by LJ Shen
She took a deep breath. “Whatever happened this evening will need to be discussed between us. But we will never have a chance to do that if you don’t stay. If you leave to spend the night with another woman, I will not be here come morning.”
I smiled sardonically, leaning down, our mouths nearly touching. Her breath hitched, and her eyes glazed over. I dragged my lips across her cheek to her ear.
“Don’t let the door hit your ass on your way out, Nemesis.”
I shivered under my covers, hitting refresh on all the local media Twitter accounts, checking their websites for live updates. It was about as constructive to my mental state as watching videos of puppies drowning, but I couldn’t help it.
Three hours after he’d left the house, my husband was seen with a gorgeous brunette on his arm. She was wearing my favorite Valentino dress and a proud smile.
Screw you, Wolfe.
Her eyes were bigger and bluer and deeper. They saw and knew things I could hardly even imagine. She was taller and considerably more beautiful. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, smiling dreamingly as their photo was taken, staring directly to the camera. Flirting with it. Loving it back. And, as my husband looked down at her, his cold mercury eyes darkening with lust, I knew what I had to do even before I’d read the caption under their image.
Senator Wolfe Keaton (30) and prima ballerina Karolina Ivanova (28) were seen spending time together at a local gala. Keaton, who was married to Francesca Rossi (19) this summer, is currently in the midst of a scandal after his young wife was seen kissing a childhood friend on the grounds of Northwestern University earlier this afternoon.
Frantic, I checked for more pictures. More items. More tweets about my husband and his lady friend. The entire world saw them together now. We were officially over. Only it was never my intention to humiliate him. I understood how bad it looked, but it was just one kiss. A moment of weakness.
Not that it mattered.
It was no longer about me, and I knew it.
Wolfe was a loose cannon. Angry and vindictive and full of hate. And I had my baby to think about. I packed up a suitcase and called my mother, informing Smithy in a text message that he needed to take me back home to Little Italy.
I saw him texting Wolfe frantically in the car as I pushed my bags out the door, braving the drizzle and the chilly, autumn night.
By the way he banged his head against the headrest, his messages were left unanswered.
I SAT ON THE EDGE of the king-sized bed of the hotel room and took another sip of whiskey. I wasn’t hungover, simply because I never stopped drinking throughout the night. I was still blissfully drunk, though the dull heartache had been replaced with a persistent headache that pressed against my eyes and nose.
This was the first time in a decade I’d drank more than the customary two tumblers in one evening.
The moan behind me reminded me that I wasn’t alone. Karolina stretched along the bed on a yawn, allowing the sunrays drifting through the tall French windows to cast a natural light that complemented the soft curves of her face.
“Feeling better?” she murmured, hugging the pillow to her chest, her eyelids still heavy with sleep. I stood up and sauntered across the room toward my phone and wallet on the dresser, still fully dressed. As I checked their contents—and her bag, to make sure she didn’t put a recorder in there or took any pictures she shouldn’t have been taking—I pondered the question, why the hell couldn’t I bring myself to fuck Karolina last night?
The opportunity was there, and she was willing to jump into my bed. I could not, however, get myself to be with her, though not because of my feelings toward my wife, God forbid, but simply because I lacked the basic need to want to fuck Karolina.
As lovely and gorgeous as she was, and as happy as I was to spend the night in her hotel room and not drag myself back home, I had no interest in touching her.
The woman I wanted to be inside was my wife. My wife, who could not, for the life of her, get rid of her fixation with Angelo fucking Bandini.
I tucked my wallet and phone into my pocket and left the room without saying goodbye. It was better that way. Ms. Ivanova shouldn’t seek me out again. There wasn’t going to be a second time to this. I was not at all opposed to parading mistresses on my arm until my wife died of jealousy and fury—at this point, I cared very little about what it’d do to my name—but touching them, really touching them, was not in the cards for me, apparently.
No matter. Francesca would still warm up my nights. She couldn’t deny this attraction, not with the way she hoovered my cock into her mouth every morning and chased my shaft every time I slammed into her from behind. She wanted this as much as I did. She was going to get more of it, all right. Sans the part where I let my guard down.
I arrived at the house at around ten in the morning and immediately went to her room, but it was empty. I glanced at the garden outside her window. Empty, too. Going through every room in the house, I mentally checked all the boxes. Kitchen? No. Master bedroom? No. Piano room? No. I dialed Sterling’s number, barking at her to come back home. She needed to help me look for my missing bride, though there weren’t many places she could go.
I checked my phone again. Two messages from Smithy.
Smithy: Your wife asked to go back home.
Smithy: She’s technically my boss. I have to take her. I’m sorry.
After summoning my housekeeper, I went upstairs, back to Francesca’s room, tearing it apart. Now that she was gone, I needed to see for myself if she meant business or not. The closet was missing all her favorite items, and her toothbrush and photo albums and horse-riding gear were gone, too. The wooden box, which I’d destroyed yesterday, was nowhere to be found.
She wasn’t going to come back anytime soon.
All the things she valued were missing.
She left just as she said she would. I hadn’t given her enough credit. Figured she was going to brave the night and talk to me the next morning. It was, after all, understandable that I’d avenged her fierce kiss on Northwestern’s lawn—followed by hours of her being MIA and in a hotel with Angelo—with the same token of humiliation. Of course, my wife was anything but obedient. Instead of snapping, she grew more of a backbone.
And, of course, she’d actually kissed Angelo. I hadn’t even touched Karolina, save for ushering her into the ballroom on my arm.
I opened every drawer and emptied them onto the floor, looking for a hint to Francesca’s long-term infidelity. Kristen claimed that this had been going on for a while, but I chose not to believe it. Thinking clearer now, the evidence was stacked in my wife’s favor. She was a virgin when I’d met her. And as much as I adored her, she was—outside of the bedroom, at least—a bit of a prude. Not one to conduct illicit, long-term affairs. Francesca also pointed out that she’d broken things off with Angelo, and by the way her phone was Angelo-free for many, many weeks, I had no reason not to believe her.
This left me to consider that the kiss was a one-off. A moment of passion and weakness. If Francesca really was conducting an affair, she would not be cheating on me so openly. No. She would be more calculated than that.
When I was done emptying the drawers, I ripped off her linen and pillowcases. Something fell out of one of the pillows, rolling under the bed. I crouched down to the floor to retrieve it, examining it in my hand.
A pregnancy test.
A positive pregnancy test.
I plopped on the edge of the bed, clutching it in my fist. Francesca was pregnant. We’d only slept together without protection in Lake Michigan.
Francesca was pregnant with my baby.
Jesus Christ.
I heard the door pushing open downstairs, and Sterling humming to herself.
“Lovebirds? Are you around?” Her voice echoed in the vast foyer. I dropped my head, trying to keep my jaw from snapping out of my mouth, I clenched it so hard. Sterling appeared at the doorway to Francesca’s room a couple minutes later, scrunching her nos
e and looking at the havoc I’d caused.
“It looks like this place has been raided by the FBI.”
No, but close.
I lifted the positive pregnancy test in my hand, still sitting down and staring at the floor.
“Did you know about this?”
In my periphery, I saw her eyes widening, her throat bobbing with a swallow. She looked older than ever. Like the scene she’d walked into had aged her.
“I had a feeling, yes.” She walked over to me, placing a hand on my shoulder and sitting down beside me. “Did you really have no idea? The girl developed a sweet tooth overnight, clung onto you every time you walked through the door, and has been frightened to go to the OB-GYN. She knows you don’t want any children, doesn’t she?”
I looked out the window, dragging my hand across my face. She did. She knew.
“Is that why she left?” Sterling gasped. “Please don’t tell me that you kicked her out because you found out…”
“No.” I cut into her words, standing up and pacing the room again. A room I was beginning to hate and love at the very same time. It still held her scent and personality, but too many bad things had happened between these walls.
“Francesca cheated on me.”
“I don’t believe it.” Sterling tilted her chin high, locking her jaw to prevent it from quivering. “She’s in love with you.”
“She kissed Angelo.” They probably did a lot more in the hotel room.
I felt like a teenager confiding in his mother for the first time about a crush. It was the first time I’d showed vulnerability since the age of thirteen. Even at my parents’ funeral, I didn’t shed a tear.
“You hurt her,” Sterling whispered, standing up and walking over to me. She pressed her hand to my arm in a maternal gesture and squeezed. “You hurt her all the time, and she is highly emotional right now. Her hormones are running wild. You’re unwilling to admit your feelings for her, not even allowing her to bring her clothes into your room, let alone tell her why she’s here. Why you took her from her parents and ripped her out of her life.”
“There’s nothing to admit. I’m not in love with her.”
“Really?” She folded her arms over her chest. “Can you live without her?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you all those years before she came along?” she wondered, a thin white eyebrow curving high on her forehead. “Why did you merely exist until she walked into this house?”
“I haven’t changed.” I shook my head, running my fingers through my hair. Figured. The minute I said anything remotely emotional, Sterling went full-blown Dawson’s Creek on my ass.
“In that case, stay here, and give her the time she obviously needs. Do not try and chase her around.”
“Is this one of those times you tell me not to do something just to see me do it and prove to me that I care?” I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes.
She shrugged.
“Yes.”
“Then prepare to be underwhelmed, Sterling. If Francesca is carrying my child, I will be there for both of them, but I will not beg for forgiveness.”
“Good.” Sterling patted my arm. “Because frankly, I’m not sure she’ll give it to you.”
Three days had passed since I packed my bags and left.
I didn’t leave my room at my parents’ house, not even to go to school, dreading the moment I’d come face to face with Angelo, not to mention my father.
When Angelo and I went to a hotel together, it was mainly to do what we needed to do all those months ago and never had the chance—talked about what we were and weren’t.
He tried to persuade me to take off and leave.
“We could raise the baby together. I’ve got savings.”
“Angelo, I’m not going to mess up your life so you can save mine.”
“You’re not messing up anything. We will have children of our own. We’ll create a life for ourselves.”
“If I run away with you, both Wolfe and The Outfit will look for us. They will find us. And while Wolfe might be happy to divorce and discard me, my father would never let us live it down.”
“I can get us fake passports.”
“Angelo, I want to stay.”
And it was true. I needed to stay here, despite everything, and perhaps even because of everything. My marriage was a sham, my father had disowned me, and my mother didn’t even have a say about what china we’d dine with, let alone the ability to help me.
Angelo had called several times and even showed up at my door once to see how I was doing, but Clara shooed him away. My father took two business trips and stayed at Mama’s Pizza for the majority of my visit so far, which surprised no one at all.
Mama and Clara were my near-constant companions. They fed and bathed me and told me that my husband would come to his senses and seek me out.
They said that the minute he learned I was pregnant, he would drop everything and beg for my forgiveness. But I knew Wolfe did not want to become a father. And coming forward and telling him about the pregnancy would mean crawling back to him. I had allowed him to stomp on my pride one too many times.
This time, he would have to come to me.
Not to get a kick out of it—but because I genuinely needed to know that he cared.
Three days after I left Wolfe’s mansion, Clara opened the door to my room and announced, “You have a visitor, little one.”
I jumped out of bed, feeling woozy, hopeful, and excited all at the same time. So he was here, after all. And he wanted to talk. That was a good sign, right? Unless he wanted to serve me with divorce papers. But, knowing Wolfe, he was the type to send someone else over to hand them to me. Once he truly cut you out of his life, he wouldn’t bother making the trip. Clara saw the light flicking on behind my eyes as I rushed toward the vanity mirror, slapping my cheeks to make myself look livelier and flushed, then applying a generous layer of lip gloss. She lowered her head, fiddling with her thumbs.
“It’s Ms. Sterling.”
“Oh.” I blinked, tossing the lip gloss aside and wiping my hands over my thighs. “How nice of her to stop by. Thank you, Clara.”
In the salon, Clara served us tea and pandoro. Ms. Sterling sat with her back straight, her pinky lifted in the air over her tea cup, and her lips pursed with barely restrained fury. I stared into my cup of tea, wishing she’d both talk and never open her mouth at the same time. What if she came to tell me Wolfe and I were over? She certainly didn’t look pleased.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I finally asked her when it became apparent that we could sit like this for long, soundless minutes.
“Because you’re a fool, and he is a complete idiot. Together, you make the perfect couple. Which begs the question—why are you here and he is there?” She slammed her tea cup on the table, causing the hot liquid to swoosh from side to side.
“Well, the obvious answer is because he hates me.” I picked invisible lint from my pajama pants. “And the secondary one is because he married me so he could ruin my father and everything he cares about.”
“I can’t sit and listen to this nonsense any longer. How could you be so dense?” She threw her arms in the air.
“How do you mean?”
“Wolfe never entertained himself with the idea of marriage and a wife. Not until he saw you for the first time. You were never in his plan. He never spoke of you. Barely even knew about your existence until he saw you. Which leads me to believe that his spontaneous decision had less to do about your father and more to do with the fact that he simply wanted you for himself and knew that courting you was out of the question. Since he had leverage on your father, he thought it would be a win-win scenario. But it wasn’t.” She shook her head. “You made things harder for him. Messier. He could have had your father locked in prison for life if it wasn’t for you. The minute you stepped into the picture—he wanted something of your father’s, and they both had things to bargain. You didn’t help Wolf
e’s plan. You sabotaged it.”
“Wolfe is doing the best he can to ruin my father’s business.”
“But he is still out and about, is he not? Your father tried to assassinate him, and Wolfe still held his wedding in this house. The boy has had it bad for you from the moment he saw your face.”
I didn’t know whether I should laugh or cry. I’d seen Ms. Sterling going to extreme measures to try and patch things up between Wolfe and me, but this was stretching it, even by her standards.
“What kind of leverage does he have on my father?” I changed the subject before my eyes decided to spontaneously leak again.
Ms. Sterling raised her tea cup to her mouth, glancing at me from behind the rim.
I didn’t think she’d actually answer, much less that she would know what was going on, but she surprised me on both matters.
“Your father is paying off the governor, Preston Bishop, and Felix White, the man in charge of Chicago’s Police Department, a handsome monthly fee in exchange for their silence and full cooperation. Wolfe’s investigators found out about this not too many months ago. Since Senator Keaton was always in the habit of playing with his food, he decided to torture your father a little before airing his dirty laundry. Have you ever wondered why he never hit a home run?”
I munched on my lower lip. My father had murdered Wolfe’s brother and then his adoptive parents. He then tried to assassinate him right after burning down an entire pub just to get rid of Wolfe’s briefcase.
Yet Wolfe never striked back.
And it wasn’t as if he was incapable of ruining my father.
“I’m guessing the answer is me,” I said. She was relentless.
Ms. Sterling smiled, leaning forward. I thought she was going to pat my thigh as she often did, but no. She clutched onto my cheek, forcing me to look into her eyes.
“You took a hammer and broke down his walls, brick by brick. I watched as they collapsed, how he scrambled to try and rebuild them every time he left your room. Your love story was no fairy tale. More like a witch tale. Wicked and real and painful. I swooned when he began to seek you out in the house. When I noticed he was spending less time in his office and more time in the garden. I was thrilled when he gave you gifts, took you places, and showed you off, barely able to contain his joy every time you entered his vicinity. And I must admit, I was relieved to see him breaking down in your room, devastated and guilt-stricken, when he found your pregnancy test in your pillowcase.”
