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But the thought of touching her outside of sheer necessity makes me feel as if I’m being swallowed up by guilt for the things I want. It’s an impossible problem, and one that I don’t know how to resolve.
I have a meeting with Josef over a video call, discussing reinforcements and how best to proceed with Igor. It’s hard for me to focus as we talk, my thoughts constantly drifting back to Gia. This morning, after I got up, I found one of her romance novels next to the bath. I flicked through it for just a minute, startled at what I read on the pages. It made a little more sense, then, how she knows as much as she does about what she thinks I want in the bedroom—and imagining doing those things to her nearly drove me to lock the door and wrap my hand around my cock again, just to ease the arousal. Some of it, I could so easily imagine—and some of it made me feel filthy, for reading it and knowing that it would turn me on to do those things with her, when they should horrify me.
Frustrated, I get up when the meeting is over, intending to go for a walk in the afternoon sunshine—maybe get some lunch instead of having it delivered to me. My conversation with Gia from the night before replays in my head, and I can’t help but wonder if I was too abrupt in cutting off her bid to close that gap between us. If, maybe, it would have been better to entertain her attempt, and encourage her to open up to me.
I can’t be the lover she wants me to be. I’m not even sure that I can be the sort of husband that would make her happy. But maybe things could be less contentious between us. Last night was the first inkling I’ve had from her that she’s willing to try to achieve that. I’m sure that my curt response caused her to throw up her walls again. But there’s the possibility that I could soften the blow from last night.
I know her well enough to know that she likes pretty things—luxurious things. I know she likes jewelry. Despite the contention between us, she’s worn the set I gave her for our evening out more than once. There’s a small jewelry shop that I’ve passed twice now on my way to my workspace, and I head there as I leave, just to take a look.
A small bell chimes as I walk in, and I can smell watch oil and the scent of some kind of potpourri, along with floor wax. My shoes click on the gleaming hardwood floor as I walk in, and I immediately see a middle-aged woman with her black hair up in a high bun come out from the back, a welcoming smile on her face.
“Is there anything I can help you find?” She walks up to the glass counter. “We have all sorts of jewelry. Are you looking for anything specific?”
“Just looking around. I’ll know what I want when I see it, I think.” I return her smile, pleasantly, and she nods.
“Well, just call for me if you want to see something closer up. I’ll be in the back.”
There are several displays of engagement rings and wedding sets—unsurprising, since I imagine there are plenty of people who come here for a proposal or to get married. It occurs to me that Gia doesn’t have an engagement ring, but it feels disingenuous to get one for her, considering that I didn’t ask, and she has no way out now. I don’t know what she would want, either, and picking something out she disliked would have the opposite effect of what I’m trying for.
I browse a selection of necklaces, and then look a little further down, at a case displaying bracelets on plastic wrist mannequins. Most of them are diamond, a few turquoise, but one catches my eye.
“Can I see this closer?” I call out, and the woman appears immediately, bustling toward the case where I’m standing.
“Of course.” She unlocks the glass case, reaching for the bracelet I point out and laying it out on a velvet pad. “Here you are.”
It’s lovely. Delicate and feminine—a tennis bracelet style comprised of pink garnets and small pearls interspersed between each other. I can picture it on Gia’s delicate wrist easily, and I have a feeling that she’ll love it.
“I’ll take it,” I tell the woman decisively, reaching for my credit card.
“Of course. We have matching earrings, too.” She carries the bracelet to the register, dipping into a different case to pull the earrings out to show me. They’re dainty flowers, the petals comprised of matching pink garnets, with a pearl in the center of each. “I’m sure your wife would love these. Or whoever it is that you’re purchasing them for.” She gives me a sly smile, and I raise an eyebrow.
“I’ll take them as well.” I ignore the comment, pushing my card towards her. I’m sure there are plenty of men who bring mistresses here, but that’s not my style, and it’s also none of this woman’s business.
I actually can’t recall ever having bought a woman a gift before, other than those first gifts I bought Gia. As I wait for the woman to wrap them up, I find myself hoping that Gia will like them. I thank her as she hands them over, tucking the small boxes into my pocket, and look at my phone to see where she is. The location sharing on the phones isn’t because I want to keep track of her so much as to ensure that if anything ever were to happen, I’d have a better chance of getting to her quickly, if she managed to keep ahold of her phone. It makes me feel more secure, knowing I have at least some chance of knowing where she is and that she’s safe, although I’m sure Gia might have other opinions about it if she knew.
The map on my phone shows that she’s at a bar and restaurant about a mile away—probably having lunch. I tuck my phone back into my pocket and pick up my pace, and I find that I’m looking forward to the idea of surprising her at lunch. The thought of sitting down for an impromptu meal with her and giving her the gift lifts my spirits, and makes me wonder all over again if maybe she was right. Maybe we do have a chance, if we try. Even if we can’t come to an agreement just yet on the physical aspects of our relationship, maybe there’s the possibility of a friendship between us. With time, and carefully growing that friendship, maybe there can even be some measure of a partnership between us.
For the first time since I interrupted the wedding, I feel a flicker of hope for the future, rather than just resignation. There are a vast amount of issues to conquer between Gia and me, but I consider that we can, perhaps, tackle them one at a time. If she continues to feel the way she did last night, when she was willing to talk with me rather than fighting, I feel as if it’s possible.
I round the corner towards the restaurant, looking forward to seeing her. And then I do—and I stop in my tracks.
Gia—my wife—is sitting at the bar. That in and of itself wouldn’t be cause for alarm—except for the fact that the bartender, a handsome younger blond man, is leaning towards her. His hand is on her arm, his thumb brushing the soft inner skin of her wrist. And I feel a surge of anger, so sharp and primal that it doesn’t begin to compare to anything I’ve ever felt before.
I’ve never been an overly violent man. In my younger days, I enjoyed my enforcement duties a little more than I should have, from time to time. I liked the feeling of being tough, of bringing down Bratva, of ensuring that the mafia territory was protected. But I grew out of that quickly enough—and I never felt anything close to what I’m feeling now.
I want to rip his hand off of her arm, and break every bone in it. I want to snap his fingers while he begs for mercy, for daring to touch her. And then?—
Slowly, I move closer, wanting to hear the conversation. And what I overhear makes my blood boil even hotter.
“—I didn’t see you at the surfing lesson this morning.” The bartender’s hand doesn’t leave her arm, and Gia doesn’t pull away. “I didn’t run you off, did I? Maybe I came on a little strong yesterday, but?—”
“It’s complicated.” Gia’s voice is soft, almost breathy. There’s none of the sharp anger that I’m used to, the cutting edge. Her eyes are wide, looking at him with an expression that makes me seethe.
“I get it.” His hand slides down, wrapping around her fingers, and I clench my jaw tight. “I saw the name on the credit card. You’re not here with girlfriends, are you?”
“Blake—” Gia bites her lip, and it takes everything in me to wait a moment to approach, to let myself find out where this is going. I’m seeing red, my hands clenching into fists, on the verge of exploding into a rage more violent than anything I’ve ever felt.
While I was working to lessen the Bratva threat, this is what she’s been doing. While I’ve been buying her jewelry, she’s been sitting here flirting with another man. My teeth grind together, the anger in me a living, palpable thing.
