Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

Sabella

Iwake up in a cocoon of warmth. A solid weight anchors me to the bed. I blink my eyes open. My husband is spooning me from behind, his arms locked around my waist. The soft fanning of his breath is warm on my neck. The feeling is oddly pleasant. I'm safe and content.

I lie still, taking a moment to process the sentiments. It's still new for me, waking up in the arms of a man. From the light that filters around the edges of the curtains, it's morning.

He spent the night.

The fact both shocks and surprises me. I don't know why I didn't expect him to stay over. It just seemed unlikely. I assumed he'd go home to his own bed. It's a strange notion, considering that we're married, but then again, our marriage isn't normal by average standards.

He stirs. The way in which his even breathing turns quiet tells me he's awake. I close my eyes, pretending to be sleeping because I want to savor this comfortable warmth for a short while longer. He presses closer and tightens his arms. The heat turns into a different kind when his cock grows hard against the crack of my ass.

A perverse curiosity compels me to lie perfectly still. I don't know him well enough to predict his actions. Will he wake me and demand sex? Or will he get up and sneak out without saying good morning?

Angelo doesn't do either. He doesn't shake me awake with verbal demands or slip out of bed. He simply grabs the elastic of my pajama bottoms and pushes the pants down my hips, exposing my ass. My breath catches in my throat when the smooth head of his cock nudges my opening. Before I have time to brace myself, he slides all the way in. I'm wet in a second, easing his way.

As if he's worried I'll flee, he keeps me in place on my side with an arm locked around my waist and a hand wrapped around my neck. We're still spooning each other with my back pressed against his chest and my ass in his groin. I'm immobile in his hold when he starts to move. The pumping of his hips is lazy. He's exploring this new position at leisure, taking his time to work up his pleasure.

When he changes the angle of his hips, I utter a gasp. Like this, I feel him deeper. He cashes in on that sound, hitting the same spot inside me repeatedly as he scrapes his teeth over the arch of my neck. My inner muscles spasm when he bites down gently, locking his teeth on my shoulder. I'm clenching around his cock, my own pleasure building as he tightens his fingers around my neck and allows me just enough air to breathe.

His possessive and dominant grasp sparks more heat inside me. Surrendering has never felt sweeter. Righter. Instinctively, I understand the game. The quieter I lie, the harder he gets. His cock grows thicker inside me. Wanting more, I stay still. I let him use me, allowing him to manipulate my body as his lust dictates by giving him control, and it's never been hotter.

He rewards me by loosening his arm around my waist and sliding his hand between my legs. His fingers on my clit are my undoing. When he rolls the nub before delivering a wicked pinch, I come with a cry. My inner muscles lock down on his cock as shocks of pleasure tighten my body. In a reflexive reaction, I turn my head, seeking out his face like a flower turns toward the sun. He presses his lips on mine in a deep, lingering kiss before pulling away.

"Say it," he coaxes, his voice seductively low in my ear.

I can't deny him. Not now. So, I give him the sounds he wants, but not the words. "Mr. Russo."

He picks up his pace. One more thrust, and he grunts out his release with his lips pressed against my neck. The moment is intense but also strangely languid. What we shared feels like more than sex. It's more intimate than fucking. He doesn't pull out or remove his hand from between my legs. We stay like that for a moment, linked together, catching our breaths while he keeps his hold on my sex and my neck until long after the game is over.

I understand it now, this game of dominance and submission. He likes to chase. I like the catch. He conquers, but somehow, I win.

The soft kiss he plants on my shoulder alerts me of his intention before he untangles himself from me and pulls out. I feel empty when he lets go. The heat is gone, replaced by an awkward silence as he pulls my pajama bottoms back in place.

The bed dips. He arranges the comforter over me, making sure my shoulder is covered. I'm still staring at the wall when I feel his presence fade. The click of the bathroom door confirms his absence in the room. Why does that hurt so much? He's only doing what everyone does in the morning—getting up and having a shower. Why does the perfectly normal act leave me so cold in the aftermath of what just happened?

The water in the shower comes on. I listen until it turns off again. I only summon the willpower to move when the door opens and a whiff of shower gel drifts into the room.

Sitting up, I clutch the covers to my chest. He exits the bathroom in a billow of steam, wearing a towel around his waist. His broad chest and deeply cut muscles exude masculinity and the sweet promise of protection that comes with his male strength. Drops of water roll over the black ink on his chest. I follow the trickle that runs to his navel with my gaze, fixing my attention on the letters eternalized below his waistline. It's not his powerful physique or the darkness emanating from him that reminds me of his true nature. It's the single word those letters spell.

Resilience.

It's a harsh wakeup call. My husband isn't a gentle or romantic man with whom I can share candlelight dinners and lighthearted banter. He's a powerful criminal who doesn't let anything or anyone stand in the way of his ambition, least of all a wife he hates. I don't know why I lowered my defenses last night. I only know I felt something when Angelo asked for my advice. The fact that my opinion mattered to him softened me in a dangerous way.

He heads for the dressing room without looking at me. When he disappears inside, I get out of bed and rush across the floor.

The bathroom is still humid from his shower, the mirror fogged up with vapor. I lock the door and lean on the wood, acutely aware of his cum dripping down my thighs.

Hurrying to the cupboard, I yank open the drawer and feel underneath. Relief rushes through me when I find the packet of birth control pills where I left it. I pop today's pill from its casing and cup my hand under the tap to swallow it with a sip of water.

Once it's in my stomach, I feel calmer. More rational. I can examine the strange mixture of disappointment and hurt that squeezes my chest. I shouldn't see more into the sex. My husband is a man. He's only sating a physical need. I shouldn't let that affect me. It will be irresponsible to need more from him when he's not capable of giving it. Yet I can't help the hollow feeling that settles in the pit of my stomach.

In a way, my banishment is a blessing in disguise. At least I have my own space, a space where his presence is temporary. I can sneak to the village and earn a little money. There may come a day that I'll need that money, a day when I open the drawer and find my birth control pills gone. That's the true reason I rejected his offer to employ a cook and a housekeeper. If permanent staff live in the house, I'll have to give up my secret excursions. Then, I'll be completely cut off from the outside world. I'll have no options of saving myself.

No, it's best I stay here alone. I may not have a real marriage or a partner who loves me, but I don't need someone else to make me happy. I can do that all on my own. I have a duty to myself to try. When I look at it like that, being stowed away in an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere counts in my favor. The freedom that gives me makes the feat considerably easier.

The new resolve lifts my spirits somewhat. I'm not na?ve enough to think my husband's actions will never touch or hurt me. I simply accept that there will be times I'll have to internalize the pain. That's why it's vital that I build a new life for myself here. I can't be strong if I'm permanently unhappy. I can only survive if I'm in a healthy mental state of mind.

When I step out of the bedroom, showered and dressed, smells of coffee and toast greet me. I'm surprised to find Angelo in the kitchen in front of the stove, scrambling eggs. He's dressed in a fitted button-down shirt and formal slacks. The table is set for two with a rack of toast and a carafe of coffee in the center.

"Hungry?" he asks, measuring me from over his shoulder.

"Starving," I say honestly.

"Good." His lips tilt in one corner. "Sit down."

Obeying, I take a seat. Our roles from last night are reversed as he serves a large helping of eggs on my plate.

"Eat before it gets cold," he says, leaving the pan on a cork plate before taking the seat opposite me.

He prepares my coffee the way I like it while I butter a slice of toast. We eat in silence until he takes his phone from his pocket and connects a call that he puts on speaker.

At my questioning look, he says, "Your brother would like to speak to you."

The piece of bread I just swallowed gets stuck in my throat. "He called?"

"The day before yesterday."

"Two days ago?" I exclaim.

"During my business trip."

I'm about to point out that he had plenty of time last night to return the call when Ryan answers.

"Angelo?" my brother says in a strained voice. "It's about fucking time."

My husband slides the phone across the table with a warning in his eyes.

Swallowing, I pick up the phone. "Ryan, it's me."

"Sabella," Ryan says with a sigh of relief. "Thank fuck. How are you? I was afraid Angelo wouldn't let us speak to you."

"I'm fine." I add quickly, "I'm with him."

A moment of silence passes as my brother no doubt understands that the phone is on speaker.

"How are Celeste and Brad?" I ask, trying hard to keep the emotions assaulting me from my voice.

"They're doing great. Celeste is working full time as a volunteer again. Brad is going to a fancy new-age kindergarten. You know Celeste." He chuckles. "However, I have to admit, he loves it there. More importantly, tell me your news."

"There's nothing much to tell," I say, forcing a smile into my tone.

"Where are you?"

"In Corsica."

"How are things going there?" he asks carefully. "Are you adapting?"

"Yes." I glance at my husband. "The house is very nice."

Angelo's expression remains blank.

"Are you…?" Ryan hesitates. "Healthy?"

We all know it's code for asking if my husband is treating me well.

"Yes," I say. "How's Mom coping?"

"She's good. She moved in with Mattie and Jared."

"Oh my God. How does Jared feel about that?"

"You know Jared. He doesn't have an opinion about anything."

"That's nasty."

"But true."

My throat is tight with longing when I ask, "How's the baby?"

"He's a handful." He laughs. "He gives Mattie and Jared a run for their money. That's one of the reasons why Mom moved in, to give them a hand. It was hard in the beginning, especially when Mattie was suffering from postnatal depression."

Concern makes me uneasy. "Is she all right?"

"She's doing better now."

I look at my husband even as I pose the question at Ryan. "Can you send me a photo?"

Angelo nods.

"Sure," Ryan says. "What is your new number? Can you send it to me?"

I clear my throat. "You can send it to this phone."

Ryan's stifled anger is palpable in the beat of silence that follows.

I don't sound convincing when I add, "The reception is iffy here."

"Sure," he says in a wry tone. "I'll send our messages to Angelo's phone."

My husband holds out his palm in silent instruction.

Not ready to say goodbye, I grip the phone harder. "How's Colin?"

Angelo clenches his jaw. The violence that darkens his eyes almost makes me falter, but who knows when I'll have another chance to speak to my family?

Ryan hesitates. "He and May got back together."

"That's great," I say, genuinely happy for them.

"They, um…" Ryan coughs. "They got engaged."

"Wow." I can't help but think about Colin and my disastrous attempt at a wedding and what a big mistake that would've been. "Tell them I say congratulations."

"Sabella," my husband growls under his breath.

"Tell everyone I love them." At the narrowing of Angelo's eyes, I say, "I have to go. It was good to hear your voice."

"It was good to hear yours too," Ryan says. "Take care of yourself, Bella." He adds with a clear message to my husband, "Don't wait so long before you call again. We worry when we don't hear from you."

"Okay," I say, even if I have no idea if I'll be able to keep the promise.

Angelo takes the phone and ends the call before slipping the phone in his pocket. His features are set into harsh lines as he picks up his mug. I suppose it's hard for him to make concessions for the people who murdered his family. It's tough for me too. But sometimes, I choose to forget. Especially when I'm in my husband's bed and crying out his surname when I come.

He pushes to his feet, pulling my attention back to him. "I have to go. I already missed my first meeting."

Blinking, I watch him in a daze as he starts clearing the table. I don't tell him to leave it, that it's okay, that I can do it. Because it's not okay. None of it is. Not knowing when I'll see my family again leaves an ache in my chest. I'm too apprehensive to ask. I'm too scared it's a question of if and not when.

When the kitchen is tidy, he walks to the table and stops next to my chair. For a moment, he only looks at me. I can't read him. I have no way of telling what's going through his mind. I only know the call with Ryan upset both of us, albeit for different reasons.

Threading his fingers through my hair, he tugs on the strands to tilt my head back. I stare up at him, recognizing the war that wages in his eyes. The cause is unclear, but he doesn't give me time to ponder it. He swoops down and plants a kiss on my forehead. The tenderness of the gesture catches me off guard, but before I can find my bearings, he's already walking through the door.

A moment later, the front door slams. The key scrapes in the lock. The engine of his car roars to life. He takes off with screeching tires, driving too fast. I listen to the sound of his car until it fades into nothingness and only silence is left.

It takes me a long time to gather myself and to honor the promise I made this morning. I get up and walk on autopilot to the door. After pulling on my coat and scarf, I leave via the back, lock up, and head to the village.

Mrs. Paoli opens the door dressed in the same pink terrycloth robe and slippers from yesterday. Diva sits at her feet, wagging her tail. Today, she doesn't bark at me.

"There you are," Mrs. Paoli says, sniffing as she hands me the leash. "Diva has been waiting in front of the door all morning. Animals are so clever. She knew you'd come back."

"How are you feeling?"

"A little better, but the flu is strong this year. It knocked poor Mr. Martin down for two weeks. By the way, my friend, Corinne, fell and broke her hip again. Will you be able to help her out with grocery shopping? I mentioned that you're looking for the odd job when I spoke to her on the phone, and she said the help would be welcome."

"Sure," I say, crouching down to pet Diva and fit her leash. "Where does she live?"

"In the house at the end of the street—the one with the red shutters. You can't miss it."

I straighten. "Would you like me to get you anything from the shop while I'm there?"

She scratches her head. "Tomatoes. Half a dozen. They're high in Vitamin C."

"Oh, talking about vitamins, did you remember to take yours?"

She clicks her tongue. "That old hag, Mrs. Campana, put you up to asking, didn't she?"

"She's just looking out for your health," I reply with a smile.

She lifts her chin. "Well, if you see her, you can tell her I took my vitamins, thank you very much."

I wave as I lead Diva outside. "See you later."

"Wait." She hurries down the hallway and returns with a ten-euro bill. "For the tomatoes. Don't get the round ones. Get the elongated ones. They last longer. Oh, and I forgot to ask your number so that I can call you if Diva is sick or not up for her walk. You never know."

My neck heats under my scarf. "Um, I don't have a phone." When she gives me a baffled look, I add quickly, "Not yet."

"Don't worry about it then." She pats my shoulder. "We'll just play it by ear."

Before she can ask more questions, I leave with Diva. We pass a few people on the pavement whom I greet. They return the greeting politely and turn their heads to stare after me.

At the end of the street, I knock on the door of the house with the red shutters. An elderly lady with raven-black hair knotted in a bun on her head opens the door. She's leaning on a walking frame.

Taking one look at Diva, she says, "You must be the dog walker Antionette mentioned."

"Sabella," I say, shaking her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"I'm Mrs. Filippi, but you can call me Corinne."

"Mrs. Paoli said you'd like me to pick up groceries for you?"

She points at a caddy in the entrance. "The list and the money are inside. And don't take the overripe bananas. Make sure they're green. Mr. Luciani always tries to get rid of his brown bananas. He'll slip them into the bag if you don't pay attention."

"I'll do that," I say, taking the caddy. "See you later."

"If Mr. Luciani asks, tell him I'm doing great," she calls after me. "Just a little pain. Nothing serious."

Diva pulls on the leash, eager to continue her walk. We stop at the pharmacy to say hello to Mrs. Campana, who says the cake tasted better than it looked. Unfortunately, her husband ate most of it, and now his cholesterol is sky-high again. I apologize for her husband's cholesterol and continue on my way when a customer comes in.

Our next stop is the greengrocer on the square. The man gives me a strange look, but he takes Corinne's list and helps me to gather the items from the shelves. When he takes a bunch of brown bananas from a crate, I say, "Corinne prefers the green ones."

He scoffs. "I bet she told you I always try to get rid of the brown ones."

Diva barks as if agreeing.

When he's packed everything into the caddy, including Mrs. Paoli's tomatoes, I pay and leave with a quick greeting. It's getting late. I better get home before Heidi or my husband decides to visit.

Corinne pays me for the service and asks if I can do another grocery run next week. We agree on the same day around the same time. Diva's tongue is dragging on the ground from the long walk. After returning her home, I rush back up the mountain.

As the house comes into view, my spirits sink. Fabien is leaning on a snazzy sports car parked in the road.

"Sabella," he says, straightening when I approach.

Shit. How do I explain my absence?

"Oh, hi," I say, out of breath from the speed-walking. "I hope you haven't waited too long."

"A while." He frowns. "Where have you been?"

"Just out for a walk, getting some fresh air."

His brow smooths out as a look of understanding comes over his features. "Suffering from cabin fever already, my poor darling?"

"Something like that." Changing the subject quickly, I ask, "What are you doing here?"

"Not happy to see me?" he teases.

"Of course I am. I just didn't expect to see you so soon again."

"Angelo sent me to deliver a dress." He wags his eyebrows. "Apparently someone needs to look gorgeous this weekend." He opens the back door of the car. A clothes bag lies flat over the seats. Taking it out, he says, "I did my best to transport the gown without getting a crease in the skirt."

"Oh." I reach for the bag. "Thank you."

He holds the bag in the air. "Hands off, darling. This isn't a common knock and drop delivery. I have to make sure it fits properly. Adjustments may be necessary." He continues with a wink. "Plus, I left an excellent bottle of red in the wine fridge. We may as well pull the cork."

My smile is genuine. "Then we better not let it go to waste."

I use my new key to let us in through the front door. The television is on. My pulse spikes. That's strange. What's that smell? Popcorn?

"Make yourself at home," I say, trying to keep my voice normal as I remove my coat. "You know where to find the wine."

While he goes through to the kitchen, I hold my breath as I round the sofa. The throw from the backrest lies cast aside on the seat, and a half-eaten bowl of popcorn stands on the floor. A movie is playing with the sound turned down.

I can only guess who broke into the house. The cold air coming through an open lounge window tells me how he got in. The windows open with a sliding system. He must've forced it open. Shall I mention something to Fabien? What if he tells my husband? I don't want Angelo to go on a child hunt, but this can't go on. We need to find out who the poor little boy sneaking into the house is so that we can help him.

Fabien speaks behind me, making me jump. "Toy Story? My God. How old is that?"

I pick up the remote and switch off the television. "It's one of my favorites."

For some reason, I'm hesitant to tell him the truth. I want to break the news to Angelo myself. I need to make sure he won't scare or harm the child.

"Hmm." Fabien grins. "Movies and popcorn are one of my favorite activities too." Waltzing ahead of me with the clothes bag in his hands, he takes the stairs with bouncy steps. "I poured the wine. Grab the glasses while I lay out the dress. I can promise you, when Angelo sees you in this creation, he won't be able to keep his eyes off you. Or his hands, for that matter."