Love on a Lark: the FIRST first chapter
So I stumbled upon this old first chapter that I took out of Love on a Lark. It sets up Dario and I think I took it out because I thought that it dragged the beginning a little, and I was also mega-obsessed with the reveal of Dario being a total surprise. But I don’t think the reader cares as much as I did then, and now I don’t care as much. The characters are surprised, and that’s ultimately what matters. Now I’m thinking it’s more important that the audience is on Dario’s side, and the more information upfront the better. Sets up Lark very well too, I think.
I don’t know, what do you guys think? Should I add it back in or leave it as is?
Chapter 1
Adeptly, Dario buttoned up his dress shirt as he looked out across the city from the hotel room window. It was a stone’s throw from where he worked, and lately he was there so often he referred to it as “his hotel.”
He came often, but he never stayed very long.
He adjusted his tie, hoping by the time he turned around, Angelica was climbing out of bed and into the bathroom.
She was.
It wasn’t her first rodeo with Dario. He was a cold man. Ice cold, since his wife died ten years ago.
But then again, so was she. He had nothing to give. She hadn’t found that out until she tried to get close to him and found that it was impossible. And she was used to it.
Tonight, he was ending it.
They didn’t have a relationship, or at least, they weren’t supposed to. He only called her when he needed to. Now they had a standing appointment, every Wednesday.
Today was Thursday, however. He called her at home, and then hung up when she answered.
He didn’t even know her last name, because he didn’t care. At first. Now that they were comfortable, he wanted to know it, and that unnerved him. He was learning her and she him. A closed-off apparition of him, but still.
“Angelica.”
“Que?”
“This will be the last time.”
She stopped and stared in his eyes, clearly wanting to say many things, wanting to beg him, feeling the pain and wanting him to offer her refuge.
But she knew he wouldn’t, that he couldn’t.
Her eyes returned to normal, a coldness that he’d become accustomed to. Then, he watched them turn the slightest bit colder.
“Va bene,” she said in his language.
The fact that he felt dispirited breaking the news was a dead giveaway.
Angelica was starting to make him feel again, and he was apprehensive to let that go. Where would he possibly find it again?
He admonished himself. Why do you only want what you shouldn’t have?
She dressed as though she couldn’t stay another second, and it tore his insides. He leaned against the window ledge, his arms by his sides, willing himself to stay where he was as she clumsily gathered her things, her garment bag far too heavy for her. She was much too proud to admit she needed help at this point, and he too ashamed to give it.
It took some shuffling but she was eventually out the door. She’ll never know how he felt, how he was beginning to feel, and it would forever stay that way.
She’s incredibly beautiful, she’ll be fine, he assured himself, feeling queasy.
It was true. Angelica was incredibly beautiful. Statuesque, a former Olympian from Barcelona, now a flight attendant. A bit older than him. The age his wife would be now, were she still alive.
He liked older women. They were fun. Vibrant. Passionate. Mostly only wanted one thing.
He liked widows. They understood. Always. Especially if they were still in the throes of grief.
Angelica had not been a widow, however. She was married.
His first foray. At first, he liked it very much. So much so, that he thought he might become hooked. It was terribly wrong and dangerous. Convenient, on some level. Discretion could always be counted upon.
But she’d become attached. And so had he.
Perhaps not in a traditional sense, but he did not want to find himself attached to a married woman. Become a wrecking ball to two families, like his father before him. Angelica was lovely, inspiring even. He was grateful to her. But she wasn’t his, and it wasn’t right.
If he were to fall in love again, he would have to embrace the possibility full force, not live among the ruins, drinking from the same stagnant pool of the past.
He sighed. He felt himself breathe deep, inhaling optimism as he prepared to go out, again braving the elements of blind hope. It was a feeling still in its infant stages. He had a while before he would need to worry about coming across another woman that captured him like Alessia.
After an adequate amount of time had passed, he exited his hotel and headed in the opposite direction, back to his office.
This had become a routine. His double life crowded in on him. No one knew about his off-and-on intimacy habit.
As far as anyone else knew, he was a long-suffering widower with a teenage son. He didn’t care much for his own reputation, but he wanted desperately to spare his son his private heartache. He’d only had his mother six years. He didn’t want to deepen the wounds of motherlessness by parading his conquests around and letting them sleep on his wife’s side of the bed, the way his father had done to his own mother after they divorced.
When he got to the factory his secretary Lenora was waiting on him.
“We got a call from the hotel in Seoul that said they overbooked, but I was able to get you two rooms at the new luxury hotel right across from the venue.”
“Three rooms.”
“Como?”
“Three. The interpreter will need a place to sleep, no?”
“I’m on it, capo,” she sighed.
“When will he be arriving, by the way?”
“’She.’ The day before you leave for Milan.”
“Signora Chambers?” he asked eagerly, “I thought her schedule wouldn’t allow?”
“It seems it has opened up.”
“Good. She was my first choice.”
It was hard enough getting the boss to agree to venture outside of Italy for trade shows and add diversity to the supply chain. If he hadn’t found the one available interpreter who could speak Italian, Russian and Korean on such short notice, Dario likely wouldn’t have been able to get him on board.
This new hire had worked for the U.N. and had a mastery level fluency of seven languages. Only the best for the company. It just so happened that she was fluent in all the languages of countries that had the burgeoning entrepreneurs he was interested in doing business with. He’d lucked out hiring her and Monday was to be her first day of work.
“Is she attractive?”
“For your sake, I hope not.”
“You did not have the interview?”
“Perche? You made a fuss, the agency called and said she was available, va tutto bene.”
“This is what I get for hiring family,” he ribbed. His cousin Lenora made a face. His father used to say they were a family business down to the maintenance man.
“Have you got the list of our contacts?”
“Si. Park in Korea from SALVA. From there you will see Sergei in New York.”
“No issues with sanctions?”
“No. If you would’ve come up with this plan any earlier, you might’ve had to learn a thing or two,” she replied disapprovingly.
“Where’s the fun in that?” he shrugged.
Taking risks. Little to no room for errors. That was the cost of having control of each stage of the production cycle. But it was control that he’d fought for in the last seven years and control that he didn’t regret. Products now were cheaper to manufacture, better executed at a higher rate of quality, and it had been his ambition ever since he’d graduated with his merchandising degree so many years ago.
The CEO had notions of retiring and giving Dario more power. It was an inevitability Dario was prepared for. He was only there for appearances anyway at this point, but those appearances were still very important. Dario much preferred to excel in the shadows. But with his stagnant view for the future of the company, Dario had incentive to let the boss retire.
When Dario got home late that night, his mother and son were asleep on the couch.
Quietly he slipped past them into his own room. He sighed as he plopped on his bed in a heap. He was exhausted. He still planned to wake up early and get some work done while the offices were empty and the warehouse ran.
Only five days until Wednesday.
Wait… there would be no Wednesday reprieve.
He’d ended it with Angelica. And he would be in meetings all next week.
Merda. How could he forget already?
He was starting to go back on his newly devised love adventure. It was too daunting and of no use. He worked non-stop. Grief and professional ambition had sliced through his 30’s like a cake. Now he was 42. Still young, in his estimation, but he was confronting a part of himself that still felt angry, still felt robbed. He wanted more children, he admitted to himself as he lay in bed.
Dario only fell in love one way, and that was hard. It happened once and only once in his life. He used to feel bitter about it, as if cheated, when she died. The loss nearly blinded him with grief, not something he was willing to again endure.
But the longer he lived, the harder the grief was to recall. More and more he could only feel fortunate to have had that, and started to wonder if lightning could strike twice.
On the other hand, he had a business to run. A son to take care of. The world needed him. He simply didn’t have time to fall for anyone, let alone fall apart if something happened to them. As exhausted as the whole business made him, he couldn’t fall asleep.
The next morning he tried to slip past his mother and son to no avail. They were already downstairs and eating breakfast.
“See, Nonna? I told you he came home last night.” his son Gino said.
“Buon giorno, famiglia,” Dario greeted them.
“Where are you going? Eat!” his mother furrowed her brow, gesturing with her arms.
“I can’t. I’m going in early.”
“Polpetto, you work too much!” his mother exclaimed.
“I know. But if I go in early, I will be done by tonight.”
“Papa, can I go out with my friends tonight?” Gino asked.
“Your friends can come to Nonna’s.”
“I can’t bring my friends there, papa. They want to hang out some place cool.”
“Your Nonna’s is cool.”
His son Gino scoffed and looked as though he were being tortured.
“You watch too much American TV, Gino. Besides, you’re hurting Nonna’s feelings.”
“I don’t mind if he goes out with his friends. He is young!”
Gino kissed his grandmother on the cheek.
“Make an appearance, and then go,” Dario decided.
“Thanks, Papa.”
“Mama, go home. We are fine here.”
“’Mama, go home,’” his mother mimicked him. “You hurt my feelings, piccolo!”
“Leave us be, Mama. Gino loves you too much to tell you himself.”
“Nonsense. The two of you would starve!”
“Your husband also eats, vero?”
“Eccome, he eats too much! But I worry about you, my bambino.”
“I waste my breath, but for the last time. Don’t worry about me, Mama, I’m fine.”
Dario took a bite of dry toast and headed for the door.
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