Journal Entry

Can a man who's made of stone still grow a heart of gold?

I'M OKAY WITH A SEXLESS marriage.

I'm not okay with a sexless marriage.

I'm okay with a sexless marriage.

I'm not—-oh, Lord, why am I even wasting my time picking petals off a virtual forget-me-not flower?

I toss my phone away in a fit of frustration, and it bounces silently on the padded cushion of the divan behind me.

Lorenzo's parting words have made rest impossible. It's already been hours, and I still can't get them out of my head.

Or figure out how I feel about it.

Even worse, his staff says I'm to dress up for dinner, but they obviously don't know their beloved master has just told me I'll only be his wife in name.

I gnaw on my lip as I stare at the selection of dresses his staff has already hung neatly in my closet.

If I dress up, but he actually doesn't want me as his wife, wouldn't that make me pathetic?

But on the other hand...

A Marchetti marries for life, and if he isn't aware of that, well, then...

I shall make it clear to him, and then he can choose between a life of celibacy or sex.

With me.

Monogamously, of course.

The thought is instantly liberating, and the burden on my shoulders automatically disappears. I have no idea how I'll make that clear to my husband, but I can just pray about that.

So help me, God.

Please .

I don't let myself think of anything else after that and simply dress myself in a hurry. I don't want to give myself time to have second thoughts and lose my courage.

He's my husband.

And what I'm praying for isn't a bad thing.

Whatever happens, I'll be at peace with it.

If he still rejects me, then that's just how it is.

But if he happens to change his mind, and...

"Oh!"

A gasp slips past my lips, and I stop dead in my tracks when I catch sight of my husband.

He looks impossibly dashing and gorgeous and without a doubt the sexiest beast to ever don a suit, but it's the fact that he's holding a bouquet of red roses in his hand that makes my heart threaten to jump out of my chest.

Is that Your sign, God?

Has he already changed his mind, and I no longer have to embarrass myself by asking about it?

Has he decided it's better to make me his wife for real?

I slowly lower my hands, and as my heart starts thumping against my chest, I hear myself whisper, "Is that what I think it is?"

Oh, please, please, please.

Please let it be so, God.

Please.

And my prayers are so beautifully answered when my husband slowly nods.

The Beast of New York wants me to be his wife for real.