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His head tilted to look at me. The whisper of his voice was strained. “Talk to me… tell me what you are thinking.”
“It’s not easy with you,” I sighed, trying to draw away.
He held me tighter. His front pressed to mine. “Why not?”
“Because… you make me feel so…” I stopped the flow of my words, the thoughts moving further in my head. Uncomfortable, out of depth, like I was in the middle of a sandstorm but one I didn’t want to live without.
Dread infiltrated my body, taking over my vital organs, and squeezed hard.
Soul-scorching love?
Is this it? I have never felt like this before. With Adam, it was different. Lighter. Weightless. Easier to let go. Which is exactly what I should do with this man.
Who willingly stayed in a marriage with the mafia?
But he was holding the strings to my body, moving me to his will like the puppet I was. If he let go, I was scared I might simply collapse to the ground and cease to exist.
I jerked away, ducking under his arms, and allowed distance to come between us.
He turned, reaching for me.
“No!” My voice came as a shout, breaking the static air in the room.
He ran frustrated hands through his hair. “Tell me what to do.”
“Nothing.” I jerked away. “You’ve done enough.” I bit my lip, ignoring his agitation. “I need time to process this. I can’t think clearly. I need space. Please.” Time would help. Even I didn’t really believe that as I scurried out of the room. But I let the illusion be. I needed time to figure out how I ended up falling for my husband. Time to figure out how I would survive the end because the end would come to this scam of a marriage we had. It was time to figure out if I would end it or wait for him to end it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
DIVYA
An uncomfortable vibe settled into the house for the next few days. I embraced it. It tickled inside my veins and filled me up till I was full of unease. I couldn’t pinpoint that exact moment when I fell in love with my husband. Because even if I buried my head in the sand in the desert, I couldn’t deny it. The Divya before would have high-tailed it out of here the moment I heard “Mafia” or “killer.” But the Divya now was still lounging around, sipping coffee, coming up with excuses to stick with a scam of a marriage. Only a madwoman would do that. A madwoman in love.
When did it go from desire to love, or was it always love? The signs had been there, but keeping with my idiotic streak, I hadn’t seen it. I had never had sex without an emotional attachment, and the number of times I had been wildly busy wrapped around him should have been a big, red flag.
Imbecile.
It explained everything. It explained why I turned into thick honey whenever he was around.
I didn’t recognise myself with him. Sometimes, I was a better person, but sometimes I was worse, orbiting out of control, as if I needed him to pull me back to balance. Was he my damn gravity?
Moron!
I had always so badly wanted what my parents had had. A love that consumed me. Where my soul connects with someone, and I am a part of him, no matter what. Where I didn’t know where I ended, and he began. They say be careful what you wish for. I got exactly what I wanted, except with a man who used me as a fuck machine, would surely dump me the moment the case was settled, and was part of The Mafia.
Did I need any more reasons to run? Except my heart was adamant, blatantly refused to listen, and was too busy anchoring metal chains to stay.
Talk about a bunch of bad choices I had made: this must be the worst of them all. This was beyond moron Adam and his gambling addiction and selfish love. That one felt immature now.
What an idiot.
All that money my parents spent on my education was down the drain because there wasn’t a shred of intelligence left in me.
Exhaustion hit me from the cannonball of emotions inside me. This was now. One day, when he came around asking for that divorce, I would have to put a shitload of pieces of myself back together.
Rosa came over from the kitchen, worry lining her forehead. She sat on the sofa next to me and touched my shoulder gently. She murmured something in Italian, but I didn’t understand any of it. All her efforts to soothe me had all gone in vain, and I felt even more terrible for it. “Call friend?” she asked.
It was a good idea. I needed a breather. I needed a friend who would talk some sense into me. But drowning in my sorrow after my parents’ death, I had isolated myself, and one by one, they had flown off the radar. I knew if I picked up the phone and called a few, they would be back on track. But really, something in me, probably my big ego, didn’t want to reveal my mishaps.
