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“Dinner will be served at seven. I hope to see you there.”
And this time, I spun around and walked away, leaving him behind.
I rushed up the stairs to my room and once inside, I slammed the door closed and my shaking legs finally gave out from under me. I slumped against the door, sliding down until I was sitting with my butt on the ground.
What have I done?
I tried to inhale, but I couldn’t breathe through my panic.
What. Have. I. Done?
I clutched my chest as I tried to remember how to breathe. My room swayed and my vision blurred.
God, I was so dumb.
I should have kept my distance, should have let him do whatever he wanted. Once he impregnated me, maybe he’d leave me alone. Maybe he’d go away again until I gave birth.
That would have been the ideal situation.
So why… why did I ask him to spend more time with me?
Because I was stupid.
Stupid and lonely.
And now I had to pay for one more mistake.
Because those thirty nights would be absolutely cruel to my heart.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Julianna
Falling in love is like the sunshine,
But our moments are lost in time.
Like a drowning lover,
Yet again, I fall for thou,
But thy heart yearns another.
- A
When I came to Isle Rosa-Maria, a day before my wedding, I found that my wardrobe had already been filled with new clothes, a few of them were my personal taste, but it was all per Killian’s choices and what William expected his daughter-in-law to dress, like a true Spencer.
After all, the attention would be on me
How I walked, how I dressed up, how I talked…
Every breath I took, every movement I made, every smile and every laugh.
The high society and the common people would judge me and if they found me lacking, it would be the Spencer’s reputation at risk.
William didn’t expect Killian to leave me at the altar though; he hadn’t anticipated that his son would leave the island without a backward glance or that I would defy all expectations and decide to stay here.
One side of my wardrobe was stuffed with evening gowns and formal dresses. I also had simpler ones that I could wear at home, comfortably. On the other side, there were sweaters, blouses, jeans and skirts.
All were newly bought: posh and expensive.
I grew up in luxury and wealth, none of this was surprising and neither did it wow me. If the Spencers held blue diamonds in their hands, the Romanos possessed jadeites.
“Is this like a date?” Mirai questioned lazily, bringing my attention back to her.
“No,” I deadpanned. “It’s just dinner.”
“Then why are you taking so long to choose a dress?”
I glared at Mirai and she pressed her lips together, hiding a mischievous smile. “Get out.”
She clucked her tongue at me. “You want him to like you.”
“Mirai,” I warned, slamming my wardrobe close. She let out a small giggle before she bounced off my bed and rushed out of my bedroom, closing the door behind her.
What Mirai said couldn’t be further from the truth. I didn’t want Killian to like me. No, I wanted him to see me as equal, not a vessel or a walking womb for him to be used and then discarded.
I was more than that. I was Julianna Romano, my father’s daughter. I was Julianna Spencer, Killian’s wife.
I was Julianna.
I was Killian’s equal and I needed him to see that.
In the end, I chose a simple black evening dress, with a sweetheart neckline, spaghetti straps and side slit, up my right leg. The satin fabric was soft under my fingertips.
The diamond necklace sat heavy around the base of my throat. While my dress was simple and elegant, the jewelry adorning my neck was quite extravagant and expensive with more than fifty intricate, teardrop pieces put together to create one necklace.
I gave myself a once-over in the mirror. My black veil was pinned in place and my hair fell down the curve of my spine, shiny and curled in waves. I looked every bit the elegant and classy wife, the one high society expected me to be.
I left my room with frayed nerves coursing through my veins. My heart was beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings, one locked in a cage, desperate to escape.
When I approached the dining hall, I saw that Killian was already there, seated at the head of the table. He had discarded his suit jacket. The collar and first two buttons of his black shirt were undone, exposing the top of his chest. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and he sat back on the chair, his legs stretched out under the table, one elbow on the armrest and cigarette between his fingers. His posture was the epitome of calm and collected, but I didn’t let his nonchalant act deceive me, for I knew of the flickering rage underneath his skin.
