The Italian's proposal

Timothy Giannatto

Timothy watched the young mother-to-be with curiosity. She walked beside him, slowly, murmuring so softly that he could not understand what she was saying, at first, he thought she was talking to him, then he realized that young Melody was talking to herself. He was used to the frivolous women of movies and television, the ones who preferred to dress up than being comfortable, or the ones who preferred to keep up an appearance than live happily. He had a feeling Melody didn’t care at all how much money he had in his pocket.

“Have you cleared up your issues?” he didn’t know why she caught his attention. She was a fairly plain and simple girl. Petite size, big gray eyes, intelligent gaze, and Jet-Black hair that reached her waist. There were thousands of women like Melody from the coffee shop, but none, for some reason he couldn’t figure out, had ever captivated him as much.

“Who?” she asked, as she entered the clinic.

“You and your inner self. You seemed to be having a very heated and interesting discussion.”

“Don’t make fun of my little Italian.”

“You called me little Italian?” he couldn’t believe the coolness with which that woman expressed herself. He had a feeling that, if he spent a day alone with her, locked in a house, he was likely to end up gagging her.

“Would you rather Italianate? It’s really all the same to me. You think you’re funny and smart, you’re going to tell me you’ve never seen someone talking to themselves?”

“I’m not saying I haven’t seen anyone; I’m saying it’s crazy.”

She glared at him and grumbled something about poking his eyes out.

The woman had a wild spirit, and he should applaud her for that. But instead, he preferred to keep attacking her. That was more fun for him.

“I’d even go so far as to say it’s a basic principle for taking someone to the psychiatric ward,” he commented as if referring to the weather. “Good morning,” he approached the hospital reception desk and smiled at the receptionist.

“Good morning. How can I help you?” Timothy watched as the woman looked him up and down, he must have been quite a sight, soaked in coffee all over his shirt, quite different from how he normally looked, all neat and tidy.

“The young lady is pregnant, and we need to see Dr. Troy to confirm that everything is okay.” The woman looked at the computer for a moment and responded by informing him that the doctor was seeing another patient.

“It doesn’t matter. Just get me checked out in the ER I got it,” Melody placed a hand on his arm and Timothy froze for a moment as he felt a rush of electricity go through his entire chest.

“No,” he said after a few seconds. “Let Dr. Troy know that Timothy Giannato is here and that he expects to see him right away.”

“Sir...”

“No. Call him and tell him to come in,” he interrupted the russet-haired, brown-eyed woman who was watching him somewhere between shocked and uncomfortable.

He was one of the main shareholders of the maternity ward. His family had donated millions over the years so that no woman would have to go through any kind of need when it came time to have her child. He took his role as an important man, as his cousin Hamlet used to call him, quite seriously.

“I don’t want to cause you any trouble,” he heard Melody speak to him. She looked at the receptionist and him one at a time. She was uncomfortable too. It all showed on her face, in the way she wrung her hands and how she looked with her eyebrows crossed at the woman behind the counter.

“You don’t bother. I told you I was going to help you and I will. I brought you here, it’s only fair that you be seen by the person I trust, and I know will tell us if all is well with your son.”

“You don’t have to stay.”

He could

knew it. There was going to be no place better cared for and protected than a medical center, much more

out to him, “Dr. Troy is on his way. You can wait for him in his office if you like. Do you know

because he was pregnant, but because the two of them had practically grown up together and as adults they hung out quite a bit. Every chance his

phone rang, and he had to excuse himself for a moment with

as he hit accept.

voice he immediately recognized as

you to stop calling

that tone might have made him hard up to his toes, but after seeing her be able to deny it, the only thing it caused him was disgust. “I

not going

he no longer believed

called ending a relationship. Didn’t the guy you were going to cheat on me with teach you that? Ask him to see, I’m sure he knows more than I

That was nonsense. A little slip of the tongue. We women have

for a few days!” he

so soon.” The cynicism with which she expressed herself was going to make Timothy’s anger vein burst, the one that throbbed and crescendo

I’m early!” he shouted and slammed

had been a while, weeks since he had done anything but drink in the evenings, attend his daily duties at the family

bow tie and

of him, but he was eager to see what the girl had to say about him. He was sure she had seen him; he and his family were one of the most affluent Italian families living in the United States, consequently, they were photographed by the television media several times a week. From

my entire life, didn’t you see the stain on his shirt? That was me and me alone. Do you think I’d be the token acquaintance in his life? As clumsy and dumb as I am? That gentleman doesn’t

spirits, Timothy thought. But he didn’t think she needed it.

she was wearing, and he

had on him.

interrupt you,” he approached them. Both women were speechless when they saw him approaching and he almost burst out laughing when he saw the guilty

I promised Doyle I’d be right back to help him.”

and scolded himself for such a statement. He was not a man to meddle where his presence

a job. If I don’t work, I don’t generate money, if I don’t generate money I don’t eat,

die,” he completed, raising his eyes

a real handful.

face. “I die. You know who else dies if I

me. I’ll tell you

You don’t have the heart to die

chest. She was judging

“I’m sorry.”

her feeling his momentary anger melt

tell me I don’t

going to find something wrong with everything I tell

it’s like to