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Now that we’re resting in the busy, popular cocktail bar that Lorna’s always wanted to visit, I decide to get real with her.
“Do you ever think about having kids?” I ask, almost having to shout to be heard over all the other conversations going on around us. It’s quarter after five, and I swear half the people in the city have met here after work.
“Yes, in like twenty years.” Lorna huffs a laugh, her eyes flicking between me and the cute guy over by the bar who’s been looking over ever since he came in. “So, how’s married life treating you?” She tucks her hair behind her ear, keeping her focus on him.
“In all honesty, it’s awful, but then I wasn’t expecting anything less.” I take a sip of the margarita this place is supposedly famous for. It’s good, but not as good as the ones Serena makes at home. I’m going to miss her pitchers of margaritas and the movie nights we used to have.
“Here’s to not having to show any ID.” Lorna raises her glass and giggles.
“No one’s going to ID a girl who turns up in a car like that one, with a wedding ring on her finger.” My eyes glance out the window onto the street where Lucian is standing dutifully by the town car he’s chauffeured us around in all day. Having him drive us here was bad enough, but the two huge bodyguards Dario sent along in the car that followed, who are now seated at the next table to us, seems a little overkill.
“These were sent from the gentleman at the bar.” The waitress smiles as she places a fresh tray of drinks in front of us and Lorna wastes no time, raising one up to them and showing her appreciation.
“I told you he was checking you out.” I grin at Lorna, before raising my own glass to the man at the bar in gratitude. I’m about to take a sip when the drink gets snatched out of my hand and one of Dario’s guards places it back on the tray.
“Please tell the gentleman that Dario DeMarco’s wife can purchase her own drinks.” He stares across at the man threateningly, and the waitress nods, immediately taking the tray and retreating back to the bar.
“That was rude.” I look up at him.
“That was necessary,” he responds sarcastically before returning to his seat.
“That, right there, is how married life is treating me.” I look back to Lorna who has her mouth and eyes stretched wide open, clearly stunned by what just happened.
It’s getting dusk when we pull up at the house and I leave Dario’s henchmen to carry in my bags while I walk Lorna to her car and kiss her goodbye.
“Please visit, anytime.” I roll my eyes sarcastically. “I mean it. I can see myself being very lonely here.” The smile drops offmy face.
“I had fun today. Maybe we could have lunch on Friday when I finish my lectures?” she suggests.
“I’d like that.” I kiss her cheek and watch her drive off before heading toward the house, to be greeted at the door by my husband.
“Hello, dear.” I breeze past him and head straight for the stairs. It’s exhausting work trying to max out someone’s credit card and my feet are killing me.
“Where do you think you're going?” he calls after me.
“To freshen up before dinner.” I stop and turn around, feeling a little powerful since I’m standing three steps up from him and feeling a little tipsy.
“You said nothing about going to a bar and drinking.” His eyes are ice cold but still handsome.
“It was a spontaneous decision. I didn’t think I’d have to run it past you.” I rest my hand on the banister to steady myself.
“Madalina, expect to have to runeverythingpast me.” He looks angry, and I’ll admit it’s a hot look on him, perhaps that's why I’m constantly thinking of ways that I can rile him.
“Well, that’s not how I work. I’m not a little girl anymore. My daddy sold me out to get what he wanted, so I guess that makes me grown up enough to make my own choices.”
“Wrong.” Dario marches toward me, tossing my body over his shoulders and carrying me up the rest of the stairs toward the bedroom.
“Dario, put me down! What are you doing?” I slam my fists against his back and try to struggle free, but the hold he has on me is too tight. He tosses me onto the mattress and when I look up at him I let him see how angry I am.
“Take off the dress,” he tells me, sliding his hand through his hair and looking frustrated.
“What? No. We’re fighting. We’re not going to have sex while we fight.” I shake my head
“Wrongagain. We don’t fight. I say, you do. You disobey, you get punished,” he informs me, unbuckling his belt and sliding it from the loops of his pants.
“Why do you have to be so intolerable? Don’t you see that we’re both in the same situation here?” I stare back at him, trying to find just a shred of empathy in the man.
“Why are you still wearing that dress?” He ignores my question as he folds his belt in half then roughly grips at my hips so he can flip me over and position me on all fours.
