Chapter 6
Alessio
Millie: Thank you so much for my school supplies. You didn't have to do all this, but thank you.
I immediately texted her back.
Alessio: You're welcome. I'll be home early again, let's go out for dinner.
I pocketed my phone and tried to concentrate back on the documents in front of me, but the words swam and blurred.
Millie had been on my mind a lot lately.
A lot more than I cared to admit. It snuck up on me slowly, without reason or warning.
I could be sitting in an important meeting or having dinner with a client, and someone wearing the same perfume as her would catch my attention.
Or I'd see a shade of green that reminded me of her blue-green eyes.
I started wondering what she was doing and started considering things that were out of character—like texting her to ask how she was doing, or fighting the London traffic just to spend an hour with her for lunch.
I led a busy life, had a lot of people working for me, who relied on me. There were always fires to put out and meetings to attend. Yet always at the back of my mind was my wife. A calm, steady light after a long day.
But I never worried about her. I didn't wonder whether she was happy or content in our marriage.
I didn't fret about making it home for dinner because I was worried that she was lonely—or worse—that she wasn't there.
I didn't consider her feelings. Not that I didn't care about her or that I went out of my way to hurt her because I did care, and I never intentionally tried to upset her.
But ever since that night at the gala, I'd felt a shift in our relationship. Outwardly, Millie was the same, and nothing substantial had actually changed. She was home to greet me every night, we still had passionate sex, and she still anticipated my every need as an excellent wife would.
And yet…it was there—a cool, thin barrier that had erected itself and remained stubbornly impenetrable.
It was shown in a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and conversations that dried up sooner than I liked.
It was the way she looked at me, not in adoring wonder, but as a specimen she was still trying to decipher.
I did briefly wonder if she wanted to do something other than just be my wife.
But then I envisioned her days filled with a career and others encroaching on her time, and the possessive husband in me instantly dismissed that idea.
Selfishly, I only wanted her to be with me, to be available only to me.
So when Millie handed me that letter—and my heart had restarted after I determined that it was not a divorce request as I'd feared—my second dread had been realised. My wife wasn't happy. She wanted more.
A vet surgeon. It made sense that she wanted to work with animals, but I never expected that.
Not because I didn't think she could do it; I knew she could.
I always knew that Millie was intelligent, even before I knew she had achieved her A levels.
She'd attended top schools and had access to the very best tutors, but that did not automatically translate to academic excellence.
You just had to spend one hour in her company to know how smart she was. How compassionate and knowledgeable. Art, politics, world events—she had an informed opinion on it all.
I was happy for her. Truly, I was. And to prove it, I'd looked up everything she might need for vet school.
Study planner, stethoscope, fob watch, scrubs in every colour, a new laptop, and an updated tablet.
She'd been a strong presence at my side for parties, galas, and networking dinners, so I wanted to return the favour by showing her my own support.
I glanced at my phone, a little annoyed that Millie hadn't texted me back yet. I decided to book a table for dinner anyway.
I lifted my phone off the cradle, ready to call my PA. But before I could, a swift knock sounded on my closed door before it swung open. Brad, my PA, poked his head through, his gaze wary.
"Annabelle Wentworth is here, sir. I told her you were unavailable, but she was starting to cause a scene."
Shock and anger bled through me, and I cursed my stupidity for entertaining her. She had almost cost me more than my sanity. "Let her in."
Annabelle strolled through, confident and sure, as if on a catwalk. Her face was smug in satisfaction as she attempted to approach me with her arms stretched wide.
"Do not touch me," I commanded.
Her arms fell, and her expression crumbled. "How can you throw me away?" she cried.
"You approached my wife. What did you think would happen?"
"I'm sorry! That was a mistake. Can't you give me another chance? It's barely been a month."
"Yes, and I very much regret our short time together…as forgettable as it was."
Her face darkened with anger, and all her tears promptly dried up. "You bastard! I'll tell everyone that you forced yourself onto me," she threatened.
"You do that, and in one phone call, I can have your father stripped of everything. His business is already hanging on by a single thread, so it won't take much to have him ruined."
Her face paled, and she stumbled back a step. "Millie—–"
"Do not say my wife's name," I thundered. "She does not exist to you. Do not even look at her. Do not even think about her. Now, you can either leave quietly, or I’ll have security escort you out."
Her face turned splotchy in embarrassment, which she covered up with a scowl. "You two deserve each other. Your precious wife tried to threaten my father as well—when all I was trying to do was simply warn her about her wandering husband."
I ignored that last jab. "My wife is a smart woman, if that's the case.”
She sent me a haughty look. "Not if she's knowingly married to an unfaithful swine. Then she's a fool." With that last parting shot that hit me square in the chest, she spun on her heels and stormed out.
Not one minute later, Damon entered the room without knocking. He looked at me with a raised brow, and I cursed at his timing. He was my closest friend, and the only one I allowed to take liberties with me. Apart from Millie.
"What was Annabelle doing here? Please tell me you're not hooking up in your office," he chastised. "You know how Helen likes to talk." Helen was my social secretary, and as efficient as she was, she did enjoy a gossip.
I rounded my desk and sat back down. "She ambushed me. She's not…not—"
"She's not your side piece anymore?"
I glowered at him. "Must you be so crude?"
"I'm sure Millie has a much more colourful name for her."
I shook my head in warning. "Do not talk about my wife."
I didn't want to think about my wife and Annabelle in the same sentence. They were two people who should never have met; they should never have conversed. My beautiful wife should not have been sullied by my indiscretion, regardless of whether she was aware of it.
Millie knew this wasn't a typical marriage.
She was part of my world and understood that marriages in our circles were power moves used to retain status.
Millie's heritage was steeped in British aristocracy—the daughter of an earl, her mother was an art dealer, and her grandfather was a baron and a member of the House of Lords.
She came from my world. We were matched in wealth and status.
But with that wealth and status came sacrifices.
I hadn't been ready for marriage, and I most certainly did not do love.
My father did love. He fell in love at the drop of a hat.
Unfortunately, those women didn't always return the sentiment, hence why he was knee-deep in his current fifth marriage.
Although, I acknowledged, Katherine had lasted longer than I would have guessed, and she had produced a brother whom I adored.
But that was his marriage, and not mine.
Millie knew that I would not be faithful. I never once lied to her about it. It was something that I could control, something that gave me a semblance of freedom.
Something that had lost its thrill around the same time I left Sicily with Millie, ready to start our marriage anew.
The night of our wedding was the last time she asked about it, and I truly thought she didn't care.
My mind wandered back to the night I took her virginity and how she'd uttered those three words in the throes of ecstasy.
Admittedly, the declaration had freaked me out, and I tried to stay out of her way to avoid talking about it.
Luckily, she had moved past it quickly, so I could only assume that it was spoken in a moment of passion.
She had not repeated the sentiment. She didn't love me.
"Annabelle didn't go quietly, I take it?" Damon took a seat opposite, lifting his feet onto my desk while I glowered at him. "I'm surprised that she's the first woman to storm your office. Did she not get a parting gift?”
“She told Millie.”
He grimaced. That shut him up. “Ah, bloody hell. Poor Millie.”
“She was fine about it," I quickly interjected, though the words sounded hollow. "She knows that we have an understanding. I’ve been honest with her from the start."
“Yes, and until Annabelle, you’ve also been discreet. She never knew for sure that you carried on as usual.”
Shame burned at me, and I couldn't quite meet my friend's eye.
“Are you done with that now?”
My head snapped up. “Done with what?”
“The whole mistress, rich person, arranged marriage cliche.” He picked up the grizzly bear soft toy I kept on my desk, and I promptly snatched it off him.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“When are you going to admit that you’re in love with your wife?" he challenged. "That this is more than a business marriage for you?”
I shook my head and tapped my computer mouse to wake it up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve been around you two long enough to know that you’re different with her," he continued, ignoring me. "You look at her the way my father looks at my mum…disgustingly adoring.”
I concentrated on the email in front of me. “She’s a good wife. She’s smart, level-headed—”
“Kind, gorgeous, generous, too good for you," he volleyed.
I snapped my mouth shut and sent him an impatient look. I was ready to kick him out. But Damon wasn't finished yet.
“Tell me, if you found out that Millie also had a lover on the side, how would you feel?”
I'd murder him. I'd tear him limb from limb.
Metaphorically, of course. I thought of that blushing, blond yokel back at Keating.
There was no way I'd let my wife anywhere near Tom again.
She already had so much in common with him, especially now that I knew just how much time they spent together when she'd lived there.
The poor fool was already halfway in love with her.
I recognised the signs—from other men who'd crossed paths with Millie, of course.
"She doesn't.” My response was firm, but a tiny fissure of doubt still leaked through. It was nothing, I told myself—just a rare attack of guilt. Everything was fine. My marriage was fine.
Damon's brow lifted at my insistence. “You sure about that?” he asked, and for a split second, I wondered if I'd spoken out loud.
At my stubborn silence, he shook his head. "You better wise up before you lose the best thing that's ever happened to you."