their happily ever after, Valentina choked back a sob – but had instead hosted the downfall of their union. And like in most horror stories, all seemed so fine and good in their marriage...in the beginning...
Valentine’s Day...three years earlier…
‘ I wish we could have stayed in Bora Bora on our honeymoon forever – it’s eighty-five degrees there and it must be about twenty below here in Chicago. Stash – why do I have to wear this silly blindfold?’ Valentina tugged with impatience at the silk scarf he’d tied around her eyes after she’d slid in beside him in the front passenger seat of the car at the airport. Once they’d finally located his car, that is, in the jam-packed parking lot, all of Chicago apparently trying to escape the biting February cold for warmer climes. ‘I can’t see a blasted thing with it on!’
‘ That is typically the point of a blindfold,’ Stash’s dry voice replied with an amused chuckle. ‘Be patient for once in your life, Val, we’ve just about made it.’
The next moment she felt the powerful car slide to a purring stop. ‘Are we there yet?’ she asked for the hundredth time, unable to contain her excitement.
‘ We’re here ,’ Stash announced and Valentina detected the hint of excitement in his voice as well. ‘You can take off your blindfold. Happy Valentine’s Day, agapi mou. ’
‘ Stash – it’s… beautiful, ’ Valentina whispered with a tremor in her voice after lifting the blindfold. Gazing from the car window at the magnificent three-story brick mansion that lay before them across a wide expanse of pristine white snow. A giant heart affixed to a red ribbon stretching across the front door officially made it her best Valentine’s Day gift ever. It sure beat the picked over dime store box of chocolates from Mikey Reynolds in the third grade. ‘Is it really... ours? ’
‘ All the official documents are signed, sealed and delivered. It’s all ours, Valentina – all ten thousand square feet,’ Stash was unable to keep the swelling of pride from his deep voice. He swallowed hard, seeming touched by the emotion of the moment himself. Like all Greek males, she’d learned during their time together, considering it a personal honor and responsibility to care for his family. Providing them shelter from all encroaching storms.
He hadn’t seen the one approaching that would destroy them. Neither one of them had then.
Valentina tugged off her leather glove and grabbed his hand. His warm clasp tightened instantly around hers, the pale winter sun glinting off the plain gold bands they’d placed on each other’s ring fingers in the judge’s chambers two weeks earlier. Hers bearing the inscription he’d dictated to the jeweler. Agapi mou – my love. His stating her truth, simply and sweetly. My dearest heart .
His pride was understandable, Valentina thought, feeling a little verklempt herself . Her fiancé…er husband… gosh, I have to remember to call him that now! A child of Greek immigrants to this country, done good.
A mazingly good.
Obtaining a degree as an architect and starting his own construction and design firm that was winning bids and building contracts at a record pace. Surpassing his parents’ modest success with their small Greek restaurant in leaps and bounds and in just one generation. The stately Georgian manor fronted by four massive columns, located in one of Chicago’s toniest, up and coming suburban neighborhoods, standing as a towering testament to his success. And standing at least five times the size of his parents’ space-challenged house where he’d been raised with his seven siblings. The tiny wood frame house his parents had refused to move from – even after their architect son offered repeatedly to build them a bigger one in a better neighborhood.
No, Anastasio, we stay right here! Why should we move? This house holds too many precious memories