He waited until I acknowledged his words with a jerked nod before he removed his hand from my lips. As he resumed his merciless claim over my body, the agony continued. I tried following his advice and focused on my breathing, but it didn’t help. Staring into my eyes, Alessandro exhaled and whispered soft Italian words into my ears as if he meant to distract me from pain. Though it shouldn't have, somehow it made a difference.
When it was over, he dragged me into his arms and let me cry on his chest. The whole time he caressed my hair and continued whispering those soft foreign words until everything before my eyes faded into nothingness.
In all the nights that followed, I quickly discovered this was Alessandro's version of making love and being gentle.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Past (5 years prior)
On the morning after our wedding night, I woke up naked, alone, and in a daze. Every muscle in my body screamed in pain, and the flesh between my thighs ached like it had been scraped raw. I lowered my gaze and shuddered at the sight of smeared blood on the snow-white sheets. The entire bed reeked of Alessandro's cologne, and the scent reminded me of the night before. As the unpleasant flashback interchanged before my eyes; a sense of confusion and deep shame washed over me, feeling as though I had been robbed of something I would never get back.
I didn't know where Alessandro had disappeared, but the thought he might return at any given moment and find me in such a fragile position made me get up on my shaky legs. As I wrapped the sheet I had been covered with around me, and walked toward the adjoining bathroom, I passed by my wedding dress abandoned on the floor. The memory of Alessandro's soft voice—demanding I let go of the dress—suddenly rang in my head. Exhaling, I chased the images away, and my eyes fell on the bouquet of dark red roses which lay on the small side table. The sight of those roses distracted me for a moment, and I didn't know why but I found myself counting their number. There were exactly eighteen of them. With my curiosity piqued, I took hold of the small card and read the words written in both English and Italian.
'Tu sei quella che stavo aspettando....
You are the one I have been waiting for...
Alessandro.'
Tears filled my eyes and I threw the note on the floor as I broke down crying. At last, I admitted to myself the reason behind all this confusion and shame. Alessandro had taken my virginity by force. No amount of sweet talking could ever change the fact I had said no and begged him to give me time. And he had refused even though it was more than obvious I wasn't ready to be intimate with him. More humiliating was the fact he had read my journal, and knew how I had imagined losing my virginity to him. I bit my knuckle to quell another sob breaking its way free from my throat. I thought he would be gentle and considerate of my feelings, and the bastard had done the exact opposite.
Suddenly, the door to my room swung open and I flinched, pulling the sheet even tighter around my body. Every hair at the back of my neck stood in expectation of Alessandro, but there was no sight of him. Instead, Henry Wyatt was the one who entered the room without bothering to knock. As I stared at him—disgusted by his lack of manners and complete disregard for my privacy—he was busy assessing the scene, and a malicious smirk appeared on his face when he saw I was upset and drowning in tears.
“Good morning, Mrs. Damiani,” he said mockingly.
“Get out!” I yelled, throwing that bouquet of roses at him.
He snickered, removing the wet petals that stuck to his black suit jacket. All traces of humor fled as his face turned serious. “There is no need for such animosity. I just came to check on you and change the sheets. I’ve understood it was necessary.”
Instant heat doused my cheeks as embarrassment took hold of my feeble mind. To think Alessandro would be so insensitive to humiliate me in front of his creepy butler in such a despicable manner. Pinpricks irritated my scalp as flames of pure rage licked my belly.