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I wonder what it would be like to have the full effect of his attention directed on me.I want to know.
I have time, though. I don’t know how long we’ll be here in Maine, but I’d think someone like him wouldn’t honeymoon for long. I mean, the entirety of our marriage is only for six months.
I gotta admit, I kind of like wearing his T-shirt. He's not someone who is freely intimate, and neither am I, but it's one small gesture. I've never worn a guy's T-shirt before, and honestly, I've never wanted to.
I've never even thought what it would be like to be married, because I'm not a commitment kind of person. Even Eden and Sergio are in a class of their own, so their relationship didn’t ping my marriage radar. When I think of myself as Adriano’s wife, I'm not really sure how I feel about it. It's probably like when you're in a car accident or some type of trauma situation—like, you're in denial at first.
He wanted me to get some sleep, and he's out. I can't though.
I decide to do a little exploring. This particular room is stunning, but simple. Decorated in pale whites and blues, various shades reminiscent of the beach, it speaks of comfortable luxury. I walk noiselessly to the largest window that overlooks the balcony, my mind whirring.
Tonight, Adriano was on edge. He's told me many times that we are in danger, but exactly how much danger are we in? If it were imminent, wouldn’t we be hidden in some kind of… oh, I don’t know, safe house or something?
Wait. Is this a safe house? Jesus, if I knew they could be like this I’d have played my cards to be in the witness protection program ages ago.
Okay, so, piecing things together. Eden explained that if I am married to Adriano, I can't be forced to testify in court against him.
But it's all so strange, it doesn't quite click in my mind. I feel like my time at Bella Notte has been like performing on stage, but now I’ve been given a backstage pass.
My eyes light on his wallet and phone tossed in a small basket on a desk in the corner of the room. My pulse spikes. I know that if I look through his shit I could be in a whole other world of danger.
Heh. Maybe I’d like to see what that looks like.
I look over my shoulder. When he rolls over, I stand stock-still, and my heart kicks up a beat. But the next minute he's softly snoring again.
I do some little mental gymnastics to justify this. I'm his wife. This isn't snooping. A wife should know what the insides of her husband's wallet look like… right?
The soft black leather feels luxurious in my hands. It's supple and buttery, and a small insignia at the bottom indicates it was crafted in Italy. It looks old, though. I wonder where he got it from.
When I open it, I'm not surprised to find a massive amount of cash. I'm not just talking about a lot of bills, but big bills. He must have three thousand dollars in cash here, and in various currencies, too. I guess cash is a bit more convenient than plastic.
I flip through the wallet quickly, afraid he’s going to wake at any second.
There's a passport card, an American driver’s license, a form of Italian ID, and… they're not all in the same name. Again, I'm not surprised, because of who he is. He works for Sergio Montavio, for crying out loud, so I hardly expect him to have accurate data or documents. He probably has all kinds of different aliases.
Adriano is what he goes by and that’s the only thing that’s consistent on each ID. Maybe that's something that's sacred to him.
I take out the bills to count them because I have never held this much cash in my hand at once. I bet if I asked him for this, he’d give it to me. But I’d feel cheap, and I don't want to do that. Still, it's nice to hold it. Something flutters to the floor. I bend to pick it up and see a slip of paper with a phone number and something written on it.
I know I shouldn't be looking at this. It doesn't matter that I'm his wife, we both know that we don't have an intimate relationship, and I know Eden would chide me right about now. They say curiosity killed the cat and I'm already on at least my second life.
Still, I bend down to pick it up.
Reno
555-518-0402
What's Reno? Did he go to the West Coast? Interesting. Are those numbers below the name a phone number? I don't have the courage to dial it, or even Google it, and I have no idea what the password on his phone is anyway.
I place the money and the piece of paper back.
Before I do, I note that all the bills are faced the same way. His IDs are neatly turned out, and he has one little receipt in the corner of the wallet that's folded in threes. I pull it out, again because, curiosity.
I unfold it to see it's from a jeweler, and dated yesterday? I stop breathing when I read it.
My jaw drops.
No way.
