Chapter 16
sixteen
Valentina
Something smells good. Well, that’s what my brain tells me.
I inhale, and a mix of spice and pepper hits me.
I try to wet my lips, but my mouth and throat are as dry as sandpaper.
I try to raise my head from the pillow, only for a stabbing pain to pierce through my head.
I move and realize that I’m naked. My eyes widen, but flashes of last night appear in front of my eyes, and I relax.
I squeeze my eyes shut, the darkness pressing in, and sift through last night’s memories, a jumble of images flickering behind my eyelids.
I remember everything up to the point when I told Clara that I was going to dance for my husband.
I remember trying to dance on the pole. I smile when I recall how worked up he was because of that, though I can’t remember what triggered him to put me over his shoulder.
He drove us home, and after that… What happened after that?
I exhale when my bladder urges me to get up. I move slowly, fighting the pain, and once I’m on my feet, I hurry to the bathroom.
I try not to look at myself in the mirror because I know I’ll look awful with all my makeup smudged under my eyes.
I probably resemble a panda. I yawn and finish washing my hands.
When I finally catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my eyes widen.
I blink a few times; maybe I’m dreaming.
Still the same. I lean forward and inspect my face.
How the hell did it get cleaned? With furrowed brows, I exit the bathroom, and with an empty bladder, I can feel the sting between my legs.
It’s a good sting, like the one after the wedding night, but less sore.
My eyes land on the messy bed and Gabriel’s clothes neatly folded on the chair beside mine, which are also neatly folded.
Flashes of Gabriel fucking me appear in my mind, and my jaw drops.
“Fuck!” I told him to fuck me. Did I beg him? “Oh, fuck!”
I feel like shit, and I have no will in me to shower or to dress.
My eyes fall on Gabriel’s shirt, and I reach for it, putting it on.
That will do. I pull it up to my nose and inhale his scent, but it mixes with the food aroma, and my stomach complains.
I turn on my heels and pad down the stairs toward the delicious smell.
At the kitchen entrance, I stop, wide-eyed, my jaw falling to the floor at the sight in front of me.
My husband is making breakfast, half-naked.
I gawk at his back, studying the art on his upper body.
There is a bird on his back, connecting with the roses on his shoulder.
A skull and roses wrap around his chest and shoulder.
It’s not that I haven’t seen them before.
I know every single tattoo he has; I saw them on our wedding night.
Only then, I was more focused on enjoying whatever he was doing to me. “Good, you're up. It was about time.”
I wake up from my trance and blink before I take a step inside. Of course he knew I was standing here, even with his back to me. His very toned and attractive back, where I can see every muscle. I tilt my head to the side, trying to figure out if I have a back fetish.
“Are you going to keep standing there?” He turns with a skillet in his hand. “Come, you need to eat.”
He doesn’t need to tell me because my stomach does. I follow him to where he places an omelet and stop in front of him.
“You're here,” I say. “He raises an eyebrow. “You're never here when I wake up,” I clarify.
“I know.” He pulls the chair for me and prompts me to sit.
I comply, even though I feel irritated and satisfied at the same time. Something isn’t right.
“Pulling the chair out for me, cooking me breakfast, not leaving before I’m awake.” Hmm. I tilt my head to the side and flinch at the pain in my head.
He pours some green juice and places it in front of me with a white pill. “This is for your hangover.” I take it from him and almost choke at the awful taste.
“This is disgusting.” I grimace.
His eyes narrow, soft but condemning. “You should have thought about that before you drank until you were trashed.”
I shrug. “I was having fun.”
“If fun is drinking and being incoherent, then you will become an alcoholic and die of liver failure.”
I cross my hands in front of me. “Wow, are you some kind of moral police?”
He shrugs. “No. I’m just stating facts.”
My shoulders drop. “Whatever. I don’t have the strength for this discussion.”
A satisfied grin appears on his face. “Better. Now, eat.”
I roll my eyes and take the first bite of the omelet. Hunger takes over, and ignoring Gabriel, I eat the damn thing in a minute. I wish I could start every day with one of these.
“Did you eat anything before you consumed all that alcohol?”
I roll my eyes. “No, Dad, I didn’t.” I look at him. “Did you stay here to scold me for what I did last night? If so, just don’t.”
“No, I’m not trying to do that. But maybe you need it.” He steps to my side and leans on the table. “We need to set some ground rules, Valentina.”
My eyes shoot to his. “What rules?”
“Rule number one, if you're going to drink, you're going to eat before.” I nod, only because it really makes sense and because I know the consequences. “Second, I would like to be informed if you plan on going to the club.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why? Do you plan on letting some groupie put her hands on you again? Are you a cheater?” My voice is dripping with accusation.
He spins my chair toward him and gets in my face, his voice hard.
“First, I’m not a cheater and never will be.
I despise infidelity. Second, those women you call groupies.
.. I never invited them to come to me. If you hadn’t shown up, I still would have made them leave.
” His voice softens as he inhales. “And third, all I care about is your safety.
So, if you want to go dancing, clubbing, or wherever, I want to know so I can be sure you're safe and taken care of.”
“Why? Why is that important to you?” I can barely hear what I ask over the beating of my heart. Not that the fog in my brain is letting me think, but my stupid heart has hope. Hope that he means more than he says.
“Because you're my wife, and it's my duty. There will always be someone who will want to make sure we’re weak.” He shakes his head. “There will always be danger. When I agreed to the marriage for the sake of the alliance, your safety is part of that deal, and if something happens to you, the alliance will shatter.” His eyes search mine for understanding, but I’m not sure if I have any.
My heart splits in half. Of course he only cares about the alliance. It isn't like he knows me. It isn't like there’s anything between us other than sexual attraction. I’m sure he will pretend like nothing happened last night and carry on with his day.
I shake my head. “You're right. You have a duty toward the alliance; I get it. So, is this how our marriage is going to be? I report to you, and you avoid me?”
“I didn’t avoid you last night, did I?”
“Why didn’t you? If what it takes for you to talk to me is me showing up at the club and getting into a catfight, and trashing myself with alcohol, I think we’re looking at this marriage wrong.”
“No, that’s not the reason. Although I liked that cat fight, if we can even call it that.
I… There were things that weren’t clear to me.
Things I’m still working on. And please don’t ask what those things are.
I will share when I’m ready. I just need to ask you to have patience until I figure things out. ”
“So, where does that leave us?”
“Here, in the moment.”
“Does that include you staying away from me?” I ask softly, still guarded.
He grins. “I didn’t last night.” He takes a strand of my hair and pulls it to the side. “You have no idea how hard it was to avoid you last week.”
“Then why did you?”
He exhales and takes a step back. “Like I said, there are things I’m working on.”
“Things that you don’t want to tell me.” I nod. “Fine. So, where do we go from here?”
“Well, for starters, I will not avoid you and will try to be home at a decent time.”
I scoff. “So what? I’m just expected to wait for you at home like some housewife.”
“I’m sure you will find things to keep you occupied. You could call my mother and join her for weekly brunches.”
I laugh. “Oh, please. I don’t have anything against your mother. She has been treating me better than my mother ever has, but if I have to sit in that room one more time, I’m going to vomit.”
“What’s so wrong with the weekly brunch? Those are the wives of every high-ranking man in the family.”
“That is the problem. They all see themselves as God’s gift to this world. I’m not lowering myself to their level by trashing them. The only thing I can say is the way they treated Clara and how she's trying to do everything to please them is sickening me.”
“That’s her job. To organize everything and make sure everyone has what they need.”
I scoff. “She's an event planner, not their damn maid.”
“Fine, don’t go to the damn brunch. If you like Clara, spend more time with her. And we’re going to dinner with Salvatore and Isabella this weekend, so you can get to know her better.”
I shake my head, not because he’s wrong, but because he has no idea how easy he makes it sound.
The truth is, with a father and brother like mine, I’ve never had a real friend.
Every so-called friendship ended the same way: men trying to use me to get to my father, and women circling me just to get close to my brother.
That’s the only kind of loyalty I’ve ever known: transactional, calculated, temporary.
So, how the hell am I supposed to know what an actual friend looks like?
Does he really think I’m craving some picture-perfect life of gossip and girl talk?
I don’t mind chit-chatting; information slips easily when people think you’re harmless.
But let’s not pretend I’ve ever had the luxury of genuine connections.
It’s not that I don’t want friends. It’s that I’ve never had a single one who wasn’t playing an angle. So, I learned to play the game better than them all.
“Having a good relationship with Isabella is important to me, as Salvatore isn't just my don. He is my brother and best friend.”
I look into his sincere eyes with a hint of pleading. “Well, I think I could use befriending someone.”
He smiles. His eyes shine with a hint of victory. “Thank you.”
“But for real, I need a job. I can’t just sit around; I will lose my mind.”
He lets out a laugh. “I can see if there is something available.”
“I’m very experienced in managing nightclubs.”
Gabriel folds his arms, eyes dark. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?” I ask, tilting my head, amused.
“First, the position is filled,” he growls. “Second, you can only work there over my dead body.”
I smirk, leaning closer. “I can arrange that.” He narrows his glare at me. “I’m joking.”
“That’s not an appropriate joke.”
“Fine, find me something, and until you do, I will just be sitting around and hanging out with Clara.”
“I have to go, but I will be home at seven,” he says, heading toward the door.
I shift on the counter, letting my voice carry just enough to stop him. “Dinner will not be waiting for you; I don’t cook.”
He chuckles. “Fine by me.” I watch him leave and second-guess my choice. Was sacrificing my freedom and what I could have become worth all of this? A man who is keeping something from me. Is my obsession truly worth everything?