by Skyla Madi
“He’s dressed nice,” I point out. “Does he have somewhere to be?”
“Don’t you worry your pretty head about business, Cammie.” The car rolls to a stop and Tony turns it off. “He’ll walk you through to Marco, but then he’s gotta go.”
My stomach clashes with my heart. Why do I feel so…off? Under his gaze, my palms begin to sweat as guilt manifests in every organ. Those thoughts about Stefan are coming back to haunt me. I slip my foot back into my heel and shuffle toward the door as Chris saunters down the steps. His stormy gaze softens as he grips the handle in his large hand. Here we go. The sounds of chirping birds and the smells of freshly mowed grass greets me when he opens the door.
“You wore the dress.” Genuine shock sweeps over his face and I let out a soft exhale.
He couldn’t possibly know what I was thinking on the way over here.
“It’s what you wanted.”
He extends his hand to me and I take it. “I was beginning to think you no longer cared what I wanted.”
“Of course I care,” I tell him, allowing him to help me out of the car.
Do I care? I don’t know. Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. I’ve been stuck in this strange relationship for ten years. I don’t know anything else.
Christiano pulls me alongside him. I try to match his large strides as he escorts me through the beautiful house and fail miserably. Eventually, he groans in frustration and slows his steps.
“Sei lento come una tartaruga.”
You are as slow as a turtle.
I can’t help it. I laugh, squeezing his hand in mine.
“Una tartaruga? Niente Affatto.” A turtle? Not at all, I tell him. “Tu hai le gambe più lunghe delle mie.” You have longer legs than me.
Christiano smiles down at me. “Thank you for coming.”
He tugs me closer so our arms brush and every bad thought I’ve had about him almost seems unwarranted.
Almost.
See, I’ve been through this with him a million times. When he’s nice, and when I let him be nice, it’s easy to pretend the massive craters in our relationship don’t exist. In the moment, I become wrapped up in what our relationship could be that I forget what it is. It is dysfunctional, detrimental, and I’m not happy, plain and simple. But—and this is a pretty big, pretty annoying but—he’s buried so deeply into my life, in the woman I’ve become, that I don’t think I’d be happy with anyone else either.
I devour the décor as Christiano leads me into the sitting room outside his father’s bedroom.
“We’ll have to wait a little while. He’s asleep and I’d hate to wake him.”
I nod, pulling my hand from his. “I don’t mind waiting.”
I walk around the sitting room. It’s changed since the last time I was here and, well, I’m a sucker for the traditional Italian décor. The textures, the detailing, and the gilded edges. I want a house just like it.
“You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”
I turn around to face him. Heat seeps up my neck and pools in my cheeks as he leans against the far wall, his kind gaze sweeping me from head to toe. I rake my teeth over my lower lip. What are the odds that he’d say the very same thing I was thinking about this morning?
“You’re working overtime for me today, aren’t you?” I say, my voice low so no one else can hear me.
His lips tug at one side as he fights a smile. “I just want you to remember that we were happy once, Cam.”
My soft smile falters. “Once.”
“We can be happy again, just…” He licks his lips in frustration and dumps his jacket on the table beside him. “Just tell me what I have to do.”
“I—” I pause, biting my lip as a young, blonde woman, no older than nineteen, enters the room, wearing the family’s black cleaning uniform.
She must be new.
Instantly, the air becomes thick with tension. She flickers her curious stare over me before stepping into the room with her little blue duster.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she mutters, moving toward the staircase behind me. “Just passing through.”
Her gaze flickers to him and I see it in her glossy irises.
Longing.
Desperation.
And, dare I say, love.
Gritting my teeth, I look at Christiano, who’s turned his body to look out the window. I roll my eyes. Like I need to be a fly on the wall to know they’ve already screwed each other. The hurt little maid patters up the stairs and disappears, leaving a trail of awkwardness behind her.
Nausea turns my stomach and I press my hand to my chest. Ick. Dropping my handbag, I stroll over to the small table beside the leather couch that runs alongside the wall and reach for Marco’s Scotch. Without a word, I pour myself a quarter of a glass. What the fuck am I doing here?
“You’re grinding your teeth,” Chris points out from the window.
“Thanks. I’ll be sure to let my dentist know at my next check-up and clean.” I swallow a large mouthful, relishing in the way it burns my throat.
“It’s a little early for Scotch, don’t you think?”
God, I hate him. I turn around and shift my weight onto one leg. “It’s happy hour somewhere, right?”
He curses under his breath and storms across the room. Snatching the glass from my hand, he places it on the table with a firm bang. “I told you I’d stop with the other girls if you moved in with me, so don’t look at me like I’m the problem.”
His voice is angry, deep and rough, like I’m the one at fault here. The nerve of this animal!
“Oh, it’s my fault you can’t keep your dick in your pants? No. You can’t manipulate me like that,” I snap in a harsh whisper. “You can’t.”
He leans in close, so close our noses brush. “I can do whatever the hell I want.”
All of the rage I’ve been bottling up for ten years rips out of me and I slap him hard across the face. His head is tossed to the side and fire rips across the palm of my hand, but I grit my teeth and bear it.
“You don’t rule over me, Christiano Russo,” I tell him, my voice low and dark, shaking with a pinch of fear.
His cheek turns red. His jaw ticks underneath his skin. Growling, he scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder.
“Put me down!” I command, but he doesn’t listen.
One of my shoes fall off as he storms down a dark, lowset corridor, yanks a door open, and slams it behind him.
“If you don’t put me d—ah!” I squeal as he drops me onto a large, soft bed and pins me to the mattress with his heavy body.
This is the guest room. The room I sleep in whenever I stay here. His mother doesn’t believe Chris and I should share a bed since we’re not married. It doesn’t matter, though. He sneaks in once she’s gone to sleep.
“Get mad at me, baby,” he teases, gripping my wrists so tightly they feel like they’re going to fracture in his giant paws.
I sneer at him. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course I would. It’s the only time I feel any kind of emotion from you.”
I flinch. Ouch. “You made me this way. You made me the mess that I am.”
“And that makes you my mess.” Lowering his face, he drags his nose along my throat, inhaling as he goes. “Her name is Faith,” he utters, kissing my jaw, and I bristle.
“Whose name is Faith?”
“The maid.”
Tsking, I clench my jaw and try hard to push Chris off me, but he’s too damn strong. “Get off of me.”
Christiano shifts his weight, slipping effortlessly between my legs, pinning my lower half with his slim hips. “I fucked her three weeks ago.”
I clench my teeth so hard they begin to ache and white-hot rage burns through me, hollowing me out like an old tree. Tears well in the corners of my eyes and burn down the sides of my face and I hate it. I haven’t been emotional over a female he’s slept with since the first few times I found out he was doing it. After that, after he made me feel
like it was my fault, I forced myself to stop caring. As long as he touched me less, I didn’t care what he did.
But, as it turns out, it still hurts. Like a motherfucker. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’ve never met any of the other women. Since they were out of sight, it was easier to ignore, I guess. What’s wrong with me? Why am I enough for him to marry, but not enough for him to be faithful to?
I sniffle and the tiny trickle of tears stop flowing. At the end of the day, we’re not exclusive. He can do whatever he wants.
“It sucks, huh? The feeling of betrayal.”
I struggle and he holds me tighter, constricting how much oxygen I can inhale into my lungs.
“I’ve never betrayed you,” I tell him and his eyes thin into black, angry slits.
“You haven’t? Then tell me why my men didn’t find a body in the parking lot of the hospital?”
My heart sinks. Shit. “What?”
“There was no body, no blood, not even a strand of hair—yours or his.”
My body begins to tremble as fear rears its ugly head. If I tell him about Stefan Valentino, I’ll never be allowed to leave this room. “I…I don’t know.”
“Come l’hai ucciso, Cammie? Non mentirmi.”
How did you kill him, Cammie? Don’t lie to me.
“I…I shot him…with my gun.”
“Funny.” He releases my wrist and reaches above my head. From underneath the pillows, he pulls out a gun. My gun. The gun he gave me for my twenty-first birthday. “Your gun is fully loaded.” Pointing it toward his face, he smells the barrel. “And it has never been fired.” Putting his finger on the trigger, he turns the gun on me, his eyes flaring excitedly. “What aren’t you telling me?”
My heart thunders in my chest, pounding like hooves on a racetrack. He wouldn’t shoot me, would he? My lungs tighten and I can’t breathe. I struggle against him, pushing on his shoulder with my free hand. “Chris…”
He presses the gun to my cheek and I still, hating that tears well in my eyes once more.
“What…aren’t you…telling me?”
“I…”
“Tell me!” He digs the gun in and I wince as the metal puts pressure on my teeth.
“I didn’t kill him.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “He came at me, but I wasn’t the one who killed him.”
My chest heaves with a sob, but he doesn’t back off. He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die.
“Who was it? Who killed him?”
“I don’t know!” I cry. “It was dark. I…I couldn’t…I couldn’t see.”
“Cammie…” Chris growls and I shudder violently.
I’ve never heard his voice so dark before. There is a very real possibility that he’s going to pull the trigger. When arguments get real bad between us, he always threatens that one day he’s going to shoot me. Perhaps today is the day.
“I’m telling the truth!” I open my eyes and tears roll across the bridge of my nose. “Please! I’m telling the truth.”
He goes quiet and his muscles relax. Eventually, when he’s satisfied, he removes the gun and tosses it to the floor. “Was that so fucking hard?”
Christiano pulls himself off of me and I roll onto my side, tugging my dress down. The waterworks start then, once the fear of having a gun to my head wears off. My long hair sticks to my face and all I want to do is run…but I can’t. I can’t ever get away.
“Hey, don’t cry…” Christiano slides up behind me and wraps his thick arms around my waist. Resting his head on mine, he kisses my cheekbone. “It’s just scare tactics. I wouldn’t have shot you, baby.”
Scare tactics? What normal person uses a gun to scare someone into telling them the truth?
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks in a quiet whisper, pulling me tighter against his body.
Because you’re a raging psychopath who would have locked me in a cage.
“Because I didn’t want to cause you unnecessary stress.”
There’s a good doormat.
“I appreciate your motive.” Pulling back, he slips a finger under my chin and guides my face in his direction until we make eye contact, gold to black. “But don’t you dare keep anything from me again, do you understand?”
I nod and he presses his warm, firm lips to mine. It makes me sick.
“One more thing.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little black box with gold trimmings. Oh, no. I’ve seen this box before. He opens it and there it is, the white gold engagement ring with the large sapphire gemstone.
“Christi—”
“I don’t want to hear it.” He snatches my hand and pulls it backwards, toward him. “Put this on and wear it. I’m tired of waiting for you. You will be my fucking wife and you will smile and support me, do you understand?”
I let him slip the ring past my knuckles and onto my ring finger. There it is. The second last nail in my coffin. Despite my hang ups and Christiano’s fuck ups, I’m going to be Mrs. Christiano Russo and I don’t get a say in the matter.
Bringing the ring to my face, I stare at it.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
I can’t bring myself to look at him…or stop the fresh well of tears. This time, however, I’m woman enough not to let them fall.
Knock. Knock.
I shoot up, swinging my legs off the side of the bed. With quick hands, I swipe at my face as the door opens and then bend down to fix my only heel, letting my hair work as a curtain between me and whoever is at the door.
“Gabriella is looking for you.” I stiffen as her pretty voice swirls around the room and seeps into my pores like a sick disease. “And I have your shoe…”
Turning my head, I tuck my hair behind my ear and look at the girl. She’s scared. I can see it in the arch of her slim eyebrows and the tight way she holds herself. How much did she hear? Or perhaps, she’s worried I’ll kick the shit out of her. Lucky for her, I’m not much of a fighter.
I hold out my hand. “Thank you.”
She slips into the room, moving nervously as her stare flits to Christiano, who adjusts his shirt without paying her any attention. When I take my shoe, she whirls on her heel and quickly flees the room.
“I didn’t fuck her,” Christiano admits as he circles the bed and picks my gun up off of the floor.
I slip my heel on and frown as he tugs me to my feet, lifts my dress, and tucks the gun into the hem of my white lace panties. “But you said—”
He adjusts my dress. “I know what I said.” He rakes his fingers through my hair and swipes his thumbs under my eyes. “Faith is a silly girl with a crush. I haven’t laid a finger on her.”
“Why would you lie to me about something like that?” I ask, proud that my voice remains steady.
He shrugs. “Sometimes it’s good to know you still care.”
I shiver. How can one man be so cruel? “Why me?”
“Hm?”
“Why do you insist on doing this with me?” I point at the door. “You can take your pick, Christiano. I mean, ten years and all these women…and you haven’t fallen in love with anyone else?”
There’s a sad tilt to his black, espresso eyes as he shakes his head. “I love you. Only you.”
I deflate. Well…isn’t that disappointing.
Christiano wraps me up in his big arms and holds me close. Grimacing, I force myself to hug him back. I don’t want to. God knows I don’t. What I want to do is pull this gun off my hip and shoot him in the fucking chest…
…but I don’t.
Because despite how much he has hurt me, I’m not woman enough to hurt him.
How pathetic.
***
All the symptoms are there. The cough, the yellowish-grey mucus, fatigue, shortness of breath, chest discomfort. I honestly don’t know why they called me out here for something so simple.
“He has bronchitis,” I tell Gabriella, hanging my stethoscope around my neck. “Not pneumonia.”
She tucks her manicure
d hand under her chin and shifts her weight onto her left leg. “What is this…this bronchitis?”
“Bronchitis is an inflammation of the main air passages to the lungs.” I stuff my sphygmomanometer into my handbag and pull out my prescription pad, ignoring the way Christiano leans against the far wall, watching me. I thought he had somewhere to be? “You’re not allergic to amoxicillin or clavulanate potassium, are you, Marco?”
He shakes his head with a soft cough. “No.”
“Great. I’ll prescribe you some Augmentin.” I fill out the prescription and hand it to Gabriella. “I’ll let you get some rest, Marco. A few more days and you’ll be as right as rain. If not, give me a call and I’ll swing back through.”
“Grazie, bella signora.”
I slip my pad back into my handbag and head for the door with Gabriella and Christiano hot on my heels. “Is there anything specific I should cook for him?”
I pull my handbag onto my shoulder. “Fluids are what’s important, but if he wants food, go right ahead. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go.”
Gabriella snatches my wrist and pulls me in close. It seems she and her son have a habit of intruding on people’s personal space. I smile, despite the irritation prickling up the back of my neck. “You’re not staying for brunch?”
“I can’t, I’m sorry. I have to get back to the hospital.” I never thought I’d say it, but I need to go to work to take my mind off of this morning.
Gabriella’s beautiful, large volcanic glass eyes soften around the edges. I hate disappointing her. “Ah, okay. Maybe next time?”
“Absolutely. Thank you so much for the offer.”
Ugh. I hate being fake. Gabriella plants two gentle kisses on both of my cheeks and then rushes off to the kitchen, mumbling about bruschetta and panzanella.
Christiano falls into pace beside me as I storm through the house. It feels different now than it did when I got here and the flutters in my stomach as Chris and I walked hand in hand are now dead.
As we exit the large front door, he plants a hand on my stomach and slows me to a stop when we reach the top of the stairs. The men standing at the doors ignore us, looking elsewhere, and it’s fucking unnerving.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for brunch?” Chris asks. “I can cancel my plans.”
