Chapter 15

Salvatore

I n the morning, I wake her up by lifting her from the bed, her body limp and pliant in my arms. She’s groggy, mumbling something about putting her down, but I ignore her.

I have a bath drawn, the water warm and filled with rose petals. She resists weakly, her eyes half-open.

"Put me down," she grumbles halfheartedly.

I settle her into the bath, her body sinking into the water, and ask, "Are you sore?"

She stares into the distance, not meeting my eyes, but nods. I kiss the top of her head, feeling her lean into my touch.

But then she pulls away, remembering that she’s mad at me. I smile at her cuteness, getting used to the tenderness in my chest whenever I look at her.

I’ve been seeing Dr. Martinez once a week, and it’s helped immensely. I’m disappointed in myself for wasting two years of our marriage denying that she’s my heart walking outside my chest.

Now, I’m determined to make up for it, to show her that I’m the man for her.

Grabbing the loofah, I begin to clean her, starting with her back. She tenses at first, but then relaxes as I move the loofah in gentle circles.

I notice the marks on her body from last night, angry and red against her skin. I lean in, kissing each one. She brought out the beast in me, and I lost control.

"Too rough," I murmur against her skin. "But you drive me wild, Serena."

She says nothing, her eyes still distant. I continue to wash her, my hands lingering on her hips, her thighs, taking my time to savor the feel of her.

I’m a man of control, of power, but with her, I’m just a man desperate for the love he’s been too blind to see.

I kiss her shoulder, moving up to her neck, inhaling her scent. My hands move lower, brushing against her sensitive skin, eliciting a hum from her.

She finally meets my eyes. "I’m still mad at you," she says.

"I know," I reply, my tone softening. "But I’m not giving up on us."

I lather her hair while she brushes her teeth, the rich, floral scent filling the air. She whispers, "I'm probably late for work."

"I already called," I tell her, massaging the shampoo into her scalp. "You have the day off."

She shakes her head with a sigh. "My coworkers will hate me."

Leaning in close, I tell her, "Salvatore Agosti's wife is spoiled. If she needs rest, she gets rest. Your name being associated with the firm has already raised its value, even without your presence."

She ignores me, putting her toothbrush down. As I rinse the shampoo from her hair and start to condition it, she speaks softly, her voice filled with uncertainty. "I don't know how to forgive you, Salvatore. I don't even know if I want to."

I take the brush and start untangling her hair, working through the knots gently. "I've got something planned for that," I tell her.

She rolls her eyes, her skepticism clear. "Is it an island in my name this time? Or a thousand roses?"

"If you want that, I can give it to you, baby. But no, it isn't. I know what you need."

I help her out of the bath and wrap her in a towel. “I love you, Serena. I really do."

She doesn't respond, but she doesn't pull away either. And for now, that's enough.

It's easier for me to tell her I love her now. The words don't choke me like they used to. I’m not my mother, and Serena isn’t my mother either.

For a long time, I was terrified of becoming what my mother was to me, of turning Serena into a prisoner of my obsessions. But now I know. My mother never loved me; she was sick in the head.

My feelings for Serena aren’t like that—they aren’t sick, they aren’t wrong. They are pure and dark, a fierce, unyielding love that consumes me.

I go to the closet and pick out a dress for her to wear. Something comfortable and loose. I help her into her panties and bra, her skin flushing at that.

"Where are we going?" she asks, her voice tinged with curiosity.

"We have breakfast planned with our parents," I say.

She pales, her eyes widening in panic. "No, no, no," she repeats.

"Trust me," I tell her, reassuring her. "Trust me that I won't let anybody hurt you."

"Why? Why do we need to go?" she cries out.

I pull her close, my hands on her shoulders. "Because it’s what you need. I know you better than I know myself. This is a step we need to take."

She looks at me, tears brimming in her eyes. I can see the fear, the hesitation, but I also see a flicker of trust. She nods reluctantly, her grip tightening on my hands.

I help her into the dress, my fingers brushing against her skin. "You look beautiful," I tell her.

I know that her mother’s words are repeating in her head over and over again. They are all false. She might not see it, but her mother is jealous of her. That’s the only reason why she would tear her down.

I dress quickly and we head to the car. Serena picks at her manicured nails the entire drive, and I place my hand on her thigh to ground her.

We’re meeting at my father’s estate. When we arrive, we head to the table where breakfast is laid out, exchanging strained greetings.

I notice Maria eyeing Serena, her gaze filled with jealousy—a mother jealous of her own daughter. Despicable.

Maria looks like she wants to comment on Serena’s appearance, but a quick glance from me makes her pale and stuff a strawberry into her mouth instead.

I chew a piece of bread slowly, surveying the table. They’re all dying to know why they’re here.

“Serena knows about our agreement,” I announce, my voice slicing through the silence. Serena’s fork clatters onto her plate. Her father, Nicholas, that spineless man, gulps and looks at her, trying to defend himself, but I raise my hand, silencing him.

Maria looks smug, a smirk playing on her lips. I’m ready to wipe that smirk off her face. “There’s nothing you can say to justify it, Nicholas. You wanted more money and power, and I wanted a wife for my image and a future heir down the road. Serena was the best option. That was our arrangement.”

Serena’s chair scrapes against the floor as she flings herself up, turning to leave, but I pull her back into her seat. Her father stutters, “I swear it was good for you too, Serena. Not just for us. I knew you’d never have agreed.”

“Shut up,” I bark, and he falls silent. My father sits there, eyes cynical and calculating.

“Serena, you were perfect for the role of my wife. Gorgeous, educated, well-spoken, healthy, and fertile. You had all the qualities I wanted. Yes, it wasn’t about love at first.” I confess, watching as tears well up in her eyes.

“You’re so cruel,” she mumbles.

I wipe her tears away, my touch gentler than I’ve ever allowed myself to be. “Just listen to me, my love. I probably loved you a month into meeting you. But I lied to myself, told myself I didn’t. As to why, I’ll tell you later in private.” I take a deep breath. “But I wanted to tell you right here, in front of both our parents, that this marriage isn’t an arranged one anymore. I love you so much that I’d die if you continue to look at me like you don’t care, like I’m nothing. I’m so sorry for breaking your heart baby.”

Turning towards our parents, I add, “This marriage is real. It’s the realest thing in the world.”

Maria throws her napkin on the plate, her face souring as she storms out. Serena’s father sits there, stuttering out apologies, while my father, surprisingly, looks ecstatic. It’s strange, seeing a flicker of emotion in his usually apathetic eyes.

Serena leans back into the chair, blowing her nose softly before looking at her father.

"I've known for months," she begins, her voice steady despite the tears. "But I didn't even confront you because I knew you wouldn't care. All you care about is money. When you made this deal, did you not think of me once? Did I not even cross my mother’s mind?"

Good girl, Serena. Give him a piece of your mind. That’s my good girl. She needs this, I know.

Her father shifts uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, Serena. When you have your own children, you will understand."

She scoffs, her eyes hardening. "I won't make them live a lie. I won't put them in the hospital from the stress of looking perfect. I'll..." She stops, cursing under her breath, then says, "I'll actually love them."

Serena excuses herself to go to the bathroom. As she rises, I reach for her hand and kiss it gently. She gives me a small, tired smile before walking away.

I sit there, my glare fixed on Nicholas. He buries his head in his hands, the weight of his actions finally pressing down on him. Good.

He deserves every bit of this guilt. He leaves, going out to search for his wife that’s throwing a little temper tantrum.

My father, however, has a grin so wide it nearly splits his face. "Good job, Salvatore," he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

My eyebrows furrow. My father never compliments me. Something's up.

"If you excuse me, I'm going to grab something from my office and return," he says, standing up from the table. I watch him leave, suspicion gnawing at me. What is he planning?