The Lovechild

by Ashea S. Goldson

Genres: Urban Fantasy

Synopsis

Makaeli Lovechild Hunt, a successful fashion designer, struggles with her own spirituality and bi-racial identity until a family emergency forces her to face her tumultuous past. In seven life-altering days, she discovers what forgiveness really means. Amidst crises painful enough to make her turn her back on God forever, she learns what it means to be God's lovechild.

Release date: June 20, 2013

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 416

Sample

Destiny is a funny thing. In seven days, it changed my life in a way I didn’t think was even possible in a lifetime.

As I walked into La Villa De Meriole, one of the most popular cafés in Venice and my personal favorite, I had the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong. Although I walked through the familiar room, out the back door to my usual patio table and saw my usual waitress, the flurry in my stomach told me that something was different about today.

I sat down and loosened my scarf to get comfortable. As my waitress delivered a meal to the next table, my eyes met hers and I nodded. There was no need to look at a menu because I had eaten here so many times before, I practically had it memorized. I knew I wanted shrimp scampi, and all I had to do was lean over and whisper it to her. She smiled graciously and walked away.

I checked my watch and quickly realized that it was already twelve o’clock. Antonio, my tall, dark-haired photographer, hadn’t arrived yet. Anxious to settle in, I scooted up close to the table and placed my snakeskin purse in his seat. I rubbed my hands together over and over again, but I couldn’t pinpoint the reason for my anxiety.

Everything seemed to be normal except for the knot that tightened in my stomach. Despite the cool weather, I was already perspiring around my eyebrows and neck. I peeked inside my coat to check my underarms. Surprisingly, my silk blouse was still dry. Still, I just didn’t feel right.

I leaned forward and began to drum my fingernails on the tabletop. Then my cell phone rang. I snatched up the phone after the first ring barely ended.

“Ciao.”

“Ciao, Makaeli. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to make it for lunch,” Antonio said.

“Oh?”

“I’m stuck over here at the studio. The models were late and these gentlemen want this shoot done by this afternoon.” Antonio sounded flustered. “I’m sorry.”

“No problem. I thought we’d finalize the details for the show, but I understand.” I took a deep breath and swallowed my spit.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Antonio never made promises he couldn’t keep, but it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily.

“Don’t make promises. It’s all right. You don’t owe me anything,” I said.

“But I was looking forward to having lunch with you.”

“I’ll be heading back to my office right after I have a few bites anyway.” A little lie never hurt anyone.

“Again, I’m sorry.”

“And I’m sorry too, but unfortunately, I’ve got to go.” I was ready to pounce on him, to make him really sorry for what he had done. My jaw tightened because I was hot, but I had to play it cool.

“You’re upset with me?”

“No, I’m just very busy.” I tried not to sound like I had an attitude, but as upset as I was, he probably heard my lips poking out over the phone.

“Right. I’ll talk to you later then.”

“Maybe.” I ended the call and turned off my cell. No more interruptions.

Determined to disguise my disappointment even from myself, I reached into my Italian leather briefcase, took out my sketchpad and attempted to focus on my upcoming fashion show. No more thoughts of Antonio.

Instead, I tried to run through the designs in my mind one at a time, visualizing each silhouette, each pose and each turn. Then I tried to sketch what I imagined. Daydreaming about fashion didn’t compare to the innocent flirtation I expected from Antonio, but it was certainly better than looking at his empty chair and feeling deserted.

I didn’t really mind eating by myself though. Back in Jersey, dining alone used to go with the territory at least three or four nights out of a week. It usually gave me time to think, to plan and to create. In fact, some of my best designs came to me when I was eating or sleeping, and most of them came when I was alone. Alone, except of course for God, who inspired my ideas. Such an awesome God, and yet I continued to fall short.

The winter breeze caressed my face and legs, the only body parts, besides my hands, that were somewhat exposed . When I reached down to adjust my skirt underneath my leather coat, my mocha-colored stockings caught my eye. They were two shades darker than my skin, and I closed my eyes, straining to remember when I started the habit of hiding myself.

When I opened them, I realized that if hiding myself was my mission, then hiding by the water was my sanctuary. From the little stone table, I saw the boats pulling into the canal. One by one the traghettos, being the cheapest and fastest rowboats, boarded passengers, tourists and natives alike. I watched the people huddle together, separated only by their own anxieties. The fresh water repeatedly splashed against the sides of the wooden vessels as they were paddled downstream.

The ethereal scenery always provided the calm I needed for designing, and as a result, I usually flowed, without interruption, in my element. But today was so different, so strange, I gave in and put my work away.

“Ecco, signora.” The short, heavy-chested waitress smiled as she set down my plate. Her hair was a thick, unruly wave of blackness that commanded its own attention.

“Thank you. I mean, grazie.” I dug my fork into the shrimp scampi like I had not eaten in days.

She set my cappuccino next to my plate. “I haven’t seen you in here since the holidays. Did you go home?”

“No, I didn’t.” My eyes avoided hers.

“Couldn’t get away?” She stood over me, not moving. Her body was an intrusive mass, blocking my view of the water.

“More like I didn’t want to get away,” I offered. “My family and I don’t always get along. Letters and postcards do just fine. At Christmas, it’s FedEx that brings the love to the U.S.” I smiled, but cut it short when she didn’t smile back.

“I’m sure it’s not the same as having you there in person, signora. What did your madre say?”

What in the world was she thinking? She didn’t usually probe like this. In fact, we hardly had more than a two-sentence conversation in the few months that she had been working there.

“My mother didn’t say anything.” I dropped my head because I hadn’t talked to Mama in years.

“The crowds are getting thick. Aren’t you going to Carnevale today?” She stuck her hands into the pockets of her beige uniform.

She must have picked up on my discomfort because she dropped the previous subject. Needless to say, I was relieved.

“I usually don’t.” I forced a smile.

“But it’s tradition.”

“It’s evocative, but I don’t like the eerie masks.”

“You’re not one of those religious fanatics, are you?” She squinted her chestnut brown eyes at me.

“No, signora, but I do have my beliefs.” Even if I don’t always practice them.

I reached down to fondle the cross pendant that hung between my breasts. It had been so long since I had practiced anything spiritual. Too long. I’d have to change that one day soon. I’d have to make my way back into the church, any church at this point, as long as God could forgive me. Again.

Her big brown eyes finally met mine.

My fork went slowly to my mouth. “I’ve always loved Italian food.”

“Signora, you no look like you ‘love’ no food.” She squeezed my arm, smiled and then walked away.

Although she insulted me, I brushed her comment aside and grinned. Whenever I was at the studio, surrounded by beautiful models, I never felt “too” thin. I shook my head at the audacity she had displayed today.

Just as I was about to take another bite, a dark-haired, olive-toned waiter approached my table, holding a sheet of notepaper in his hand. “Buon giorno, Signora Hunt.”

“Buon giorno, signor.” I wiped my mouth with the cloth napkin.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, but there is an important call for you in the office,” he said.

“A call? Grazie, signor.”

Since Nina, my personal assistant, was the only person besides Antonio who knew I was here, I wondered what had gone wrong at the office. I followed the waiter inside the café, squeezing through tables and chairs until we arrived at a tiny shell of a room. It was furnished only with a desk that was cluttered with papers, two chairs and a file cabinet. He gestured for me to come in.

“Signora.” He led me to a telephone on the wall and handed me the receiver. “Line one.”

“Grazie.” My Italian wasn’t as refined as that of the natives, but I could certainly hold my own.

“Buon giorno.” I fidgeted with the phone cord.

“Makaeli, is that you, girl?”

“Oh, Lisa. Hi. I didn’t realize—”

“I tried to reach you on your cell, but it seems to be off. I called your office, and your assistant said you could be reached at this number.” Lisa’s voice was low. “You’ve got to come home.”

“Why? What’s going on? Is it Mama?” My heart began to beat faster than it ever had.

“No. It’s Raquel. She overdosed and she might die,” Lisa said.

“What happened?” It wasn’t that I was fishing for details, but I needed a moment to process the information.

“Raquel is in the ICU. I found her passed out in her room. She was just—just come home, please, as soon as you can.”

“You know I haven’t been home in a long time.”

“Six years to be exact, but who’s counting? That’s even more of a reason for you to get yourself home.” It was typical that Lisa was demanding.

“I can’t just up and leave. I’m sure you can handle things without me,” I said.

“Handle things without you?”

“My schedule is just impossible.” I started the usual cat and mouse games, hoping she wouldn’t catch me and eat me alive.

“Look, Mama wants everybody home now, including you. It has been long enough. And don’t tell me about your ‘impossible’ schedule. You’re the boss. Make it possible.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll see if I can get an evening flight.” I hated when she used her authority like that.

“No, see if you can get a now flight. There’s no time.” Her voice didn’t waver.

Same old domineering Lisa. I closed my eyes at the thought that even though years had passed, nothing had changed. I raised my hand to my forehead. The stress of going home brought on an instant headache. My heart began to beat faster and I felt the beads of perspiration forming at my temples.

“Okay, I’ll call you when everything is in order.” I sighed and leaned against the wall to steady myself.

“I’ll see you when you get here.” Lisa rendered me powerless, ending the conversation as abruptly as she started it.

I walked out of the tiny office a little dazed.

“Is everything all right, signora?” the waitress asked.

“No, I’ve got an emergency situation to deal with.” I peeled out the euros from my wallet and practically threw them at her before I headed out the front door. “Grazie.”

Without even buttoning my coat, I grabbed my briefcase and ran quickly down the riva, headed for my villa-styled apartment in South Marco Square. It wasn’t easy running in Anna Molinari stilettos, but I knew I had to do this fast or I might change my mind about going.

Although this moment had been a dream of mine a million times before, and although Raquel’s destruction had once been my only ambition, now that it had actually happened, I couldn’t even savor it. Mrs. Pearl’s voice kept popping into my head. “Forgive.”

Good old Mrs. Pearl, my former mentor, was always big on God and forgiveness . . . but what about the unforgivable?

Inside my apartment, I threw off my coat and changed into a denim pantsuit. I called Nina to make all the necessary travel arrangements. Then I went to my closet and started throwing things around in search of my Gucci overnight bag. When I finally found it underneath a pile of shoes, I filled it with a few basic essentials. Then almost as an afterthought, I remembered to pack a black dress, just in case. Finally, I went to my velvet jewelry box and took out the note.

I wasn’t sure if it was the right time, but I had to bring it in case an opportunity arose. I squeezed the paper in my hands and held it against my chest for a few minutes before stuffing it into my purse.

Feeling quite satisfied with the progress made so far, I called Antonio. Not wanting me to go to the airport alone, he decided to end his session early and meet me at the Santa Lucia Railway Station.

I hung up the phone, waited for the driver, and before long, I was at the train station.

Seeing Antonio across the platform, my heart leaped at the sight of his deeply chiseled features and silky black hair. As he approached, I raised my gaze to take in his six foot two frame. How did I ever turn him down? His dark eyes scanned my body and shivers went through me. It was amazing how he still had that effect on me.

Antonio was no ordinary man; not one a woman would just pass over or throw away. He was a worthwhile “brother”—except he wasn’t a “brother” at all. Figure that out. How did I go and get myself involved with an Italian-American man as if I didn’t have enough racial drama in my family already? But I guess love knew no reason.

Not that I was sure I was in love or anything, but he definitely thought he was in love with me. He proposed, was rejected and still hung around even after all of my refusals. Don’t get me wrong; it’s not that I didn’t care about him, or that I didn’t have moments when I regretted my choice, but it’s just that he wasn’t ready for my kind of mess. A sister had too many issues. Besides, my family would kill me if they knew I was even trying to date a white man. I knew it would never work.

“We’ve got important things to discuss when you get back.” Antonio took my hand and gently rubbed my ring finger.

“You mean if I get back. I’m going into a war zone, remember?”

“It can’t be that bad.” He squeezed my hand and it soothed me.

“Probably worse. I haven’t seen any of these people in six years.”

“These people, as you call them, are your family. You’ll be okay.”

“I’m glad you’re sure, but I’m not.”

“You can handle it. You’re strong.” Antonio directed his lips toward mine, but I turned my cheek to him. I couldn’t deny the physical attraction between us, but I could tame it as much as possible.

“I just hope my demons aren’t stronger.” Laughter sneaked from my mouth, but my insides were disintegrating.

“Remember, Dio è amore.”

“You’re right. God is love.” But, with the way I’d ignored God in the past few years, I was ashamed to even claim that.

Being the gentleman that he was, Antonio offered to ride the Eurostar train with me. We rode for two and a half hours with stops in Verona, Padova, Vicenza and Mestre. It was a quiet ride because as I contemplated the challenge ahead, I was in no mood for talking. I was glad Antonio was considerate enough to understand.

Finally, we reached the Aeroporto Malpensa in Milan. Antonio held my hand with just the right amount of pressure and stayed just close enough not to alarm my better judgment. When he leaned forward to kiss me goodbye, I backed away. Temptation. The mind was willing but the flesh was weak.

“I love you.” He touched my ring finger again and then pointed to his heart.

“I’ll call you,” I said.

Marriage. The thought of him being tied to me was scary because my desirability and worthiness seemed so far fetched.

Every morning, when I looked in the mirror to get ready for work, I’d paint myself with a darker shade of foundation to hide that other part of me. I wasn’t even secure yet with myself, so what in the world would I do with a husband? A white one, at that?

Even though I knew most people called me beautiful, I didn’t buy into that. Beauty was more than the sum total of smooth skin and well-formed body parts. A person should have something on the inside to qualify as being beautiful. And I was hollow; not because I was a horrible person and not because I wanted to be, but because of what was stolen from me.

Antonio quoted The Lord’s Prayer before the plane boarded its passengers. Even though I appreciated his religious upbringing, I remembered when I had a real relationship with God.

After I was seated, he waved to me and then walked away. I watched his broad shoulders as he eased down the walkway and disappeared into the crowd.

Through the glass, I admired la serenissima, the most serene, the beautiful Italy that offered me everything. Silently, I said goodbye to the Golden Triangle, the shopping district where the fashion houses of Giorgio Armani, Roberto Cavalli and Versace produced their exclusive labels. I knew in my heart that one day, when my business reached the next level, I would bring my own high fashion boutique to this area too. It was one of my favorite places in the world. I blinked away a tear, feeling that moving across the sea was undoubtedly the best decision I ever made.

Adulthood wasn’t all I expected it to be, but it sure was better than that nightmare I called my childhood. Not once since I came to Italy did I endure ridicule for the white blood that ran through my veins, as if I didn’t bleed and hurt like every other person of color. But I was on my way home to Jersey, away from the beauty to a place of cruelty and chaos.

I took out the crumpled note from my purse and smoothed its brown edges, proud that I had enough courage to bring it with me. For years this note had haunted me. Maybe now is the time. There were so many secrets and so much sorrow back in New Jersey that my expectations for this trip were nothing nice.

I was seated in an aisle seat next to a burly middle-aged man.

“How are you?” He loosened his tie and extended his hand.

“I’m fine, thanks.” I started to fumble around in my purse, securing the note in my wallet.

This was going to be a long flight. I had hoped he wouldn’t start small talk this early. I motioned for the flight attendant to come over.

“Excuse me. Are we still landing in New York on time?” I asked.

“We should be only a few minutes off schedule, signora. We always anticipate minor delays.” She looked like a Barbie doll in her perfect-fitting uniform and long blond hair.

“Grazie,” I said.

As turbulence shook the plane, restlessness overshadowed me. As I looked out of the window at the clouds and then at the swaying wing, my shrimp began to rise in my throat. I leaned forward just in case my stomach betrayed me, but it didn’t. A can of ginger ale settled my nausea.

I reached down to pick up my Armani handbag and patted it to assure myself of its contents. The note I carried was the only clue to my family history, so I couldn’t misplace it.

Looking through the window provided a little too much excitement, so I decided to study the man sitting beside me instead. He had a sharp mustache, a bald head and was wearing a loose-fitting linen suit. He was reading the newspaper, so I couldn’t see his eyes.

First, I wondered how many skeletons were in his closet. Mistrust was a bad habit of mine. Then I quickly decided not to assume the worst of people and turned my glare away from him.

“Are you from the States?” He looked over and gave me a toothy grin.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Are you?” I was grateful that he spoke fluent English.

“Yes. I was in Italy on business. What about you?”

“I’m visiting my family in New Jersey, but I live here, actually,” I replied.

“Really? What made you relocate to Italy?”

“Well, I received a scholarship to Domus Academy a few years back.”

“Domus Academy?”

“It’s a post graduate school of design in Milan. I had just finished my degree at Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City.”

“Yes, I know of F.I.. . .