Chapter 26 #2
Months… Months of being alone with her in that room at the Annex, listening to her melodic voice while getting to know her and her most intimate secrets, falling deeper and deeper under her spell.
Months of slowly succumbing to my obsession, having it morph and bloom into something else.
Months of having her right there, within reach, but forbidden to touch. Because I promised I wouldn’t.
Denial is a powerful thing. Not only in the sense of exercising my self-control, but also as a refusal to admit the truth.
All that time, I’ve rationalized this. Convinced myself that I sought her out, craved her nearness, merely to ease my pain.
A lie. An excuse to keep my heart safe. That previously ignored muscle, good only for pumping blood.
Now, it beats for her. Not that I can say it out loud.
Not that I could ever let her know. Or anyone else, for that matter. I can barely admit it to myself.
But the truth is undeniable, because now, she’s closer than ever to me.
In my home. My wife. Finally, she is mine.
But I still can’t touch her. I dare not.
She doesn’t want me. Wouldn’t welcome my touch.
She’d rather have him. The man she considers “good,” one who does nice things for other people.
Like, give a damn about a few individuals losing their homes, or care about some old woman’s sadness over a broken teacup, enough to waste his valuable time on finding the replacement.
That man doesn’t exist. He never has. He is the mask I wear, not the other way around.
At last, I understand what Bartholomew meant by his world being better because of his love for his wife. When Little Iris is around, my own isn’t a wasteland anymore. She makes everything in it brighter. A cut above. The land. The sky. The people.
I wish she could improve me, too.
Because I am in love with my wife, the most wonderful woman I know.
The most incredible. The most breathtaking.
But unfortunately, I am still the same man.
Still cruel. Still ruthless. Still evil.
And whatever good deed I did, I did it for her.
Only for her. Not for anyone else. I’m incapable of caring about anyone else.
And my Little Iris could never love a man like that. Could never love me.
“Let’s talk about something else,” I say.
“Alright. How are your headaches? Especially since you’re not with Iris that much?”
Worse than ever. I’ve been surviving on sheer willpower and enough ibuprofen to kill a horse. “They are fine.”
“Really? That’s great!”
My teeth nearly crack.
“So?” he blurts. “When am I going to meet your magic migraine blocker? We didn’t get the chance for a face-to-face at the wedding, after all.”
My eyes turn into slits. “You want to meet my wife? Why?”
He raises his hands into the air. “Down, boy, no need for violence. I’m simply curious if she really is as you describe her.”
“How did I describe her?”
“Well, let me see… Based on the crumbs you dropped over the past months, I imagine her as someone nice. Softly spoken. A bit skittish, maybe. Overall, there’s nothing overly intriguing about her. Have I got it right?”
Everything about Iris is intriguing.
She’s selfless. Gives to people without expecting anything in return. Won’t even accept a gift unless she feels she’s earned it. What kind of silly creature does that?
You could not be more wrong, old man.
“To a tee,” I bite out.
“Perhaps I could drop by Sunday evening? You mentioned the rescheduled wedding banquet you’re having that night. I even have a fancy suit I bought some time ago but never got the chance to wear.”
“Sure, if you want.”
“Of course I do. Actually, I’m thrilled at the opportunity to observe you in your natural habitat.”
“You should watch your mouth. That sounds dangerously close to you calling me your lab rat, Bartholomew.”
A sly grin unfurls on his face. “What can I say? I like to live dangerously.”
I snort. Idiot.
My phone pings, alerting me to an incoming message. For a brief moment, I dread another text from the rhymey bastard. Instead, I find an update from Theo, informing me that there’s something wrong with the car. The brakes have been giving him trouble, and I can’t have my wife ride in that.
“I have to go.” Standing up, I grab my jacket. “The dinner’s at six. I’ll send a car for you.”
“May I help you, miss?”
My hand falls away from the beautiful floor-length violet gown, and I turn to face the sales associate, offering her a shaky smile.
This is one of the most prestigious boutiques in Boston, according to my hurried Google search.
Saying that I felt uncomfortable when I stepped inside would be an understatement.
I’ve delayed this shopping trip for as long as I could, but with the rescheduled wedding reception dinner happening this weekend, and knowing that all the bigwigs of la Famiglia will be there, it was inevitable.
Being Adriano Ruffo’s wife, I can’t show up in the knitted brown dress I bought second-hand a few years ago, and it’s the only dress I own.
“Yes, please.” I’m a fish out of water in these extravagant surroundings. “I need an evening dress. Something simple and not outrageously expensive, if possible.”
The woman gives me a slow appraisal, starting from the shoes I purchased online the other day, then dragging her judgmental eyes over my nice black jeans and a green blouse I’ve had for years and wear on special occasions.
It’s the same look she gave me when I entered the store, right before she not-so-subtly gave a nod to the other attendant.
She might as well have gotten the bullhorn out and screamed, Watch her!
Since then, the two of them have been tracking me with their glares, as if, at any moment, I’ll grab something off the rack and make a run for it.
“I’m afraid we don’t have what you’re looking for.” The smile on her flawlessly made-up face is clearly condescending. “May I suggest you try some of the stores at Downtown Crossing?”
I glance around the boutique, my eyes landing on a display of sharply dressed mannequins in elegant dresses and classic suits.
Most of the gowns have full, voluminous skirts of silk or lace, embellished with delicate details, and no doubt, cost a fortune.
I would definitely feel out of place wearing one of those to dinner, but…
I look again at the violet dress and reach for it.
“Yes. Those others are a bit too much for me. But, this one—”
The saleswoman’s hand shoots out, snatching the garment—hanger and all—off the stand before my fingers can touch the violet lace.
“I don’t think you understood me, miss. Our haute couture merchandise is only available to a specific clientele.
You really should shop someplace more suitable for someone like you, and your budget. ”
I swallow and take a step back, feeling as small and degraded as when Lucrezia asked me to wipe the dirt off her shoe.
“Of course.” I nod absently while my eyes begin to sting, my vision clouding with gathering tears.
I realize everything here is very expensive, but I need to find an appropriate dress.
And even though I stressed over it, I brought a good chunk of the money from my time at the Annex, leftover funds I managed to save after Ruffo had Mom’s medical bills paid off. “Thank you for your help.”
Drowning in humiliation, I hurry toward the exit, my gaze glued to the floor.
Theo was able to snag a parking spot right outside, so hopefully, he won’t mind driving me somewhere else.
Or maybe I should just go home? I’m not sure I have the energy to continue shopping.
It’s stupid, but I thought I’d be used to it by now.
Being treated like I don’t belong. All thanks to plenty of practice, care of Lucrezia.
Why is it hitting me so hard this time? I’m so frazzled that I literally slam into a wide male chest that seems to have materialized out of thin air on the threshold.
“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t—” I blink, staring at my husband. “Um… Hi.”
His glacier-blue gaze zeros in on me. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” I drop my head, squeezing my eyes shut hard to keep my tears from spilling over.
My skin prickles with awareness as his finger slips under my chin and forces me to face him.
“Don’t ever lie to me, Little Iris.” The tip of his thumb glides over my lower lip. “What happened?”
“Mr. Ruffo!” The chipper voice of the sales associate rings out behind me. Her tone is sweeter than honey and the polar opposite of the way she spoke to me. “So nice to see you again.”
“Well?” he insists, ignoring the woman. “I’m waiting.”
“I came in to buy a dress for Sunday,” I whisper. “But…there’s nothing here that’s right for me.”
“I see.” His thumb leaves my lips, only to gently grip my chin. “Tamara,” he says as he turns his icy stare on the saleswoman, “for every item you have on display here, I want an appropriately sized version delivered to my wife. You can charge my regular account.”
From the corner of my eye, I see the saleswoman’s face turn as white as a sheet of paper.
“Your— Oh! I had no idea. I’m so terribly sorry.”
“I am certain that you are. Please convey my regrets to your father. It is indeed unpleasant to see such a long-standing and respectable establishment go suddenly bankrupt.”
“Sir, I…uh…I don’t understand.”
“You made my wife cry, Tamara. You will understand tomorrow.”
My husband doesn’t spare her another look as his hand moves from my face to the small of my back. “Let’s go. They will send everything to the house.”
The silence that follows us to the door is heavy. Like the weight of the glares that both women must be shooting at me.
As we descend the stone steps from the shop to the street level, I ask, “What happens tomorrow?”