“Ah, congratulations, Mrs. Bianchi. You look beautiful.”
I turn at the sound of another voice.ThisI would have been more prepared for. “Thank you. I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name?” I hold out a hand to the pretty young woman. I might as well know who my husband is sleeping with, right?
“Lailani. I babysit Jazzy sometimes when Mr. Bianchi needs me,” she says. “I’m going to head out, but can you let Mr. Bianchi know she woke up three times?”
“Uh… sure, thank you.” Again, I’m left speechless.
The whole place is quiet. Eerie. I walk down the hallway, go straight into his bedroom, and stop dead in my tracks. It’s exactly the same. Memories assault me. We had some good times in this room. Carlo was really good at…
Well, it doesn’t matter now because that’s never happening again.
This is harder than I thought it would be. Being back in this space. His space. I wonder if I can convince him that separate apartments are the way of the future. No one would even have to know.
I walk over to the bed and lie down, because I’m really freaking tired. I don’t know what I was expecting, but like I said, this was not it. I would have preferred to spend the night fighting with him.
When I hear the door creak open, I close my eyes and pretend to be out cold. I listen as Carlo walks around the room, opening and closing what I assume is the closet door, and then something soft lands on top of me. A blanket.
Two seconds later, his footsteps become more distant. After a minute of not hearing anything, I open one eye. I’m alone.He left? Where the hell did he go? Also, why do I care?He covered me with a blanket and then just walked out.
This is what I want. To be left alone. The question is why do I feel so lonely? I could call one of the girls…
When I look at the time, I see that it’s after midnight. They’d answer but I don’t want to bother them. I also don’t want all the questions. Questions like:Why are you calling us when you should be in the sack with your husband?
Maybe Carlo isn’t attracted to me anymore. I mean, his tastes could have changed. I’m not the same naïve eighteen-year-old girl he knew either. Maybe he has a type and I’m too old for him now? Why do I care? That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?
I don’t. I’m glad he left.
I get out of bed, walk into his closet, and pull down a shirt. My hands reach behind me, and that’s when I realize I’m screwed. I can’t undo this dress on my own.
I guess most people wear wedding dresses with the knowledge that their husbands will unwrap them later that night. Then again, most people don’t enter arranged marriages with their secret exes either.
Giving up on all the straps and buttons, I walk back over to the bed and get as comfortable as I possibly can while regret sinks in.
Why did I have to choose such a ridiculous dress?
Chapter Seven
Iknow Antonia was pretending to be asleep. If I didn’t have to get back to Jazzy, I would have called her out on it. I might be an asshole—some would say a monster even—but I’m not the kind she needs to be worried about. I’d never force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. She knows that. And if she doesn’t, she’s forgotten who I am.
Not that it matters. I won’t have to force her, because I know her body better than she does. I know how to have her begging me to touch her. And soon, she will.
Just not tonight. Tonight, I need to prove to Jazzy that she comes first. Because she fucking does. And I do that by staying when she asks me to stay.
I only went to my bedroom to get out of my suit. After changing into a pair of sweats, I covered Antonia with a blanket and walked out.
Jazzy is sitting up waiting for me when I return. “I thought that maybe you were going to stay in your room,” she says in a quiet voice.
“I told you I was coming back. I always keep my word, sweetheart,” I remind her. Picking up the book we were in the middle of reading, I open it to the marked page. “Where were we?”
“The prince found Cinderella and he’s going to rescue her from the evil stepmother,” Jazzy says.
“Right.” I nod my head. “You know that girls don’t really need princes to rescue them, right? Girls can do anything boys can do, Jazzy.”
“I can’t fight monsters, Carlo. I’m too small,” she says.
“Pfft, you’re my kid. You can fight any monster you want. Tomorrow, we’re going to start training. Then, before you know it, those monsters will be more scared of you than you are of them.”
Jazzy looks up at me with those trusting eyes again. “Promise?”
