26
CANDI
Armani has been ignoringme since we arrived home from Vegas last night.
I wake up in an empty bed—hardly a shock, since Armani hadn’t slept in our room—but am surprised to find there also aren’t any security guards posted outside in the hall. I’d figured I would be heavily guarded after my escape attempt.
But then again, the Bellanti compound is already bursting at the seams with cameras and locked gates and security patrols and armed guards. I’m sure my new “husband” has given instructions to every member of the staff to keep an eye on me. Obviously, I’m not going to be able to go anywhere unsupervised or unescorted.
After my shower, I get dressed in jogger sweats and a T-shirt and slink down to the kitchen for coffee. I bring it straight back up to the room and then mope in one of the armchairs by the window with Mr. Sprinkles in my lap.
“You don’t hate me, do you?” I ask him.
He responds with a soft meow. I take that as a “no,” and kiss the top of his head.
“Thanks. You might be the only one.”
Maybe I should try to work. Except I feel weird about going into my office at the winery right now, and I’m not sure I’d be able to concentrate anyway. Who could focus on sales at a time like this? I’ve gotten myself in seriously deep shit with the Bellantis, and it’s only a matter of time before the Brunos figure out that I’ve switched sides…which is more than enough of a catastrophe for me to be panicking.
And yet, because my heart is very, very stupid, what’s upsetting me even more than the fact that my mortal life is in danger is that whatever genuine relationship I might have had with Armani is dead in the water. I don’t know what he and I might have been building, if anything, but now? I’ll never know.
How long am I even supposed to be playing Mrs. Armani Bellanti for? And once Armani is done using me as his pawn, then what? Will I be…disposed of? What happens if the Brunos figure me out first?
The door behind me opens. Startled, I whip around to see Armani stalking into the room. He’s in dark grey slacks and a light blue button-down, but no tie, which is a little too casual for his usual work attire. Something’s up.
“Get up. Get dressed. We’re having brunch at Dante’s.”
Mr. Sprinkles leaps out of my lap, but I don’t move. Armani and I stare at each other for a second. It still unnerves me, how anyone can be so devoid of expression or emotion whenever they choose, like it’s as simple as flipping a switch. He should be angry, but all I get is that cold, dead-eyed look. Does he really feel nothing? Or is it an act?
“Put on something nice,” he adds, “but don’t expect to be in any of the photos.”
There’s a pang in my heart at the preemptive rejection, but I just nod and make my way to the closet. This is the first I’m hearing about this brunch, but I know better than to question anything. My job from here on out is to obey my husband, whether I like it or not.
Normally I’d take my time, maybe even try on different outfits, but I don’t want Armani getting impatient, so I just grab the first dress that looks suitably classy and complements his color choices. It’s a simple grey wrap dress with a sash belt that won’t draw too much attention. The last thing I need is to have everyone staring at me. I just want to blend into the wallpaper.
After changing in the closet, I step into a pair of navy blue ballet flats and thank my stars that I don’t have to ask for more time to do my makeup. I already have on BB cream, mascara, and tinted lip balm. It’ll do.
“Is this okay?” I ask as I step back out into the room.
Armani hands me my purse, barely even glancing at me. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”
On the short drive over to what was formerly the Abbott property, my insides clench at the thought of being around all the Bellantis at Frankie and Dante’s house. Seeing the baby will make me feel better, I tell myself. But I wonder if she knows about me, if theyallknow about me…or if Armani kept the truth about my double life to himself. Knowing how close he is with his brothers, though, I highly doubt it’s a secret anymore.
Which means that my friendships with Frankie and Karina might be over, too.
Tears sting my eyes. Swallowing hard, I force them back, refusing to crumble. Should I ask Armani if he outed me to everyone? No. I’m too afraid of the answer. I just need to act as if everything is perfectly normal. As if nothing has changed, and Vegas never happened.
We park outside the house, and Armani turns to me.
“You will sit quietly during the meal. You will stay out of the way during the photos. You will speak to no one unless they directly speak to you. If they ask you about Vegas, you will convince them that you had the time of your life. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Wait,” I say, anxiety roiling in my gut. “Do they know that we’re…married?”
I hold up my hand, the one with the wedding ring on it.
