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I can't find Giada and Romano yet, but I know they're around somewhere. I see Father Lorenzo in the distance in a tux having a soft conversation with a guest and I don't know if he's seen me, but I try not to stare.
Benedetto explores the venue with me in his arms, meeting people who act as though I'm another accessory for the wedding, not a living thing, or who decide bringing up the scandal is a good way to get at me.
Two glasses of champagne later and a little too much whiskey for Benedetto, we finally get a moment alone.
“What were you thinking?” Benedetto lets go and comes to stand in front of me, blocking my view and giving me just his smoking handsome self in a navy-blue tux that highlights his dark hair and honey-toned eyes. He sips the last of his whiskey and drops the glass on a tray as a server walks by with more champagne flutes.
“I was trying to get as far away from you as possible,” I pout.
“I don't know what fucked up thing you have planned, or the fucked-up words your fuck buddy said to get you out of the house, but it is not safe out here,” he grinds his teeth.
I know it's not safe, but that isn't what is having me swallow nervous air. It's the fact that he would imply that I left with a fuck buddy. When I was called out concerning my affair with Tiziano, I didn't feel this bad until I saw the tabloids and started feeling my world crumbling. It only hurt when I found out what they were going to do to me and my family for the disrespect. Not for Romano or his family.
But hearing Benedetto accuse me of sleeping with Carlos feels different. I feel hurt and I'm almost about to say something. Still, why should I? I'm not dating him. I'm not dating anyone. I can decide to have as many lovers as I want, and I can have sex with whomever I want.
“Cat’s got your tongue, Rosaline?” He dips one hand in his pants pocket and cocks one eyebrow at me.
“I don't owe you any explanation.”
“Oh, but you fucking do. You have no fucking idea how much you owe me, and I'll take every bit of it,” he sizes me up, “Do you need a change of cloth?”
I chuckle, “Yeah, say it Benedetto, I embarrass you.”
He snorts, “Listen,” he dips his head so he is pinning me with his eyes, “Even if you are wrapped in a potato sack, it does nothing to temper your beauty, and I mean it when I say nobody here comes close.”
My heart skips a beat, then shoots to my stomach to swirl with rogue butterflies.
He continues, “On a fucking pedestal, that's where I'm placing you, and you aren't fucking coming down from it.”
With the rate at which my heart is beating in my stomach, I fear it will tear me open and spurt my organs out with it. It is not only the words he said, it is how he said them and the fact that I have goosebumps breaking out of my skin. He carved his words into my soul, I have no doubt that it is how he sees me and feels about me. He is not saying I'm perfect, he is saying none of my imperfection takes away from what he feels or sees.
“Benedetto…” I open my mouth to speak.
“Who do we have here?” A flowery voice precedes the appearance of the owner, who is no doubt as beautiful as the voice, “Ben,” she slots her arm in his, “It's been forever.” Sheturns to me, “Hey,” she smiles warmly, too warmly. I pick it up that she doesn't know me or she is just good at pretending.
“Hi,” I smile back.
“Can I steal this handsome man for a minute? I need his charms,” she keeps up her smile and I conclude she doesn't really care about me or my reputation.
“Sure, I'll just mingle,” I reassure Benedetto more than her even though I don't want him to go anywhere, especially not with her.
“Thank you,” she pulls him by the arm and he gives me a tight smile before going with her.
As I watch both of them leave with her leaning in to whisper to him, I feel a hollow in my stomach siphoning all the blood in my veins. They look good together. Her in her white flowy gown and him in his navy-blue tux. Ginger and brown hair. Curvy and athletic. I'm so lost in my head that I forget where I am and my lack of allies in this territory. So far gone that I do not see Romano walking up to me and standing in front of me until he is in my line of sight.
“Hey…” I'm cut short by him dragging me by my upper arm across the ballroom to a corridor and coming to tower in front of me with his arms crossed.
“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” He clips.
He can snap me like a twig right now and no one would stop him. Nobody even sees as strange that he has cornered me.
I tremble, “I don't know what…”
“Cut the bullshit,” his brows furrows, “What are you doing with Benedetto?”
I take a step back, trying to play carefully, “He helped me after…” Dear Lord, he is going to kill me. My eyes begin to burn with tears and I sniffle, “After Tiziano died, he was there for me. He kept me safe.”
He curls his upper lip, “So you are showing him how grateful you are?”
