The drive back to the house is quiet. It has been a hard week, and both of us are tired and exhausted. Carlos drops me off, I say goodnight, and I hurry up the stairs and open the door. Danny is leaning on the wide banister at the bottom of the stairs, texting on his phone.
He looks up, “Boss.”
I nod, “Danny.” I come to a halt at the bottom of the stairs, one foot on the first step, and look at him. “Anything to report?”
He puts his phone in his pocket. “No. She’s been in her room most of the day. Sasha said she ate all her meals. She’s sleeping now. “
Looking back up the stairs, “Thanks, you can head home. I’ve got this for the weekend. I’ll text you if I need you.”
“Cool.” He walks away as I head up the stairs to my room. The hallway is dark, it is so quiet. I stop at my door and then look over at hers. I can’t help myself. The feeling in my chest is growing stronger and I just need to see her.
I open the door quietly, and just like a week ago, I creep over to the couch. A dark patch on her bed makes me look over, and the dress and shoebox are lying on top. She hasn’t opened either of them. The bows are still in place and the little jewelry box with her earrings sits unopened on her nightstand.
Something sharp stabs my chest and I can’t explain it. I’m pissed she couldn’t even make herself open a gift from me. But what exactly did I expect? She won’t even talk to me, so what made me think she’d be excited about a present? I turn back to the couch, gingerly making my way over to her.
There are no twinkling lights to illuminate her sleeping form, but there is a dim glow from the bathroom. She must hate the dark; she always has a nightlight or the bathroom light on. I edge my way around the couch and she is burrowed under her pink fuzzy blanket, feet curled over one another, poking out from under the blanket, her hand tucked up under her cheek as she hugs a pillow to her chest.
I sit on the coffee table, resting my elbows on my knees as I watch her. Her breath comes out long and even, her face soft in the glow from the bathroom light, making her look almost surreal with her coal-black eyelashes fanning her creamy white cheeks.
Christ, she makes my chest hurt and I rub it. Her lily scent permeates the air, and I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Gently, I move a piece of hair out of her face and run my finger down her pedal-soft cheek. I’ve never really missed anyone before, but at this moment, I can say I missed her face and her smell.
Getting up; I close her door quietly and cross the hall to my room. I get undressed and flop into bed, roll over and punch my pillow. Maybe we can have a normal breakfast with no yelling and choking on her coffee. Maybe she will actually stay for the entire meal.
Chapter 11 ~ Isabella
I spent the majority of the morning in my studio, staring at a blank canvas, trying to think of something to paint. I have so many emotions running through my head that I can't seem to bring them out onto the canvas.
I feel like doing a Jackson Pollock and throwing red and black streaks to show how messed up I feel inside. My eyes roll, and I toss my brush into the jar. God forbid I might get paint on his precious floor. I don’t feel calm enough to try my hand at a new scene for my garden series.
Giving up on the whole thing, I cover my tray with plastic wrap and go sit on the couch. I plop down defeated and look at the pile of flowers gathered on the table. Picking up a dried leaf and twist it between my thumb and forefinger watching it twirl, just like us, always spinning.
All I kept hearing in my head was his intake of air like I had slapped him. He was so mad when he left, like always when we are in the same room and the guilt over what I said still plays in the back of my head. He walked out of my room with a stomp and slammed the door behind him. Then, to make his point, he went across the hall and slammed his bedroom door shut. I heard a crash and then everything went silent.
He 'is' the reason I have bruises all over my body. They wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for him. I rub my shoulder and although it still hurts to touch, it’s only a dark yellowish smudge now. Even so, I shouldn’t have been so juvenile and fought back likehe does, using the strongest of words to expose my weakest moment.
I rest my head back on the back of the couch. Guilt runs heavy in my chest. I should not have said it, God, when will I learn to keep my mouth shut? I flop forward and hold my head in my hands. It’s been less than 24 hours since we got married, and I am trapped in my room again. He’s furious and more than likely gone to his club now.
I sit up and hold my chin in my fingers as I look out the window. This is not how I had planned to play the game. I revealed more of myself than I had intended with that snide remark. I must remain cool under the pressure, and he will most certainly apply the pressure.
There is a knock on the door, and Sasha comes in. “Lunch, Isabella.” She stands there with a weird smile on her face, and it makes me smile back at her. I think she’s trying to be nice, but it’s strange coming from her.
I get up, go over, and take the tray. “Thanks, Sasha. Umm… Do you think I could go out and read by the pool after lunch?”
She jerks her head back and looks a little flustered about how to answer. I feel bad for even asking now, so I save her the trouble of finding an answer and back peddle.
“It’s okay. Maybe tomorrow.” I take the tray. “Thanks again for lunch. I’ll leave the tray where I always do.”
She backs out of the door; her face is a little red, and I smile as I close the door to reassure her. I go to my window, open it, and sit, putting my plate on my lap. I take a bite of chicken.
One square at a time, Izzy, He took your king; you took his queen. What did you expect he would do? Give up his king and forfeit? No, he fights hard and will use every move he can. I just have to stay calm. Your back locked up in this room, so this is his move.
White bishop to G5.
My move next, when I can think of one.
Once I finish lunch and put my tray by the door, I collect my dried flowers and put them in the bowl, squishing them down a bit to make room for more as I run my finger over the dried stem, narrowing my eyes I clench my fist. I will not wither and die here, so I turn and go into my studio. I know what I want to paint.
My move Mr. Russo. Black Knight to D7
