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“Fine.” He turns on his heel, stalking back towards the bed.
I stand there, on the other side of the room, watching him go. A part of me wants to go sleep on the couch, just to be away from him, but the other part resents the idea that he can not only ice me out of our marriage but also keep me from sleeping in a bed. So instead, I snatch my sleep shorts and a t-shirt out of the dresser, throw them on, and crawl into bed as far away from him as I can manage.
It’s not difficult. The bed is huge—we’re not touching unless we want to.
And right now, the last thing I want is to touch him.
—
In the morning when I wake up, Salvatore is already gone. The sheets and blankets are tugged up on his side of the bed, smoothed over as if he wanted to erase any trace of where he was the night before. I sit up blearily, wondering if he’s still somewhere in the villa, but I don’t hear any sounds that indicate there’s anyone else here. Even the security has made themselves scarce since we got here. However, how they’ve managed to stay so invisible, I have no idea. Whatever Salvatore pays them, he should probably pay them more.
My head is pounding from crying last night, and I’m sore. Salvatore tried to be gentle, I’ll give him that much, but I was always going to be sore the morning after no matter what.
With the memory comes a sinking feeling of dread, a reminder of how we left things. My marriage is set in stone now, a divorce nearly impossible, and all possibility of my former engagement coming to pass vanished. But nothing is better between Salvatore and I. If anything, it’s worse.
I shove the blankets back, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, and see a note left for me on the nightstand. Next to it is a heavy black credit card.
Gia,
I’ll be gone on business most of the day, probably until dinnertime. You’re free to explore, so long as you take plenty of security with you and don’t try to evade them. The credit card is for you to use as you please.
–Salvatore
That feeling of dread eases, just a little. It’s still there in the back of my mind, that feeling of being trapped with no way out, but at least I’m not trapped in this villa for the entirety of our “honeymoon,” with only Salvatore for company when he comes back. I can get out and get some fresh air and explore, and that at least feels like a reprieve.
The day is mine, and the thought of being able to do whatever I please with it is enough to lift my spirits a little more. I call the number for our personal concierge for breakfast, and then, while I wait on that, I take two aspirin for my pounding head and sink into a hot bath, adding a generous pour of lavender vanilla Epsom salts from a vial sitting on the gold tray that’s perched atop the bathroom counter with a variety of expensive toiletries. The heat instantly soothes the tenderness between my thighs and my aching muscles from last night. I pile my hair up on my head to keep it out of the water, sinking deep into the tub and closing my eyes.
When the water starts to cool off, I pry myself out of it, drying off and putting on my emerald-green bikini with the palm-frond print maxi dress and a pair of woven espadrilles. I pull my hair up in a high, fluffy ponytail, adding hoops and a dangly bracelet, and rub sunscreen over all of my exposed skin before I go back out into the bedroom and find my breakfast waiting for me.
It’s practically a buffet. There’s coffee, coconut-flavored and plain creamer, orange juice, and water, along with a plate of scrambled eggs, blueberry maple sausage, smoked salmon, and a stack of fluffy pancakes with strawberry syrup and butter. It’s more food than I could ever eat in a single meal, and I pick at it, taking a few bites of each thing while I sip my coffee. The smoked salmon and eggs, in particular, are delicious, and I end up putting more of that onto a single plate and carrying it out to the deck to nibble at while I finish the coffee.
The morning is beautiful. This is absolutely a tiny slice of paradise, with the crystal-blue water stretching out in every direction and the white-sugar sand beach visible like a thin strip in the distance. I glance out at the other villas scattered along the water, wondering about the other people staying there. Other honeymooners, maybe, happier ones than Salvatore and I. Or couples here on their anniversaries, girlfriends on a trip for a bachelorette, a girls’ weekend away. I can’t help but wonder if anyone else here feels the same way I do, the same way that Salvatore claims he does. If anyone else is here trying to save a marriage, or get pregnant after trying for a long time, or on a honeymoon they’d rather be sharing with someone else. Surely, even here in such a blissful place, we can’t be the only ones struggling.
The sun is warm and bright, the morning just this side of a little too hot, but after being in the rainy, cold spring weather at home, I don’t mind. A part of me is tempted to just sit on the deck in the sun with a book, but I don’t want to squander the opportunity to wander almost on my own. So I finish up my breakfast and coffee, and pack up a straw beach tote with a towel, my book, sunscreen, and a few other things I might need for the day. But as I walk out of the front door and onto the pier leading to the beach, I’m immediately stopped by a tall, bulky man in cargos and a black t-shirt.
“Salvatore said I could leave for the day.” It comes out automatically, and I can hear the defensiveness in my voice. “He said?—”
“I know what he said.” The man speaking to me looks vaguely familiar—I think his name is Vince. I know Salvatore’s primary security enforcer, Josef, is always with him, so it’s definitely not that guy. They all start to blur together for me—men in the same outfits, with the same buzz-cuts and stern expressions on their faces. “I’m just letting you know that I and several of my men will be accompanying you, Mrs. Morelli.”
“I figured as much.” I shade my eyes with my hand, glaring up at him in irritation. I knew he and some of the other guards would be coming along, but I didn’t want to be reminded of it. “Can I go, then? Or do I need to wait for you to collect them?”
“No, ma’am. We’ll be right behind you.”
He steps out of the way, and I let out a sharp breath, my excitement somewhat dimmed by his attitude. But he can’t completely kill my mood, and I still have the whole day stretching out in front of me.
I do my best to ignore the fact that I know I have an entourage, walking at my own pace as I head down the pier and out to the sandy beach just beyond it. I pull up a guide on my phone, eagerly looking for what I want to fill my day with.
There’s a local open-air market, and I head there first, the sound of the waves fading into the distance as I head away from the beach. I’m sweating a little by the time I get there, but I don’t mind. Ironically, this is the first time I’ve ever had this much freedom. My father, for all that I know, he loved me very much and kept me very sheltered. I was allowed to go out with my friends into the city—with the same kind of security that Salvatore insists on—but he never would have allowed anything like this. Like Salvatore said, the reason I’ve never been away from home before is because my father worried about the possible consequences of straying very far.
It feels blissful being out like this. The chatter and noise of the open-air market sounds like its own kind of music, filling the air with the sounds of happy people out shopping and haggling and just enjoying the morning. I walk past stand after stand of bags and jewelry, scarves and home goods, and further down, stands selling various types of food. I get a bowl of sliced fruit sprinkled with chili-lime salt and a cup of lemonade, perching on a nearby bench to eat it while I watch the people passing by. I know somewhere nearby, that Vince and his security are watching me, but I do my best to ignore it. If I try hard enough, I can almost pretend I’m entirely alone.
When I finish the fruit and lemonade, I circle back to some of the stands I passed earlier, ready to put Salvatore’s credit card to work. I buy a gorgeous handwoven silk sarong that will look perfect with my bikinis, and a gorgeous pearl bracelet. The bracelet is a string of pearls in different shades—light blue, purple, and near-black—interspersed with tiny diamonds and aquamarines. I slip it onto my wrist, and then, just for fun, I buy a pair of matching earrings— black pearls with a small aquamarine stud at the top of each one.
I tuck the sarong into my tote, and head out of the market, back towards the beach. The sun is hotter now, beating down on me, and I can feel a light sweat trickling down the back of my neck by the time I reach the sand. Even as much as I work out, walking in the hot sun takes more out of me than I would have expected, and by the time I walk down the beach, I’m ready to stretch out on a blanket and relax for a little while.
The crashing sound of the waves against the sand is soothing. I shake out my huge beach towel and spread it out, getting out my book and slipping my dress off so that I can get some sun. I look around as I pour sunscreen into my hand, looking for Vince or any of his men, but they’ve made themselves scarce in the way they so often do.
A small part of me likes the idea of them watching me strip out of my dress, my taut, toned body on display in the skimpy emerald green bikini, the halter top pushing up my breasts. Salvatore might not have an appreciation for the view, but I bet some of his men do. I wonder how often they’ve watched me since we got here, while I took a dip in the pool or laid out under the sun, or if they’re watching now while I rub sunscreen over my cleavage and down the flat expanse of my stomach, wishing they could touch me and knowing they can’t.
