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I shake my head again, hard. I am not going to sit here fantasizing about this man. Especially after last night, when he nearly drew me in, almost made me let down my walls, only to remind me of the absolute control he has over me.
A knock comes at the door. “Gia?” Leah’s voice filters in from the other side. “May I come in?”
“Sure.” I rub at my face as the doors open, and she walks in, balancing a tray that she sets down on the dresser. There’s a covered plate on it, as well as a steaming cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice.
“Don Morelli has already left for the day, so I brought your breakfast up. Do you need anything else?”
I shake my head. “No. Thank you.”
When she leaves, I reach for my phone. I sent messages to Angelica, Cristina, and Rosaria last night, to see if they’d want to meet me to shop today. I wondered if they’d be able to on such short notice, especially Angelica, who is married and has her own household to run. But there are texts from all of them, excitedly agreeing to meet me at a coffee shop downtown so that we can come up with a plan of action for the day.
I send a group message, letting them know I’ll be there in a few hours, and slide out of bed. I feel a flush of unexpected excitement at the idea of a day of relative freedom—I’ll be bogged down with security, true, but at least I’ll be away from the estate and with my friends. It feels like a breath of fresh air after how things have been since the wedding.
The wedding. I wince, remembering the fiasco at the altar, the expressions on their faces. I have no idea what they thought then or have thought since. I’ve been with Salvatore every minute, my phone only returned last night so I could get in touch with them. I still have it, presumably because there’s nothing I could really do with it to get myself in trouble. It’s not as if I have Pyotr’s phone number. Every meeting, every conversation we ever had was pre-arranged by our fathers, set up in a place where we could be watched. We never had a private word with each other.
I push thoughts of Pyotr out of my head, sliding out of bed and looking at the tray Leah left for me. There are scrambled eggs and a homemade cherry-filled croissant under the cover, and I reach for the pastry, taking a bite of it and a sip of the coffee. The room feels very quiet this morning, waking up alone, and I try to imagine living here for the rest of my life.
It doesn’t feel like home. It feels like I’m a guest in someone else’s room. Salvatore told me I could redecorate—ostensibly because he understood I’d feel this way and for some reason gives a shit—but I don’t know what I’d want to do with it. I don’t know what I could do to make this place feel like home.
I take another nibble of the pastry and another sip of coffee before I go and get into the shower, putting my hair up atop my head. Afterward, I dry off and spray a little dry shampoo and texture spray through my hair, running my fingers through it, and then go to get dressed. Jeans, a blue silk camisole, a thin grey cashmere cardigan for warmth against the chill outside, and a pair of high-heeled black ankle boots. I hesitate next to my vanity, and then reach for the diamond and onyx studs and bracelet that Salvatore sent me yesterday.
If I really want to be petty, I should never wear them again. I should banish them to a corner of my jewelry box and never look at them, forget they even exist, as if they mean nothing to me.
And they don’t, I tell myself as I slip them into my ears, clasping the bracelet. They’re just pretty, and I like pretty things. There’s nothing deeper to it.
With that thought firmly in my head, I finish my breakfast, and go down to find Salvatore’s driver.
—
By the time we’re on our way, I’m thoroughly irritated. Heavy security, it seems, means two SUVs of private bodyguards following the town car I’m in, and one in the passenger’s seat next to my driver. Unsurprisingly, Salvatore’s number is in my phone, and I fire off a message as soon as I’m in the car, annoyance flooding me.
I don’t need a private army to go shopping.
This is ridiculous. Even my friends, who are used to this life, will find it ridiculous. Insane, even. They always have one or two bodyguards following them when they go anywhere, but Salvatore has practically sent a company of mercenaries with me, like I’m some princess in danger of assassination.
Of course, that’s not far from what he believes.
My phone buzzes, and I look at it, almost surprised he bothered to respond at all.
If you want to leave the house, Gia, this is how you do it. Or I could have a personal shopper deliver items for you to look at?
I resist the urge to throw my phone across the car. He would give me an order, and then follow it up with a ridiculous flex to remind me of how much wealth and power he has, that he can provide anything I require without my lifting a finger—even if I want to.
It’s fine, I text back angrily. I guess this is just my life now.
There’s no response—not that I expected one. I let out a sharp sigh, craning my neck to see the SUVs following us. It’s not just irritating, it’s embarrassing. Proof of Salvatore’s obsession, and his insane certainty that my life is in mortal danger.
What if it is? I remember the sound of gunshots in the hallway of the hotel, in my room as I’d crouched in the bathroom, more afraid than I’ve ever been in my life. I believed it was Pyotr, coming for me. But what if it wasn’t?
The possibility flickers through my head again that Salvatore is right. That he has a reason to be so overprotective. But I can’t let myself believe it.
I’m not sure I can handle that particular truth.
Angelica, Rosaria, and Cristina are all at the coffee shop when I walk in. The bodyguard who was in the car with me sticks close to my side, taking a seat at the table nearest them. I see four other men with similar builds and attitudes nearby—presumably my friends’ security. The two teams that followed me over are no doubt spread out outside the building, making sure there’s no one watching us, or waiting for us to head outside.
“Gia!” Rosaria is up first, heading straight for me to give me a hug. “We missed you.”
“It’s only been a few days.” I laugh weakly.
