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Fun with Gio? What would I give for that? Or would have given, but with two hate fucks under my belt and an MIA fiancé, I kind of gave up on the idea of reconciliation and a happy marriage.
But as Hilda leaves, the suggestion persists. Gio hates socializing. After three months of almost radio-silence, we’re going out tonight.
As much as I built walls around my heart, I allow hope to seep through. I can’t imagine this particular theater premiere is that important—the first social obligation since we’ve gotten engaged.
Does he, in his twisted, prideful way, have an ulterior motive for this outing? Does he want to forge a better relationship?
We’ve been in this weirdly constructed partnership longer than we were ever in a normal one. I don’t know anymore what’s real and what’s my imagination.
Perhaps I misconstrued how much he used to care about me. All the gestures and gifts and the weekend in St. Martin blinded me, and I might have fallen while he didn’t.
“There is a delivery here for you,” Hilda calls from the elevator bank. “Good night.”
The door slides closed as I walk to the reception area, enjoying the silence of the office and the carpet under my bare feet.
A small package lays at the front desk. It has no card or return address. I open it gingerly. A jewelry box? I lift the velvet top and gasp.
A delicate chain with an intricate pendant. Tiny emeralds nest between the rose gold wires of a butterfly. There is no card attached, but there is no doubt who it’s from. I didn’t even know Gio noticed I admired the necklace at Saks on our first date.
The fluttering feelings in my stomach stem from both excitement and anxiety. Why did he send me this? What does it mean? Jesus. As soon as I think I’m getting immune to my reluctant future husband, he does this. Instead of words.
By the time I get changed and dolled up for the premiere, I’m so torn between fantasies and reality, I almost call Gio to tell him I can’t attend. I have been reasonably good, avoiding this destructively hopeful spiral of thinking, but tonight I can’t seem to collect myself.
Hope blooms, and as much as I try to protect myself and stomp all over it before he does, I’m a mess when I get into the car.
My driver texts Gio, so he’s on the sidewalk to open my door when we arrive. My hand slips into his and he helps me out of the car.
Goosebumps.
Heat wave.
Heart palpitation.
“You’re late,” he growls instead of the greeting.
Cold shower.
The cameras blind me as we make our way inside. Gio puts a protective hand on the small of my back.
Whiplash.
We take our seats on the balcony. I wasn’t paying enough attention before to realize this is a new production ofAnna Karenina. Great. Now I have to suffer through a drama about love with a tragic end. All the while breathing through the accidental touches of Gio’s arm.
“I promised Andrea we’d stop at his opening tonight. Are you tired?” Gio asks during the intermission.
“Whatever you want.” Is this going to be my default answer from now on? Perpetually trapped between his mercy and my need to demonstrate I’m grateful for what he’s done for my family.
“I was thinking we could skip the second half of the play and just zip by the gallery in SoHo. Do you want to watch the rest?” Gio adjusts his cuffs.
What is with him tonight? Is he uncomfortable? After the initial growl about my lateness, he seems… I don’t know… less aloof, more protective, distant but still present?
Closer than in the last few months. I can’t describe it, but suddenly I feel we’re on the verge of a breakthrough. Or perhaps a breakdown.
“I know how it ends, and frankly the production is a bit underwhelming.” I search his face for signs of… well, I don’t know what.
He smirks. “You’re right about that. Let’s ditch it.” He offers me his arm, and we leave as the happy couple that almost everyone believes we are.
The ride takes longer because of traffic, and the air fills with an awkward silence. I don’t know how to break the ice, so I talk about my work. He’s the primary investor, after all.
