Chapter 4

FOUR

Sabella

Aweek passes with no sign of my husband or Heidi, and I can't help but wonder if he planned it like this on purpose. Because the morning-after pill will no longer be effective.

To say I'm going out of my mind is an understatement. I try not to show my turmoil to Sophie, who's doing much better. Distracting both of us, I teach her the alphabet. She has a hunger for learning and makes quick progress. By the end of the week, she knows the letters by heart and recognizes a few three-letter words like cat, dog, and red.

As the days roll by, Sophie's rash fades while anger and resentment build up inside me. Finally, the anger morphs into insecurity and doubt. How does Angelo feel? Is he anxious like me? Is he counting the days to my next period? I doubt that very much. For all I know, he's hosting parties and going about his life without sparing me or the possible consequences of his actions another thought. When I think about him entertaining those well-groomed women at his dinner table, my chest tightens with uncontrollable jealousy. And then I'm angry again, and the vicious circle of worry and uncertainty continues.

Exactly one week and three days later, just as we're starting to run low on provisions, I hear the sound of his car. Sophie and I are rolling out dough for cookies in the kitchen. The sky is a brilliant blue in the frame of the window. Birds are chirping outside. The weather is turning, moving toward spring, and while the days tick away, I don't even have access to a pregnancy test.

The unjustness hits me squarely in the chest, triggering all those emotions I bottled up since the last time he left. The anger is like a magnifying glass on the sentiments warring inside me. My senses sharpen, the sounds, smells, and sights imprinting in my mind. The fragrance of the cinnamon cookies baking in the oven is no longer homely or cozy. Everything is like charcoal—black and bitter.

I continue rolling out the dough, only freezing momentarily at the opening of the front door. Sophie is so engrossed in cutting out dough shapes with the cookie cutters that she doesn't register Angelo's arrival until he appears in the kitchen door and says, "There are my favorite girls."

The words only escalate my anger.

I'm not his favorite.

I'm nothing to him but a vessel for breeding.

I don't look up until Sophie drops the flower-shaped cutter and runs to him. He stands in the doorframe with two gift bags in his hands, his dark gaze trained on me. Sophie wraps him up in a hug that demands his attention. He drops the bags and lifts her into the air with a swirl that makes her squeal.

"Where have you been?" she asks with a pout and a frown when he puts her down. "I didn't know if you were coming back."

"I'll always come back. You never have to worry about that."

"I had measles," she says with a proud tilt of her chin.

He goes rigid. "You had what?"

"Measles," she says, taking on an important air. "It's when you have red spots all over your body and you have to lie in a cool bath to break your fever."

"I'm calling the doctor," he says in a tight voice, taking his phone from his pocket.

"No, silly." Sophie puts her small hand on his arm. "It's already gone. Sabella took care of me."

Staring at her, he brushes away his jacket and props the hand in which he holds his phone on his hip while rubbing the other over his mouth. He doesn't seem convinced about not getting a doctor out here. With the hard, determined set of his jaw and the feverish light burning in his eyes, he seems ready to fly a doctor in via helicopter at this very moment.

"She's right," I say. "She's over the worst. It's been more than a week. She shouldn't be contagious any longer."

"I'm so sorry, Sophie." He slips his phone back in his pocket, but the distressed look doesn't vanish from his face. "If I'd known…" He catches my gaze. "I would've been here for you."

It's a subtle apology, one I'm not inclined to accept readily. The only thing preventing me from telling him that intentions don't equal actions is his horrified, somewhat tormented expression.

Sophie points at the white bags with the pink ribbons on the floor. "What are those?"

He holds my gaze for a moment longer before he picks up the bags and hands the bigger one to Sophie. "This is for you." He gives her the small parcel. "And this is for Sabella."

Her eyes light up. "For me? A gift?" Sophie rushes over and puts the smaller bag on the table. "Here, Sabella." Already digging into her bag, she says, "Open it. I want to see what Angelo gave you." She pulls out a coloring book and crayons. "Oh wow. This is awesome." She runs back to him and gives him another hug. "Thank you." Jumping up and down, she says, "Open yours, Sabella."

"Yes," Angelo drawls, crossing his arms. "Open it."

I give him a cutting look before washing and drying my hands. He's using Sophie as a buffer between us, knowing very well I can't refuse in front of her. I untie the ribbon and pull a small box from under the layers of tissue paper.

The Hart Diamonds logo on the lid makes me pause.

Sophie claps her hands and chants, "Open it. Open it!"

My smile is strained as I flip back the lid. A pair of teardrop diamond earrings sparkle on a bed of blue velvet.

Sophie pulls on my arm. "Can I see?"

I show her the jewelry.

"Wow. They're pretty. Do you like them, Sabella?"

I snap the box closed before putting it aside. My voice is flat. "Yes, they're pretty."

She takes Angelo's hand. "Look. Cookies!"

He studies me as he walks to the table before breaking our eye contact to inspect our work. "They look delicious. You've been busy."

"I know the alphabet too." In Sophie's excitement, her tongue trips over the words. "Do you want to hear it?"

"Absolutely." He smiles at her. "In a minute. I first need a word with Sabella in private."

"It'll have to wait." My manner is cool. "We have cookies in the oven and another batch about to go in." I add with a bite in my tone, "As you can see."

"In that case, I'll get the groceries from the car." Turning to Sophie, he asks, "Would you like to help?"

"Sure," she says, skipping out ahead of him.

He gives me another intense look before walking from the kitchen.

I blow out the breath trapped in my chest and inhale deeply to calm myself. The last thing I want is to lose my temper in front of Sophie.

Angelo unpacks the groceries while Sophie and I finish our baking. Once he's sampled the cookies and praised her for reciting the alphabet flawlessly, she settles at the kitchen table with her new coloring book, and he takes me upstairs to the bedroom to talk.

My back goes stiff when he closes the door behind him. I hug myself and face the window. I don't look at him. I can't. I'm too angry. Too helpless. Optionless. I haven't been this furious since the day I confronted him in his hotel room when I discovered he used me to steal information from my dad. Back then, I slapped him. I attacked him physically. I'm not that girl any longer, the one whose heart he broke. I'm a grown woman now, an adult who should be able to control herself better, but I still want to pound my fists on his chest and hurt him like he hurt me.

His voice is soft but insistent. "Sabella."

My muscles tense further.

"Look at me," he says.

I don't want to because there's nothing to say.

When his warm, strong fingers close around my shoulder, I give a start. He squeezes in a comforting gesture before turning me toward him.

"You're angry."

My laugh is wry. "No kidding."

"Don't you like the earrings?"

"Are you serious? Do you believe giving me a couple of diamonds will make what you did go away? That you can buy me? Is that how little you think of me?"

He drops his arm at his side. "I don't think little of you."

"No?" I glare at him. "Are you telling me you hold me in such a high regard that you threw my birth control pills away and then disappeared for days while I was going out of my mind with anguish trying to bring down Sophie's fever?"

"I'm sorry."

The sincerity of the words takes me aback.

"What happened with Sophie will never happen again," he continues. "I promise you that. I'll get you a phone so that you can call me in case of an emergency."

I'm too bitter to forgive him just like that. What he did is inexcusable. But I do need a phone. Swallowing my pride, I ask, "Will I be able to call freely? Anyone I want?"

He doesn't answer.

Thought so. My smile is resentful. "Only you?"

"Yes," he says with a solemness that sounds so definite that my anger burns hotter.

I scoff. "Too little, too late."

"I had business to take care of."

"Business?" I cross my arms. "Entertaining your friends?"

"No." He twists a lock of my hair around his finger. "Why? Does the idea bother you?"

I step back, escaping his touch.

He shoves his hands in his pockets. "We discovered a spy at one of my warehouses. I had to put extra safety measures in place. I would've come sooner if I didn't have to spend the week in Bastia." Studying me, he says without as much as a flinch, "What you're really angry about is the birth control pills."

I grit my teeth to prevent the hurt from sounding in my voice. "What you did is wrong on so many levels."

"I never lied to you about my intentions. I told you that night when you gave me your virginity. I told you when I married you. And I told you when I fucked you in my house."

Indignation surges through me. "You told me? That makes it right? That justifies your one-sided decision?" I drop my arms, pinning them at my sides as I advance on him. "Have you considered for one minute that it's my body we're talking about? That I have to carry this baby and give birth to it? We're talking about a life—a person—not an object to serve your purpose."

His gaze plays over my face. "You'll have the best medical care. A private clinic. A midwife at home. You can have a caesarian or an epidural so you won't feel the pain. I'll employ a personal trainer that specializes in postnatal exercises to help speed your recovery. I'll love our child. I'll be a good father."

Betrayal runs like thick, hot lava through me. He hurt me with deceit before, but this is on a different level. How much he must hate me if he can inflict such pain so boldly. So emotionlessly. Did he feel the same degree of betrayal when he concluded that I sold him out? Did the false notion hurt him as deeply as I'm hurting now? Is he capable of feelings so intense, or is he an even colder monster than I imagined?

"So that's what I am." Tears of humiliation burn behind my eyes. "An animal for breeding. Like a cow or a bitch."

He clenches his jaw. "You're my wife."

"Yes." To my great misfortune. "In your book, that equals a possession."

Irritation washes over his features. "You set the conditions for our marriage when you made your choices."

"Choices?" I exclaim. "What choices?"

His voice turns heated. "When you chose to betray me not once but twice."

"Do you mean when I tried to escape the marriage you forced me into?" I ask with sarcasm.

A cruel smile flirts with his lips as he says in a dark tone, "Do not fucking remind me about that. Not now. Not ever."

"Shall we rather talk about the second time?" My voice climbs in volume. "About how I was stripped naked and probed in places no stranger should ever see because my husband is a fucking despicable criminal?"

Striking out, he wraps a hand around my neck. His eyes gleam with fury I shouldn't provoke, but I'm beyond reason.

His words are measured. "Keep your voice down."

I meet his gaze with defiance. "Why don't you just say what you mean and tell me to shut the fuck up because what I think or feel doesn't matter."

His eyes tighten to slits as he increases the pressure of his fingers. I'm sure he'd love to snap my neck, and the scary part is that I can't bring myself to give a shit.

A battle wars in his black eyes as he squeezes harder. His nostrils flare and his jaw bunches even as he unlocks his fingers one by one from around my throat while I quietly challenge him. Challenge him to do what? To end this now? To strangle the life out of me? To admit the truth? To tell me in words what I already know just so I can punish myself more? I made myself vulnerable by apologizing for my family's mistakes to my dad's killer no less, and for what? For this. For him to remind me that he's still a devil.

"Say it, Mr. Russo." I'm taunting him, pushing us toward an abyss. I want to break something I can't name. I want to sever the sole but powerful tie that binds us—our hatred. Instinctively, I know there's no other way I can move on. "At least be man enough to be honest about what you want."

He goes quiet. The anger washes away. A moment of silence stretches into a minute, and still he doesn't say a word. Finally, he turns around and walks to the door, letting his actions speak for him instead.

Fuck, and how brilliantly their meaning hurts.

It's what I wanted, to squash any common ground we could've dredged up between us, but I can't help the tears that slip free and roll over my cheeks. My only consolation is that he's not looking at me. He doesn't deserve to see my destruction. I suppose destroying me has always been his end goal. It's the reason he married me. And what an outstanding job he did.

Wrapping his big hand around the door handle, he pauses with his back to me. "The reason I came is to tell you that Sophie is going to school tomorrow. She's going home with me."

As if my suffering isn't already enough, the announcement rips the world from under my feet.

His tone is strangely sympathetic. "It's better like this. I don't want a repeat of what happened this week. You shouldn't have had to deal with a sickness that could've easily turned for the worse."

I can't say I didn't know it was coming, but the pain twists deeper, knotting itself into my soul. It's only made worse by the insight that hits me. That's why he brought the diamonds. He didn't offer me jewelry to apologize for his callous actions. He brought bling to soften the blow of ripping Sophie away just when I got used to having her in my life. It's a sad, pathetic gesture. If he possessed one ounce of emotional intelligence, he'd know nothing can fill the hole that Sophie's absence will leave in my heart.

He pushes down the handle, preparing to leave.

Consumed by anger and grief, I strike out with words. I retaliate in the only way I can, biting out my spiteful statement. "I hope I never fall pregnant."

He stills.

Even as I make the statement, I already regret it, because it's the worst betrayal of all—betraying myself. I've always wanted to be a mother, just not so soon. Not like Mattie. And strangely, I suddenly understand what my sister felt and why she was willing to sacrifice her career for a man. For a family. Because it's never been a sacrifice to her. Being a mother has always been more important. Ironically, it's the ugly, dishonest words that give me clarity. I want to take them back, but it's too late. I do want a child, but not now and not in Angelo's world.

His tone is level but not entirely without feeling. "Just for the record, I do care." He opens the door and shuts it on that declaration.

"But not enough," I whisper in the crippling loneliness of his absence.