42. Ginevra

CHAPTER 42

Ginevra

“ I can’t thank you enough for getting Elena out of the house to have some fun for a while,” Ravenna says, sitting across from me at my hotel room table. Arianna and Sophia sit on either side. “She’s been wasting away for years. I never thought to just show up and whisk her away for a while.”

“We both needed it,” I confess. Even though I had a great time touring Italy, and those memories will always be some of my favorite, I’m ready to face reality and settle into my life—whatever that looks like.

Arianna scrolls through the listing photos of my house in Positano, from when it was for sale. “This place is stunning. I’m coming to visit as soon as I can. That view, just look at that!”

“That’s half the reason I bought it.” I consider my next words, unsure how to phrase them. “Do you think… Once we’re divorced, will I get to keep the house or will I have to sell it and give back all the money I spent?”

Sophia and Arianna exchange a look, they both shrug.

“It depends,” Ravenna says. “How much did you spend?”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly keeping track, but my best guess is about twenty…”

Arianna frowns. “Twenty? The house alone had to cost more than twenty grand, even for a down payment, I’d guess a few mil. Oh!” Her eyes grow round. “You spent twenty million dollars of Blake Baron’s money?”

I swallow hard and nod. “Do you think he’ll want it back?”

“I sure hope not.”

Sophia unexpectedly laughs. “Sorry. It’s not really funny. It’s just… only you could find a way to spend that kind of money in less than a month.”

“I was mad at him. I thought it would get his attention, but it didn’t. He never really cared about me, which is fine.” The lie eats at my insides.

It’s not fine.

Nothing is fine.

“I don’t know about that.” Sophia drinks her coffee. “Roman dragged him into my living room last night. I’ve never seen Blake like that before. He was intoxicated, but more than that, there was this vulnerability about him I didn’t think a man like him was capable of having.”

“Oh?” I hide my curiosity behind my coffee cup.

“Roman thinks Blake is in love with you.”

I snort. “Right. That’s why we’re meeting tomorrow afternoon to sign divorce papers.” I set my cup down with more force than necessary and the contents slosh onto my fingers. “Let’s change the subject. I don’t want to think about him anymore. I’m leaving in a few days, and I want all of you to come visit me. We’ll have a house-warming party.”

“I’ll plan it,” Arianna volunteers.

We spend the rest of the day together, going out for lunch and shopping. We visit all of my favorite places in the city, since between my father and Blake, I have no intention of coming back to New York anytime soon.

Late that night I return to my hotel. The receptionist calls me over, handing me a letter that arrived earlier. It’s typed, instead of hand-written, and unsigned. But I’m certain it’s from Blake, because who else would make such demands?

Meet me in the hotel conference room.

I’ll be waiting, magpie.

I scoff. Now he’s back to pet names? The arrogance of that man. Why couldn’t he wait until tomorrow? He must have met someone else. What other reason can he have for getting this divorce settled as soon as humanly possible?

The thought of him with another woman fills me with blinding rage. While I was pining for him in Italy was he jumping into bed with her? That motherfucker.

Heart pounding, hands shaking, I make my way to the hotel’s small conference room. Barging through the door, I start, “How dare you?—?”

“Ginny, so nice to see you again.”

My entire body turns to ice. Frozen in place, I blink at the last man I expected to see in this room. He can’t be here. He’s in prison. This is impossible.

When my brain finishes malfunctioning, adrenaline washes through me. I turn on my heel, desperate to get away, but Oliver’s too fast. He slams his palm against the door, blocking my escape. Frantically, I look around for another exit. There has to be one, right?

“You’re not getting away this time, Ginny. Come here.” Oliver grabs me by my hair, my scalp burning, and tugs my back into his chest. His other hand comes up, covering my nose and mouth with a too sweet, stinky rag.

That’s the last thing I remember.