by Gina Whitney
He stopped in the hallway, turning to face me. “I’m going to need that ring back.”
I silently questioned him, twirling the gold band on my finger.
“You can’t possibly believe that’s the wedding band I want you to wear. Not to mention, I already have yours at the house. You’ll get it when the time is right. And once it’s on your finger, it’ll never come off. For now, we have to keep this quiet. Don’t question me, please. I already told you I’ll make this right when the time comes.”
I nodded and slipped the bland ring off, pressing it into his hand.
He kissed my forehead and led me back to the car.
I had no idea where he planned to take me, but I trusted him blindly, going wherever he wanted. Love was blind. Love was strong. But it paled in comparison to trust.
Desperation and anxiety clawed at me, making the need to clear it overwhelming. I had to have a sharp mind to make rational, intelligent decisions if I ever wanted to overcome this ordeal. First, I had to find a way to free my thoughts from the debris of insecurity I lay captive under. And second, I needed to fully wrap my head around the situation I’d found myself in. I thought of going back to the gym and taking another class with Rick, the Israeli fighter, but I just wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to spar with anyone or have to converse. I remembered how freeing running had always been for me, and decided I needed that again. I needed to clear my head, and nothing achieved that better than pounding the pavement.
I began resolutely digging through my closet in search of my running shoes, tossing boxes of shoes without care. Fuck, my life was a mess, and so was my closet. After finding them tucked away in the back corner—that’s how long it had been since I’d gone running—I tugged them on quickly and grabbed my ear-buds off my dresser. When I pushed them into my ears, the sense of calm I longed for began to take over as one of the familiar tunes piped in from my iPhone. I kept the music low until I could escape.
The house was eerily quiet—even over the hum of music—as I walked to the front door, and it served as a daunting reminder of my brother’s absence. It was incredibly hard not to worry about him when it was something that had become second nature to me for so long. I ducked my head into the living room, looking for my father, and found him peacefully sleeping in his favorite chair. I didn’t want to disturb him, so I walked lightly across the bare floor and placed a kiss to the top of his head before leaving.
Despite the misdealings he was involved in, I loved him. I tried not to dwell on the fact that my father was responsible for my current predicament. His business dealings and the industry my family was a part of was all I’d ever known. I still struggled with the fact that I was now a married woman. And the father I’d just kissed hadn’t walked me down the aisle as I’d once dreamed. I hadn’t planned an over the top wedding where everyone would celebrate. But the father I’d just kissed was also partly responsible for that. He was the one who had brought me into this lifestyle with birth. But he hadn’t had a choice, either—along with his birth came the position he now held. It had been happening for many generations and I had already taken steps to ensure it would happen for many more.
The sun sat still on the distant horizon—the sky perfectly painted orange and gold. A gentle breeze blew the wisps of hair that escaped my ponytail, tickling the side of my neck, and I caught a heavy whiff of rich lavender from nearby.
My life had changed drastically from the time when jogging used to be an everyday ritual. When the responsibilities of taking care of the house or picking up after Matty’s messes became too much, I’d take off to the park and run until I had no strength left. The more entrenched in Stefan I became, the less inclined I was to continue my running. I’d developed an interest in another type of exercise entirely—pure, unadulterated, kinky sex. That had taken care of my needs and provided me the ultimate outlet. The exertion I expelled while jogging couldn’t even compare to the release I received after a few hours with Stefan, yet now that’s what I turned back to. Running reminded me of my old life, my life before Stefan.
After a few warm up lunges, I took off down the familiar path I used to take. The sweat of my palms, the heavy beat of my heart, and the tightness of my chest as air pushed through made my body soar. I bathed in it, and allowed it to nourish me. I took in a deep breath, relishing in the air rushing my face and pulling my hair back. I needed this adrenaline rush to wash away the fears and insecurities that had somehow become part of my everyday thoughts.
The harder I pushed, the more my mind opened up. I needed to let my mind wander without controlling it. I realized I hadn’t been the same Jordana as before—the strong, cutting, conniving woman. No…I’d become lost, and I needed to find myself again. Step after harsh step, my thoughts began to run wild.
Stefan. His dominating love kept me from going crazy, yet because of him, I’d become weak. I allowed that thought to consume me as my feet pounded the pavement. I let the burn creep its way up my calves and into my thighs, taking it all in and using it to ignite the fire I had lost months ago. I thought back to when I’d first met him, and how defiant I used to be. I knew what I wanted, and I went after it. And in the end, I was with the love of my life—we were married—and soon, I’d have members of the family answering to me. So fucking what if the nuptials weren’t whatever preconceived notion I’d made up as a kid. I shouldn’t care that I didn’t have the dress, the proposal, the ring, or the chapel filled with family. You have the man of your dreams. Take value in that. I needed to let those dreams go and realize that I had everything I wanted right at my fingertips.
Life throws you curveballs, and you can either duck out of the way or catch it like a fucking boss. This marriage had been nothing less than a fucking curveball. It was a drop ball, curveball and fast pitch all rolled into one.
I had no doubt that the next few days and weeks would be stressful, and folding wasn’t an option. However, this was a lot to take in—emotionally. So many changes were being implemented, and all in my favor, but they left me feeling slightly unsteady. I should’ve been used to decisions being made for me regarding my life. After all, my father had done it since the day I was born. But this was different. This wasn’t deciding which school I’d go to, which financials I’d help with, or where I’d spend my summers. No…these decisions fully impacted my life, my future. And the hardest thing to grasp was how I found out about them. I hadn’t been involved in the planning stages, or known about any of it until moments before they materialized. Talk about complete lack of control. But I had to keep in mind that each and every decision made had been in my favor. They’d been made to give me control…not take it away.
Realizing that helped me see that it hadn’t been Stefan who’d made me weak. If anything, he’d empowered me. Yet somewhere along the line, somewhere over the last few months, I’d lost my grip on my control. And I had to pinpoint where it happened if I ever wanted to move forward. I turned down the familiar street that led to the park, trying to remember the last time I’d been centered.
If I were being honest with myself, I hadn’t been centered in a good, long while. The last time I fully felt in control was when I’d gone to barter with the Giannottis over Matteo’s debt. That has the be when… I forced my mind to take me back to that time, no matter how hard it was to remember the events of that week. And that’s when things became clearer. Ever since Zeke, I’d lost something within myself. My confidence and self-worth. The core of who I was, and I had become a shell of insecurity ever since.
Looking back on that decision, I was able to see clearly where it all went wrong. I should’ve known how it would’ve turned out. I’d gone there, offered myself to him, because I’d thought of myself as unbreakable. In my mind, I was the superior gender. I’d become convinced that I could outsmart Zeke. And although that may have been true, that’s not what happened. Becoming too wrapped up my own ego, I’d become too disillusioned to the facts of the game. I could outsmart, outwit, and outplay anyone—o
n an even playing field. Zeke’s condo wasn’t that. I was smart enough to understand the element of surprise, and how much power that holds. However, I had become too blind to my own arrogance to realize that he held that over me. His turf, his rules. I never stood a chance. Stefan had been right when he’d found me. I’d just been too ashamed to admit it.
And ever since then, I’d become everything I fucking hated and loathed about basic bitches. I wasn’t some basic bitch. I was Jordana Albanese, and now Jordana Giannotti. So today, I’d kill that demon. And I’d face the devil tomorrow. This would be my new truth. My new existence. Because the reality of it all was…I was alive. I’d walked out of Zeke’s place with oxygen in my lungs and a beating heart in my chest. My brain and heart may have suffered from impairment, but they still existed in my skull and chest. Zeke couldn’t say the same for his. In fact, he couldn’t say anything because I’d killed that motherfucker. And that’s all I needed to concentrate on. He was no longer alive, and I refused to give him the control over me any longer. Fuck him.
One day at a time. I wasn’t so sure time healed all wounds, but I needed to find comfort in my own skin. I’d suffered greatly with deep scars to my soul. Could my suffering be meant to serve as a reminder? To stick with me in the back of my mind, helping me make better decisions to keep from being wounded again? Fuck, I hoped so.
I jogged until my adrenaline forced my legs into a run. And I ran like hell. Not from my past, but toward my future. I ran until my legs shook, my feet were numb, my soul purged, and my heart whole—resolute. I’d been acting out of frustration…reacting with aggression. And I’d allowed myself to give into my anger. I needed to think about what I had, and not what was taken from me. Perspective…that’s what I needed to keep in my line of sight.
In the snapshot of a day, my clarity became my new reality. Stefan and I would plot and plan…I’d grow stronger. We’d grow stronger—together. The hands of time would become the balm used to make me anew again. Some are born to danger. Some are reborn, becoming dangerous, and then some are made. I emerged from a world made glamorous from pop-culture. My world bewitched and confounded even me at times. It took balls to be a woman. I knew this much. Mine were made of piss and vinegar. However, my ultimate goal, the power of this woman, was transcendence.
I slayed the worn, hard asphalt with my unrelenting stride. My pulse moved through my body—confusion and vulnerability aching for release. I wiped my arm across my forehead before the sweat fell into my eyes, and I recognized the park ahead. I crossed the street and fell back into my stride, one foot in front of the other, hard against to concrete.
The stories we’re told through the fairy tales read to us as small children, the hype we buy into from a very early age, is never how it is in reality. Sometimes it’s hard to know what part you play. Oftentimes, we’re confused about our roles, our characters…who we are in the grand scheme of things. The villain is never as obvious as it is in the books, and the hero isn’t always as heroic, or handsome. He doesn’t have a white horse or wear shining armor. It makes it difficult to pick out the various roles in this twisted tale of life. But no matter who my villain was, I had no doubts about my hero. Stefan may have saved me…but I was my own hero. Stefan could lead me to water, but I was the one who had to make the decision to quench my thirst. He couldn’t force me to. I was in charge of my own purpose.
I reached the entrance of the park and cut across the trail, heading for the path lined with thicker trees, hoping it would offer some protection from prying eyes. I didn’t need to turn back to see if I had security with me. My skin crawled, notifiying me that their malevolent eyes were on my backside. It wasn’t the job anyone in the crew wanted. They wanted to earn points and kiss my father’s ass. Not spend their days eyeballing my every move. Fuck nuts.
I dug deep and sprinted ahead, leaving the fuck nuts in my dust. The pressure of my Nike’s digging into my Achilles tendon should have slowed me down, but it didn’t. I pushed through the pain as I jogged through the woods, coming to the trails that would lead me east toward home. I stopped abruptly when a tan cashmere coat stepped into my path.
I responded before looking at the man attached to it. “Way to fuck up my stride, asshole.”
He didn’t respond, other than to grab me by my upper arm and pull me behind a tree, the thicket of green covering us. Somewhere between my house and here, the pavement knocked some sense into me. I didn’t scream, but instead, squared myself, ready to attack. However, my fight vanished faster than it appeared as I took in his beautiful face.
A quick shot of annoyance passed through his dark eyes, but it was quickly replaced with a knee-weakening smile. He looked down through his impossibly long lashes, and I felt a surge of embarrassment pass through me. I shrugged it off with the devilish grin I knew he loved.
“Asshole? Really, princess?” He stepped forward taking all the oxygen from me in one step. “Is that what you call me?” His head canted slightly as he observed me with a humorous glint in his gaze.
I had no response but to kiss my husband with everything I had. Seeing him in front of me after allowing every one of my demons prance around in my mind became too much to bear. I needed him in that moment. Not to save me, but to comfort me.
He pressed his lips against mine softly. Then he tilted his head and repeated the movement as though he wanted to taste me from every angle. His exhale swept against my face as his tongue took over. His hands moved, digging into my hips, and I pressed my pelvic bone against his already bulging zipper.
He was a weakness for me, just like I was for him. There was no fucking doubt about it. These days, I wasn’t perfect at anything. However, my eyes were wide open and focused now. Focused on him, and not the invisible scars that once tainted my soul.
He pulled back enough to peer into my eyes. “Have I ever told you what that mouth—your mouth—does to me?”
I shook my head, and he released a heavy sigh before driving his fingers through his hair. That one move alone had my thighs clenching tighter than I cared to admit.
He tucked a stray curl behind my ear. His smirk was my heroin.
I stepped back and looked around, suddenly concerned where he’d even come from, concerned about my father’s men catching us. We still had to play it safe around the family, not needing eyebrows to be raised. But I realized we were hidden behind the trees, shadowed in their protection.
“How did you know I was here?” I asked curiously.
His hands reached into his overcoat, producing a cold bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap and handed it to me. “You’re my wife, and it’s my job to know where you are. It’s my job to make sure you’re taken care of. I can’t believe you left for a run without water. You need to stay hydrated.”
“Thank you,” I said, accepting it graciously. But as I took a healthy guzzle, I lost myself in the word “wife” and the reality of it all.
He kissed my forehead and stepped away. “You should take an anti-inflammatory when you get home and soak in a warm bath. You’re going to be sore from not stretching enough.” And with that, he was gone, vanished as quickly as he’d appeared.
Just as he disappeared through the trees, I heard panting coming from behind me and knew the fuck nuts were closing back in.
Feeling better, more content and centered, I finished my run home with thoughts of Stefan on my mind. Thoughts of our future, our life…not my past, not my scars. My mind was clear and my confidence back, leaving no room for the arrogance or insecurities I once had.
I received a text from Stefan the next day just after dinner that simply said: Meet me. My place at ten. I’d sent him a message back, asking him what I needed to wear, but it went unanswered. I guess he wanted the meeting to be mysterious.
My body craved him, and knowing I’d be getting what I wanted had filled me with excitement and desire. It seemed like forever ago since we’d last been able to be together—like really together, not against a wall or in a bathroom stall, o
r sharing a quick, sweaty kiss on a dirt path. My thighs quaked as I contemplated what he had planned. Even though it didn’t matter, because I was all in no matter what it was. I ached for him. I needed him. I had to have him. A week, an hour, even a day without his demanding lips, his rough hands, and his hard body had me on edge. I needed him the same way an addict needs their next fix. That’s what Stefan was to me—an addiction. His love, his touches, his words and actions were everything I was addicted to, and I’d never get my fill of them. I could overdose on him and it still wouldn’t be enough.
I was dressed in a simple off the shoulder dress. The one I’d know he’d find impossible to ignore. He had an obsession for my collarbone and loved to trace his fingers across it whenever he could.
I was ready to go by nine, eager for the time to go by faster. Stefan had a way of turning me into a teenage girl all over again. He set swarms of butterflies free in my stomach, left me lightheaded as if I’d just spent an hour dangling upside down on monkey bars, and permanently etched a smile onto my face. And I loved every part of it.
I hated acting and feeling like a female. Now, don’t get me wrong. I loved being a woman. I loved the power it gave me, the freedom it offered, and the allure it gifted me. But females came with a bad stigma. They were viewed as weak, incompetent fools in a man’s world. And why? Probably because most of them are. How often do you hear of a man waiting around like a lost puppy for his lover to leave her husband? You don’t. And why? Because men are too proud to do that shit. However, mistresses are a dime a dozen. They believe a man when he says he wants to leave his wife, but can’t right now because of one excuse after another. They believe him when he cries about how sad his marriage is, and are convinced that if he’d met her first, they’d be happily married. Bullshit. Truth is, had he met her first, she’d be the wife left at home to care for his kids while he was out fucking some other bitch.
