He clenches his teeth when I mention dating. He doesn’t like it at all. I hope it cuts him the way he cut me. I must think fast when he asks who I am going out with. I don’t have a date, but he’ll never know. I sat up all night waiting for him to come home. I don’t know if I felt hurt or just plain stupid. Staring at the clock waiting for your husband to come home is the fucking pits. I realize that he has no feelings for me, but I just expected more. I don’t know why, but I did.
How in the hell will I pull this off? Simone knows I am married, so asking her to find me date will be tricky. Should I involve her in this and tell her the truth? This has bad idea written all over it. Maybe I’ll just put on something sexy and pretend to go out on a date? I’ll just make sure he notices.
A few hours later, Matteo knocks on my bedroom door. He doesn’t wait for me to answer, just pushes it open. I suppose it is his house and I am only the forced guest.
“Yes?”
“I need you to meet someone.”
I can’t be seeing right. He can’t be real. My eyes focus on the monster wearing black that is standing in the living room. He looks seven feet tall and mean as hell. He looks like the angry Incredible Hulk, but he isn’t green.
“This is Brutus. He’s your new bodyguard,” Matteo tells me.
“Can you please remind me why I need a bodyguard?”
“You need one because I am rich, you are my wife, and your face was plastered on every newspaper and news channel in the state.” There is a critical tone to his voice.
“Will he go everywhere with me?” I whisper. I’m irked by his cool, aloof manner.
“He’ll be discreet if you are worried about your dates.” His vexation is evident.
“Good.”
It doesn’t take long for me to give Brutus the slip. He is not the sharpest pencil in the drawer. He also has a very small bladder for being such a big man. As soon as he went to the bathroom, I left the house. I run two blocks and catch the closest Uber. I have the driver take me to my favorite bar.
I order a vodka, and my phone starts to ring. I don’t have to answer it; I know who it must be. It rings every five minutes, and I ignore it each time. I don’t know how long I have been sitting here or how much I have had to drink. What I do know is I didn’t expect to be staring into the blue eyes of Nikoli.
“This is a pleasant surprise.” He says, lightly fingering a loose tendril of hair on my cheek.
“It’s Nikoli, right?” I ask.
“You have an excellent memory.” He smiles.
“I don’t forget names.”
“It’s a bit early in your marriage to be out drinking alone, isn’t it?”
The bartender slides me another glass, and I glance at a smirking Nikoli. “Marriage is overrated.”
“Is it now?”
“It is… You get married, and before the ink is dry, your husband is out fucking someone else. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised since this is only a business arr…” I stop mid-statement.
“This is only a business… what?” he asks. His fingers grip my arm with gentle authority.
“I think I am going to be sick.”
The bartender points towards the ladies’ room, and I get there just in time. After splashing cold water on my face, I leave the restroom and find Nikoli leaning against the wall, waiting for me.
“Are you feeling better?”
“No, I am going to call Uber and go home,” I whisper.
“I have a better idea. I’ll take you.”
Having Nikoli drive me home does sound better than calling Uber. With one arm wrapped around my waist, he walks me to his car. He glances at me occasionally while he drives. Nikoli is such a nice guy. I don’t understand why Matteo doesn’t like him. He smiles and offers silly jokes, and I realize it’s been a while since I laughed. Having Nikoli drive me home was such a good idea. It feels like a good idea until I see an angry Brutus and even angrier Matteo pacing in the driveway. Nikoli chuckles as Matteo practically rips the car door off and pulls me out of the car.
“What the fuck are you doing with him?” he yells.
“Calm down, Stone. Someone has to take care of your wife,” Nikoli teases.
“Get in the house!” His fingers press into my back as he gives me a gentle shove. I don’t have the energy to argue with him. I am so happy I chose the bedroom downstairs. I wouldn’t have the energy to climb the stairs. I manage to pull off my dress and fall into bed. The drawer is too far away, so I decide to sleep in my bra and panties. I don’t even have the strength to pull the comforter over me. The minute I close my eyes, the door hits the wall.
“Why the fuck was you with him, Isabella?” he shouts.
“Not now,” I whisper.
“You don’t dictate when we talk! Did you go out with him?”
“Matteo… I don’t feel very well. Can we please fight about this tomorrow?” I beg.
He sighs and the bedroom door slams. I hear glass shattering and realize that maybe I successfully pushed the right buttons.
The next morning, I meet his accusing eyes without flinching. We sit across from each other, and he waits for me to talk. His hand grasps his coffee mug so tightly that I think it will break. I force down aspirin and orange juice as he gives me a dark look.
“Do you know the danger you put yourself in last night?” His lips pucker in annoyance.
I stare at him in astonishment. What does he care? Oh, wait… he needs a wife for nine months.
“When will the bank be paid back?” I change the subject.
“Sarah arranged a payment plan. The bank agreed to it.”
“A payment plan?” I laugh to cover my annoyance. “What do you mean, a payment plan?” I ask.
“I mean, the bank doesn’t expect you to have that kind of money since you’re unemployed. They have agreed to give you nine months.”
My lower lip trembles and I return his glare. “I guess it works out well for you.”
He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t need to. I already know the answer.
Matteo
It’s easy to see that she hates me. I can see it clearly in her eyes. The problem is I don’t want her to hate me. I want the woman I knew before I trapped her in this marriage. How can I get that woman, the one that loved me?
Love… the emotion that I can’t feel. Don’t get me wrong, I can feel it, but I can’t let it dictate my life. If she will only look at me the way she used to. If I can just touch her the way she used to let me. When I stare into her eyes, I only see pain. It’s pain that I am causing her. I hate that Sarah set her up to take the fall at the bank. I hate it even more that she believes I was in on it.
My mind is working overtime on how I can get control of this situation. Nine months is a long time to be with someone that hates your guts. Do you know the worst part? This marriage is starting to affect business. I can’t focus on shit. I keep thinking about how she hates me, and then I think about these men that she will be dating. When she came home with Nikoli, it hurt like hell. I would have rather had acid poured into my eyes than see her with him. They looked comfortable together, and I hate it.
“How is marriage treating you?” Paolo asks.
I don’t think he understands that you should knock on a door and not just walk in.
Ignoring him, I shuffle some of the papers on my desk.
“It’s that good, huh?” he teases.
“Not now, Paolo,” I bark.
“I think now is a good time. I don’t have to be back at the hospital for a few hours.”
“How is Dad?” I ask.
“He is the same. Don’t change the subject. How is Mrs. Stone?”
“She is doing very well. She is all moved in and already dating.”
“Dating? You mean with other men?” he asks.
“Yes. Do you remember Nikoli? Apparently, they went out last night because he brought her drunk ass home,” I reply sharply.
“Matteo, he is the last person she needs to ge
t tangled up with,” he warns.
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you should get your wife out of town for a little while,” he advises.
We were gifted two tickets to Italy. Maybe I need to use them. After Paolo leaves, I stare at the tickets that I had tucked away. Will she agree to leave the country with me? It is a good idea to get her out of Nikoli’s crosshairs for a little while. After making a few deposits and other transactions, I head home.
Why does my foyer look like a flower shop? Did I walk into the right house? There are red roses all over the place. I grab one of the cards to find out what the hell is going on.
Looking forward to the next time… Nikoli
What the fuck? The bastard sent flowers to MY house for MY wife? I throw one of the vases into the wall, and Isabella comes running down the stairs.
“Matteo!” she yells.
I put my hand around her neck and push her against the door. Her body stiffens in shock. Moving my leg between hers, I stand between her open thighs. I grind against her and hear her breathing increase.
“Did you let him fuck you?” I whisper.
“Who?”
Licking her neck, I warn her not to play games with me. A soft gasp escapes her. “You know who I am talking about. Did you let him fuck you?”
“No…”
“Do you want him to fuck you?”
She stares, speechless.
She shakes her head as I move my bulge against her. I just need a little friction. Is this what I have become? I am dry humping my own wife against a door. My gaze travels over her face, searching her eyes. She is telling the truth. I can feel it. Despite wanting to push down her pants and fuck her raw against this door, I can’t. This isn’t the time. I am too angry and don’t want to hurt her. Pulling away from her, I tell her to go pack. We’re going on our honeymoon.
One of the benefits of being a Stone is not having to deal with the typical travel hassle. I can make one call explaining that I have two tickets to Italy and want to leave immediately. We can leave in one hour. I see the hesitation on her face, not to mention she isn’t moving. Isabella is sitting on her bed with an unpacked suitcase. She has no interest in leaving town with me. I am not shocked.
I reassure her that she is getting on the plane whether it’s on her own or with my assistance. I hear drawers slamming and her muffled swearing about “the bastard,” and I know I am the bastard she is referring to. She can call me anything she wants as long as she is packing as she does.
One hour later, I am sipping on my bourbon, waiting for the plane to take off. It’s a long flight to Italy when you’re sitting next to someone not talking to you. When we finally land, I wake up Isabella and she flinches at my touch. While waiting for our luggage, my phone starts to ring.
I don’t want to answer, but I know she’ll keep calling.
“Hey, lover, can you come over tonight?” Sarah asks.
“I’m not in Chicago,” I reply.
Isabella’s narrow eyes watch me as I try to whisper so she doesn’t hear.
“What do you mean, you’re not in Chicago? Where are you?”
“I’m in Italy.”
“Are you kidding me? Why are you in Italy and who are you with?” she asks.
“I’m on my honeymoon. I had to get her out of town,” I whisper.
“I can’t believe this, Matteo. You have never taken me to Italy and you took her?” she yells.
“Sarah… I don’t have time for this.”
“How can you do this to me, Matteo?”
“We’ll talk about this when I get back. I have to go.”
I hang up as Isabella pulls her suitcase toward me.
“Woman problems?” she asks.
I refuse to answer her. The last thing I am going to talk about is Sarah. At least, I won’t discuss Sarah with Isabella. I grab my bags, and we hail a taxi to the hotel. Isabella is impressed when I speak Italian to the driver. Her eyes widen as we discuss tourist attractions in the area.
“I didn’t know you speak Italian,” she says softly.
“There is plenty you don’t know about me.” If only I could share myself with her the way I want to. She would only get hurt, and I can never hurt Isabella. She is too good for my world.
Isabella
I am in the most romantic country in the world with my husband. A man that doesn’t even love me. The universe can be a cruel place.
My mouth falls open when we walk into our hotel room. If you can even call it a room. We are in the honeymoon suite, and it’s bigger than my apartment. The bed is sprinkled with rose petals, and the bathtub is a huge jacuzzi.
“Did you want to go out for dinner or stay in?” Matteo asks.
“I am really tired. I think I would rather stay in.”
Matteo nods and takes off his shoes while I make my way to the bathroom. I take a long hot bath, and when I get out, the food has already arrived. Tightening my robe, I walk over to the table where Matteo is waiting for me. He pours a glass of wine, and I bite into my lasagna. He gives me a smile that sends my pulse racing.
Think with your head… Don’t let him charm you….
“Have you ever been here before?” I ask.
“No.”
I am surprised that he would come for the first time with me and not the blonde she-devil.
“Maybe tomorrow we can go sightseeing,” he suggests.
He is trying to be nice. I can’t let myself trust him. I did once and that was a mistake.
“Why are we here, Matteo? This isn’t a real marriage, so a honeymoon isn’t needed.”
His mouth pulls into a sour grin. “To be honest with you, I had to get you out of town.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Nikoli is dangerous. I don’t like how he’s starting to sniff around you.”
“It’s not up to you who I decide to spend time with,” I reply as I take a sip of wine.
“You like him?” He gazes at me with a bland half-smile.
“I don’t know. I went out one night, drank too much, and he brought me home. The next thing I know, he is sending me flowers.”
“He knows you are mine, and he always wants what is mine.” His expression is a mask of stone.
Sipping on my wine, I shake my head. “I am only yours for the next nine months.”
A cold, congested expression settles on his face.
Matteo is obviously irritated for the remainder of the night. He didn’t appreciate me reminding him of how long his ownership would last. The sad part is, at one time, I did consider myself to be his. It was all a lie. After dinner, Matteo falls asleep on the sofa. I throw a blanket over him and crawl into bed.
We had to leave the country for Matteo to be the man that I had once fallen in love with. He is gentle, sweet, and kind. This man is one hell of an actor. We eat at the best restaurants, and he holds my hand as we walk through the villas. We are even serenaded at one of the little bistros at lunch. Matteo’s eyes never leave mine the entire time. I can’t fall for him a second time. He can’t be trusted. Don’t fall for his bullshit, Isabella.
One night, as we are walking back to the hotel, Matteo pulls me into a flower shop and buys me a dozen peach roses. Having his full attention makes me feel uncomfortable. One hand holding the roses and the other interlinked with his, we decide to call it a night. We stop at a gelato bar that is just inside the hotel.
I can’t eat another bite, so he orders one scoop for himself. Licking the spoon, he scoops out a little and moves it to my mouth.
“Just a little taste,” he whispers.
I open for him, and it is delicious. It’s my favorite, coconut. His eyes darken when I moan. He leans close and puts his lips against mine. His kiss is urgent and exploratory.
What am I doing? This is a mistake, Isabella… Stop it! The little voice screams into my subconscious, but I try to ignore it.
This is a forced business arrangement with a man that I at one time cared about
. Pulling away from him, I thank him for letting me have a taste… of the gelato. His eyes narrow, and he finishes before we head up to the room. During our time in Italy, I have continued sleeping in the bed while Matteo sleeps on the sofa. This has worked out well for us, until tonight.
I lie in bed staring at the ceiling and thinking about our kiss. I wonder if he is still thinking about it? Why do I suddenly miss his touch? I think I hear him breathing. Is he still awake? I can’t think about any of this. This is a business arrangement. A forced business arrangement. My choice was marriage or prison. Maybe the latter was the better option? Closing my eyes, I pray that sleep finds me before I do something I’ll regret.
The next morning, when I wake up, I am alone. He comes in with two cups of coffee, wearing sweatpants, and is sweaty. The last thing I need is to be reminded of how hard his body is.
“Hey, I thought I would be back before you woke up. I went for a run,” he tells me.
My eyes travel down his body to his tattoos and farther down to the dark hairs that lead to areas I don’t want to be reminded of.
“Isabella?”
My heart begins to hammer in my chest. “Yes?”
“Did you hear me?” he asks.
I didn’t hear a word he said because I was too busy thinking about his dick. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t.”
He smiles, and I pray that he can’t read my mind.
“What did you want to do today?”
“I was thinking maybe we can do our own thing today,” I offer.
“Our own thing?” he repeats.
“Yes. It’s been a week, Matteo. We have been glued to each other, and I thought maybe there is something you would like to do… alone.”
He sets his coffee down and moves closer. His closeness is like a drug, lulling me to euphoria. “It affected me too, Isabella,” he whispers, nearly groaning.
A rush of pink stains my cheeks. “What affected you?”
Unholy Union Page 8
