Simone helped nurse me and my new augmented breasts back to health, and then it came time for me to decide whether or not I wanted to move forward with purchasing the loft, because my lease-to-buy option was coming up. Sigal, who was now back in my life, advised me against it. It wasn’t a good investment, she said matter-of-factly. I also knew I couldn’t afford it.
With her help, Simone and I rented a small house at the end of a cul-de-sac in the Cahuenga Pass. LA is full of hidden gems like this one—just as it teems with people guarding secrets, like me post-augmentation—where you can walk into a little house like ours and something as simple as the expansive view we now had takes your breath away and imbues you with a sense of hope and possibility as far as you can see.
We got the home for a good price, although still more than the loft per month, but it was nice to have an entire home with actual doors and separate spaces. We had a couple bedrooms and a large wrap-around patio with a jacuzzi. I bought a daybed and enjoyed the peace and tranquility and sense of control I seemed to have when I allowed myself to recline in the sun and forget about everything.
I was working and made several trips to Toronto, which was convenient for Simone’s contacts. More often than not it felt good to be engaged to him. But there were a number of times when nothing felt good. I started to drink, often to excess. I was able to sip white wine when we were in the south of Italy; that lifestyle of sun and vineyards appealed to me. Going to clubs and staying out late with Simone was another story. Too many times I ended the night sick from overindulging in vodka and Redbulls, either over a toilet or doubled over by the side of the road.
Drinking to that degree brought out the worst in me and Simone. In those situations, arguments and tempers escalated as if the alcohol were a truth serum, not only loosening inhibitions but encouraging us to say things we really felt about each other. One night we came home after having some drinks and got into a nasty argument. We were toe-to-toe, screaming at each other out of frustration, desperation, and anger, and the next thing I knew, I hit the floor with a thud. I looked up at Simone, stunned. He seemed equally shaken. We were engaged. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
But with us, life was a seesaw. It was always back and forth, up and down. The one thing that Simone was extremely good at was convincing me of whatever he sensed I needed to hear. He had a massive talent for talking his way into and out of anything. And I fell for it this time and every other time.
A short while later, we were walking along the street in Toronto when he proposed a business opportunity. As always, I stopped to listen. He started his spiel on the empire he was building and what he needed for the vision to become real. He spoke with the infectious enthusiasm of a gifted salesman. He needed funds to get things going, he said. He had thought long and hard about how and where to raise the money, and what he proposed doing, what made sense to him, he said, was taking a loan out against my engagement ring.
It was just another moment when I heard the alarms that went off in my head, but I ignored them, wanting instead to believe my life was legit and that I could trust my fiancé.
My eyes fell to my ring. Its ginormous size had always mystified me. I never really knew how Simone had acquired such an expensive item. At the start of our relationship, he introduced me to the jewelers behind this magnificent piece. They were friends of his. Once, he had me meet with them about collaborating on a line of jewelry. Nothing came from that meeting, except I was aware of these people in his life.
When Simone finished breaking down how the loan would work, he told me to think about it. I ran the proposition by my entertainment lawyer. She urged me not to do it, explaining that the ring became a gift the moment Simone gave it to me, and that there were certain legal rights surrounding gifts. In short, the ring was mine and I was entitled to keep it if Simone and I ever broke up, which she hoped wouldn’t happen, but needed me to be aware of.
She asked how much I thought it was worth. I said about two hundred fifty thousand dollars. She explained that Simone was asking me to legally hand the ring back over to him and I would be relinquishing all rights to it by signing the document he proposed. I understood, but still offered reasons why I was willing to support him. She was kind and patient and repeated her advice to not sign the document, though in the end she said the decision was mine.
“Everything will work out,” I told her, feeling slightly embarrassed about what I was implying about our relationship. “Everything will be okay.”
I signed the one-page document. I chose to see my decision as one of love and support, and I told Simone the ring itself was unimportant compared to what really mattered in life. If he did well, it would benefit both of us, and that was what I wanted to sparkle more than anything, the two of us and our life together.
There were awkward moments afterward when friends asked why I wasn’t wearing my engagement ring. I made up lies. It was being fixed, or refitted, or cleaned prior to our ceremony in Italy. I hated telling lies, especially to friends whose trust in me was automatic and unconditional. When Simone said he was able to get the ring back on loan so I could wear it in our wedding, I didn’t know whether to be happy or sick to my stomach that this symbol of our love was now more of a ruse.
Before heading to Italy, Simone and I made our union legal in the US by marrying in a civil ceremony at the Beverly Hills City Hall. I wore a cute sundress, and he cleaned up nicely. Getting to the courtroom was more emotional than I’d anticipated. We parked on a side street and I started crying before I got out of the car. As I opened the door, the tears poured out of me. Simone tried to comfort me.
“We don’t have to do this,” he said.
Though unable to speak, I shook my head and got out of the car. Once again, I refused to listen to my better instincts, my inner voice, which, like everyone’s inner voice, is always the voice of right and reason. And mine was in tears. In fact, my entire body was protesting. But I was having none of it. I ignored all of our fights, the different ways we approached life, and the lies in lieu of locking down my dream wedding in Italy.
I brushed off the rush of emotions as nerves and walked into city hall with Simone. Shortly afterward, we were legally married, husband and wife.
Then it was off to Italy with our nearest and dearest. Simone and I rented a spacious, modern apartment in Rome. On the night before the wedding, he stayed with his family and I slept at the apartment so that we wouldn’t see each other again until I walked down the aisle. That night I had the most amazing dream of my life. I was standing in a field of green grass and locked in an embrace with an angel. Both of us were in long, white, flowing gowns. The angel had magnificent, powerful wings. We held hands and began to waltz, and as we did, we lifted off the ground and rose higher and higher and higher into the air and sky. I had never felt such peace and care. I woke up feeling nothing but love.
That day, the last Saturday of June 2010, we gathered at Santo Stefano degli Abissini, an eighth-century private church in Vatican City, for a wedding that was nearly two years in planning and nothing short of spectacular. I felt like a queen in an Alice + Olivia gown that my girlfriend had custom-made, Claudia Cuiti shoes, and Nova diamond earrings. Simone designed our white-gold wedding bands, and the same priest who had married his parents came out of retirement to perform the ceremony. Everything was perfect.
Our reception was at a fifteenth-century castle outside of Rome. During our first dance, an original composition performed by the Gipsy Kings themselves, a gift from two of my best girlfriends, I lost myself in Simone’s arms and thought about the dream I’d had the night before, hoping it might be the two of us taking flight together. Everyone was excited to see my engagement ring again and they showered both me and Simone with compliments. None of them knew I was wearing it on loan and it was heading back to Toronto the next day.
So damn embarrassing. I still had no idea what the story was behind it, but I kept eating what he was feeding me and ignoring the fact that bullshit was on the menu.