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I dragged my lips across her cheek to her ear.
“Don’t let the door hit your ass on your way out, Nemesis.”
FRANCESCA
I shivered under my covers, hitting refresh on all the local media Twitter accounts, checking their websites for live updates.
It was about as constructive to my mental state as watching videos of puppies drowning, but I couldn’t help it.
Three hours after he’d left the house, my husband was seen with a gorgeous brunette on his arm. She was wearing my favorite Valentino dress and a proud smile.
Screw you, Wolfe.
Her eyes were bigger and bluer and deeper. They saw and knew things I could hardly even imagine. She was taller and considerably more beautiful.
She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, smiling dreamingly as their photo was taken, staring directly to the camera. Flirting with it. Loving it back.
And, as my husband looked down at her, his cold mercury eyes darkening with lust, I knew what I had to do even before I’d read the caption under their image.
Senator Wolfe Keaton (30) and prima ballerina Karolina Ivanova (28) were seen spending time together at a local gala.
Keaton, who was married to Francesca Rossi (19) this summer, is currently in the midst of a scandal after his young wife was seen kissing a childhood friend on the grounds of Northwestern University earlier this afternoon.
Frantic, I checked for more pictures. More items. More tweets about my husband and his lady friend.
The entire world saw them together now. We were officially over. Only it was never my intention to humiliate him.
I understood how bad it looked, but it was just one kiss.
A moment of weakness.
Not that it mattered.
It was no longer about me, and I knew it.
Wolfe was a loose cannon. Angry and vindictive and full of hate. And I had my baby to think about.
I packed up a suitcase and called my mother, informing Smithy in a text message that he needed to take me back home to Little Italy.
I saw him texting Wolfe frantically in the car as I pushed my bags out the door, braving the drizzle and the chilly, autumn night.
By the way he banged his head against the headrest, his messages were left unanswered.
Chapter
Seventeen
WOLFE
I sat on the edge of the king-sized bed of the hotel room and took another sip of whiskey. I wasn’t hungover, simply because I never stopped drinking throughout the night.
I was still blissfully drunk, though the dull heartache had been replaced with a persistent headache that pressed against my eyes and nose.
This was the first time in a decade I’d drank more than the customary two tumblers in one evening.
The moan behind me reminded me that I wasn’t alone.
Karolina stretched along the bed on a yawn, allowing the sunrays drifting through the tall French windows to cast a natural light that complemented the soft curves of her face.
