a wife.
At the wedding, it wasn’t real. I hated him too much to appreciate it. But now, here in the carriage, in New York City, this will be our first.
His body starts to move, and now his face is a mere inch from mine.
Kiss me.
He’s about to. My eyes close of their own accord and my lips part in waiting.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
A phone.
My eyes jut open. No, not mine. It’s Matteo’s phone ringing. He’s pulling away now, his hand reaching into his pocket to grab it.
The moment now lost.
I miss it instantly.
“Speak,” Matteo commands, before he goes silent, a line forming between his brows.
He’s not happy. I swear it looks like he’s going to explode. There is a vein that is pulsating in his temple.
Suddenly the carriage feels like it's closing in.
“I will be there as soon as possible. Have Roberto pick us up at Sixtieth and Fifth. Ten minutes.”
He hangs up and won’t look at me. Instead, he’s breathing heavily and staring off into space.
“Is everything okay?”
He turns back toward me and he doesn’t need to say anything for me to know that something is seriously wrong. I don’t think he will tell me, but I can’t help but ask.
“No.” He doesn’t offer any clarification about what his answer means. I knew he wouldn’t, but I still reach out my hand, place my hand on his thigh and give it a little squeeze.
“You know, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”
There’s an awkward silence that falls into place, and I hope and pray that he breaks it, but as the carriage grinds slowly to a halt, I know it’s too late.
The magical moment is gone.
The Matteo I had the pleasure of glancing at has faded away.
In his place is the ruthless monarch.
The king of the city. The monster.
He has reverted to the villain of the story.
Unlike before, he doesn’t help me out of the carriage. He doesn’t even acknowledge my existence.
We walk up the block where two black SUVs are waiting at the corner. Standing in front of one is Roberto.
“Go with Roberto,” he says with no emotion in his voice.
“Are you not coming with me?”
“No.”
“Will—”
“I’ll see you later.” He turns before I can press. Walking toward the other car, he opens the passenger door, climbs in, and they are driving away.
I’m left on the sidewalk with my mouth hanging open. Abandoned.
“Mrs. Amante, are you ready?”
“You don’t have to call me Mrs. Amante. You don’t call Matteo mister.”
“It’s different.”
“No, it’s not. Please call me Viviana.”
“I’d prefer not to.” He opens the back door for me, and once I’m inside, he shuts it.
Despite the heat being on in the car, I feel chilled to the bone. I still have Matteo’s coat wrapped around me, so it’s not the temperature that’s getting to me. It’s the way my husband threw up his walls and shut me out so quickly. It’s the way, in the matter of a minute, he completely changed. I’m having a hard time reconciling it. Which one is the real Matteo? Is it the gentleman who helped me, who took me on a carriage ride to make me feel better, or is it the other?
The car is silent as we drive back to the estate.
Eventually, I must doze off because I hear Roberto’s voice.
“Mrs. Amante, we are here.” I blink open my eyes and see the large home in front of us. “I’ll come around and get the door.”
I know better than to argue. Instead, I wait for him to come around. My hand lifts, wiping away the remainder of sleep.
It feels like I’ve been hit with a sledgehammer with how tired I am.
This is why napping is never a good idea for me. I’m always cranky afterward.
Now is obviously no exception.
Julia used to say I woke up like a devil in college.
Jules . . .
I need to call her.
Make this right.
If I could explain the circumstances, she would understand I had no choice.
It’s hard, though. How do you explain that you married the head of the East Coast mafia, and he’s at war to keep his title?
You don’t.
Not unless you want to put a target on your back.
When the door opens, I step out and walk toward the main entrance of the house. It’s already opened, one of the many people who work for my husband standing there letting me pass. I don’t bother with pleasantries, nor do I bother taking my coat off and, in this case, also Matteo’s coat. Instead, I had straight up