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The memory of my room sends a jolt of sadness through me. I want to go back, but I’ll never be able to. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to convince Luca to get some of my things, or if I should even try. I’ve taken some pleasure in irritating him and seeing how many of his buttons I can push before he explodes, but his reaction this afternoon told me that I’ve just about pushed him to the limit. I can’t afford to be petty and immature, no matter how much I’d like to be. I’m going to have to learn to play this game his way if I want to survive.
I’m all but certain I’ve gotten all the concessions out of him that I’m going to manage for a long time.
There’s thousands upon thousands of dollars of clothes and shoes and jewelry spread out in front of me, but I can’t take any joy in it.Anastasia would be drooling over this, I think, running my hand over a long black velvet evening gown. It’s beautiful, but all I can think is that this is Luca’s way of mollifying me and controlling me all at once, dressing me up like a beautiful doll, to take out when he needs me and put out of sight when he doesn’t.
Isn’t that what you want, though?I chide myself. If there’s no way out of this—and it’s clear that there isn’t—shouldn’t I want as little to do with Luca after our marriage as possible? I look down at the ring on my finger, sparkling brilliantly. A daily reminder of who I’m bound to for the rest of my life. There’s no escaping him, even when I’m alone.
The sleek blonde woman remains mostly silent while I try on clothing and pick my way through the items. Luckily, Luca’s taste runs similar to mine—simple and elegant—and if the situation were different I might have enjoyed having free rein to choose whatever I like. In the end I wind up with a few pairs of designer jeans, a handful of silk and linen tops and a stack of t-shirts that probably cost more than a t-shirt ever should, some light sundresses and shoes to go with them, ballet flats and heels. There’s workout gear too—all branded and expensive, and I grab items without paying much attention. To me, yoga pants are yoga pants, regardless of where they come from. The evening gowns are the hardest to choose—they’re a reminder of what Luca told me earlier, that I’ll have to attend events and galas with him as his perfect, happy, glowing wife. The epitome of a good and loving marriage.
But I also remember that he’d told me that he’d hoped we’d mostly forget one another, and that makes me think that those might be few and far between. I can only hope that’s the case.
I try to avoid the jewelry—I can’t even imagine how large of a bill I’ve racked up this far, and even my petty instinct to spend as much of Luca’s money as I can isn’t able to overcome the frugality that was instilled in me all my life. “Mr. Romano insists,” the blonde woman says, pushing a tray of diamond earrings towards me, and I sigh.
In the end I pick out a few sets—one each in yellow, rose, and white gold—and a pair of small silver hoops. A pretty rose gold cuff bracelet studded with diamonds and a matching cocktail ring catches my eye, but I push them reluctantly away.
“And for the honeymoon?” The woman pulls out another garment rack, this one full of silk and satin and lace, pieces of lingerie both innocent and provocative, and I can feel myself blushing bright red.
“That won’t be necessary,” I say quickly.
She frowns. “Surely you want something beautiful for your wedding night, at least? Mr. Romano—”
“Mr. Romano has nothing to do with my underwear, I assure you,” I tell her firmly. Her expression is thoroughly confused, but I ignore it. I might have to play the happy, satisfied bride for the rest of my life after this, but I refuse to pick out lingerie that I’ll never wear, for a groom I’ll never sleep with. That’s taking the ruse too far.
“I think I’m done,” I say firmly. “Tell Mr. Romano, if he asks, that I’m very grateful, but I’m also exhausted. This is it for me, today.”
“Very good, Ms. Ferretti.”
When the woman and her extensive collection of shopping is gone, I collapse backwards on the bed amidst all the clothing. My entire body aches from the events of yesterday, sleeping briefly curled up on a couch, and tension. I open one eye and see the bathroom door, and despite my stubborn insistence not to enjoyanythingin this place, I can’t help but give in to the idea of a hot bath. My muscles are screaming at me.
The bathroom itself is astonishing. The tiles are heated, something I find out as soon as I step barefoot into the room, and it’s as massive as I’d thought it might be. The counter stretches along most of one wall, with double sinks and a huge mirror with recessed lighting all around it. The shower is separate from the tub, with porcelain tiles and rainwater showerheads on either end, and the tub has whirlpool jets. It takes me only a second of opening one of the lacquered black drawers to find sachets of scented bath salts and ampoules of bath oil, and there’s literalcandlesunderneath the sink. The other drawers are empty, just waiting for someone to fill them with their own things.
Of course there’s nothing personal here,I think dryly, as I turn the bathwater on. Luca doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who calls a girl for a second date, or lets them leave a toothbrush or lipstick behind. Everything about this guest suite is carefully curated, undoubtedly by someone else, for any guest he might have. And I’m sure the girls don’t stay in here. They probably don’t even stay the night.He probably fucks them and just calls a cab, and they thank him for it.
I’m not quite sure why I feel so bitter about it. Truthfully, I should be grateful. The busier he is in his own bed, the less trouble I’ll have keeping him out of mine. And I don’t believe for a second that Luca is a man who lacks for female company, even if he hadn’t bragged about it. But the same way that my skin feels as if it’s electrified every time he looms over me, the thought of another woman in his bed makes my stomach feel queasy with anxiety.
Jealousy. It’s a strange emotion to feel over the man who is essentially my captor.It’s just because you’re marrying him,I tell myself, sliding into the vanilla-scented bathwater and stifling a groan of pleasure as the hot water closes over my body.You just feel obligated to be jealous of other women in your husband’s bed. But that was never going to change. All you can do is stay out of it yourself, and look the other way.
Luca had made it clear that he expected to be allowed to do whatever he wanted.Was my father like that?For the first time, I allow myself to wonder about his marriage to my mother. I can’t believe that he was ever unfaithful to her. I remember the way he looked at her, the way they would sneak kisses when they thought I wasn’t looking, the way he always touched her waist when he passed her even after years of marriage. I know that he loved her. But fidelity? Now I’m not so sure.
It’s clear that my father lived a life that I never knew about. That much I’d always been aware of—but I’d never imaginedthis. And I’d never have thought he’d be capable of promising me to a man like Luca.Did he know what the alternative would be, if I refused? Did he know I’d be backed into a corner like this? And if he did, was the promise made because he was afraid of Rossi killing me?
I close my eyes, sinking deeper into the bath. There’s so much that I don’t know, so many questions left unanswered, and Luca doesn’t seem inclined to give me any of those answers. I know that he’s hoping I’ll be meek and quiet after our wedding, that I’ll stop fighting him and asking questions.
But I’ve spent my whole life being meek and quiet, trying to stay out of sight, and it didn’t work. It only got me here, forced into a marriage I don’t want, my entire life wiped away in one night.
I press my lips together, breathing in the vanilla scent of the water.
It might just be time to try something new.
Luca
The paperwork is signed. The ring is on Sofia’s finger. Carmen has all of her instructions to set the wheels in motion for the ceremony and reception on Saturday. Father Donahue has reluctantly agreed to see Sofia for her confirmation, despite how “irregular it all is.”
I should feel satisfied. Content, even, that the matter has been handled despite Sofia’s reticence, and that everything is falling into place.
Instead, as I sit in the back of my town car being driven to an appointment with Don Rossi, I feel more agitated than ever.
I was supposed to be the one in control of all of this. The one calling the shots, telling Sofia how things were going to go. And yet somehow, my lovely bride-to-be managed to make me feel that in the end, despite all the paperwork and all the demands and restrictions I’ve placed on her, that she has the upper hand.
