilled into my brain.

“I’ll go with no operation. I’ll take my chances.”

My mother lost it, fainting on the spot; my father tended to his wife; and the other medical personnel scrambled to cater to the dramatic woman. Vittorio didn’t leave my side, trying his best to persuade me to change my decision, but I had already made up my mind. Nothing would change it.

Once Vittorio left, I took the chance to lie back and rest as I listened to my now awakened mother sobbing as if she was truly concerned about my welfare. It was rather laughable. I believed she was more upset that her trophy son was no more, that her well-boasted son had a possibility of being a disabled man, and she would be mortified to call me her own. My mother was superficial. She didn’t have a soul nor a decent bone in her body. That was why her artificial wiles didn’t do a damn thing to my conscience.

It took about another ten minutes before everyone cleared out, except for my parents. With my mother regaining her composure as she retouched her make-up, my father stood at the foot of the hospital bed with genuine concern etched across his face.

“Why are you so against a surgery that will save your life?” he asked.

“Because I am. It’s my life, my decision. End of story.”

He was none too pleased with my curt answer. “Do you have a death wish, Luca?”

Was that what they called it? I didn’t necessarily call upon death, but I was against anything going on inside my brain. Besides, it wasn’t as if my family would really mourn my death. My father might, but the rest? I doubted it.

“If I die, I die. Why make a big deal out of it?”

Of course, my relaxed approach didn’t sit well with him.

“Because you’re my son! I’m your father, and I’m telling you that you’re not being sensible or fair to everyone who loves and cares for you, Luca. You’ve always loved to chase experiences that threaten your wellbeing, but this time around, I refuse to see that happen! I refuse to bury my son while there’s still breath left in my body!” He slammed his fist on the small table that was close to him, disturbing everything on it.

“Papà, that’s enough. I’m exhausted, and I want nothing more than to sleep right now. I know this is upsetting you, but for now, this is what I want. I need you to learn how to respect that.”

I needed to be alone with my own thoughts and to be surrounded by silence with no one pestering me about my decisions. If stress was one of the vital triggers for me, then my parents should pay heed and let me rest.

I fell asleep to the sound of my mother bickering about how my father should pressure me more into getting it done, while my father was telling her that he was tired and would try to speak with me again tomorrow. They contrasted each other. It was sad that two individuals remained married, simply because it was expected of them.

Playing by the rules wasn’t my forte, and everyone knew that. I was as stubborn as they came.

Dead or alive, what would be the difference, really? I would welcome either with open arms.

Diece

Gazing at the bland display of food that was set on the tray, instead of choosing any to nibble on, I chose the newspaper that was neatly folded next to it.

My mood was dismal at best, but after a few pages into the paper, I realized that life outside the hospital was still up to the same old shenanigans. What did I truly expect? People were rather fond of targeting me. Be it good or bad, they would speculate on everything until the truth was stretched out into a fabricated lie.

I wasn’t even surprised that the media had already gotten a whiff of my diagnosis. Just like during any other trivial controversy, my mother was inconsolable. There were photos of her, teary eyed, forlorn, and looking every bit of a mother who was going through a challenging time with her family. To be sure, the situation was challenging; however, for her to use the media as a tool to get sympathy and good publicity—well, it was typical Felicia Constantia di Medici style. Her little comments and short but staged interviews in the article were rather disgusting. She knew the last thing I needed was to stress myself out, yet there she was, absorbing every bit of attention she could find.

It was an error on my part, leading myself to believe I could have a hiatus from the tabloids and the gossip they liked to feed on. Thanks to my beloved mother, everyone in Italy knew about my condition. I was sure the rest of the world would soon catch up within the next few hours. Jacques, Andrés, Callum, and the rest of the lot would be lining up to see me, probably believing I might be on my deathbed.

Ah, fuck it all. Who cared what anyone thought of me? I hadn’t bothered caring before, so I shouldn’t care now.

The loud knock on the door made me tense, half hoping that it was mother on the other side of the door, because I had some colorful words to say to her. However, as luck would have it—or lack of it—it was the last person I had expected to see, seeming worse for wear with red-rimmed eyes, as if she had been crying her eyes out.

I admitted, for a slight second, I stopped breathing. Then, remembering our last encounter, repulsion immediately flooded me, hardening my stance as I gave her a hard stare, hoping she would disappear.

“What are you doing here?” I asked her, not wasting time on propriety.

Remorseful, she sniffed before appearing as if she was about to cry again. “The news … There’s talk that you’re sick. They said the doctors—”

“Who gives a fuck what the doctors think?” I barked out the words, unable to suppress how I loathed her and everything she represented. “Besides, it’s no one’s business but mine. You can go ahead and retrace your steps back to where you came from. You’re not welcome here.”

“Why are you taking chances? This is your life. How can you gamble with it? You know how dangerous this is, Luca!” she gave an impassioned speech, so much so that I almost,almostbelieved it.