Chapter 26 Naomi
“ We need to get married. ”
As far as proposals go, it had felt like being presented with a black and white print of a stunning Monet or Cezanne Impressionist painting. Was it even a proposal? I can’t say. A statement, yes. More than that? Who knows.
I’d always figured I’d end up in a sort of marriage of convenience type of deal, or an arranged match, at worst. With no plan to fall in love and marry the man who’d won my heart, I had resigned myself to aligning with my father’s political goals and working for the greater good of his cause. I’d marry one of his associates, and we’d all work together to bring his vision of the world into being.
If only I’d known said vision would’ve involved sending someone who they think is seeing another person of the same sex to conversion therapy. I’d had Anya on the phone yesterday—she hadn’t balked at telling me the ramifications of my being placed inside that specific mental institution.
If only my dad had asked, though. If he hadn’t gone through my phone, snooped into my personal life, we wouldn’t have come to this. I wouldn’t have told him I was seeing his worst enemy, Valentino Andretti, but he wouldn’t have construed me as being a lesbian and thus needing to be ‘cured’ of it. But then again, had this not happened, I wouldn’t have known the truth about him. I wouldn’t have known how much of a monster he really is.
It shakes me every time to recall what he’s done to me. I still refuse to fathom what happened in that hellish place, so I always come back to him putting me in there. He’d had no qualms. My uncle has looked into that institution, and he is now working to have it shut down. They still used electroshocks to supposedly treat people, to get the gay out of them. How absolutely horrifying! If I’d had to stay there, they’d have done it to me, too. I’d spent a little over twenty-four hours, which had still been a second too much.
But Valentino got me out. Anya said he was ready to take on the devil himself when he found out I’d been taken, and he hadn’t blinked at any point when told how he’d have to exfiltrate me from that place. Strong, stubborn Val taking directives and orders from someone else because the goal was getting me out at all costs? It warms me up, though a chill is still here inside.
Because here’s the thing—I’d never wanted to get married unless it would be to Valentino Andretti, the man who had won my heart since I was a teenager. And now, I am about to do exactly that…except it’s not for love, for feelings even. It’s only because this is the only way the ones who truly care about me can protect me. I’m not a pawn here, but I’m a precious bauble no one wants to see broken. Is that any better?
I risk a glance at Val sitting next to me in the backseat of his luxury SUV. We’re on our way to New York, to get married. We made the trip yesterday, too, to get our marriage license, and now, the twenty-four-hour waiting period is up, and we can get hitched.
Every girl dreams of her wedding day. I am no exception. I saw myself in a meringue-style explosion of a white dress, the kind every royal princess has worn for her wedding. I’m actually in pale pink today. Cannot stomach the idea of white as anything beautiful now. And instead of the tiers of lace and puffy sleeves, I’m wearing a knee-length sheath with long darts in the front and back giving it some form of shape on my midsection. Because of all those meds I’ve been plied with in recent weeks—and not just at Pineridge; my bloodwork post-release shows my father has been drugging me way before then, the numbers too high for just a day or so’s dosage at that place—I feel bloated all over, my belly hard and tight under a layer of soft flesh that wasn’t there before.
A coat a couple inches longer than the dress completes the outfit, and I can’t help but think I look more like a First Lady about to step out with her husband on the day of his Presidential inauguration than a bride on her way to recite her marriage vows.
There’s also no engagement ring on my left hand. I don’t think Valentino forgot. I’m pretty sure it never crossed his mind in the first place. The atmosphere has been heavy in the Georgian house I woke up in a few days ago. Renata, bless her heart, had been doing her best to cheer us up, but it’s hard when I veer between vibrant optimism and crushing despair like the swing of an erratic pendulum every hour, it seems. And Valentino? He’s shut off in his study most of the time.
But what hurts me the most in this moment is the utter loneliness gripping my heart as I’m on my way to get married. I’m all alone. My father…well, forget about him ever being a part of my life again. Anya, the only friend I can still count on, is busy making sure the worst political ramifications land on my father when his dealings will come out. My uncle can’t travel to be with me since he can’t be seen close to any mess, political or otherwise, in his position.
And my fiancé? Less than a foot from me, but he could be on Mars for all the distance between us as people. Ever since he told me we needed to get married, Valentino has shut me out. No, a better way to state this would be to say he shut himself off from the rest of the world, and this hurts. While I know I can count on him—look at all he’s done and is still doing for me, because of me—I also know it’s not his choice to be embroiled in this clusterfuck with me.
The car stops, and his deep blue eyes lift to catch mine. A small puff of air leaves my lips at the intensity in his gaze.
“Ready?” he asks.
I swallow hard and nod. Us getting married, it’s of utmost importance and extremely time sensitive. The easiest way to do this would’ve been to go to Vegas and be done within a couple of hours. I’d refused to consider the idea of anxiety meds during the plane trip—nothing was ever going to take my control away again—and Valentino hadn’t wanted me to brave a two-way flight without any medicinal help. The next-best solution? New York.
Valentino is out of the car on his side, and I find my door being opened, Marco giving me his hand so I can alight. He’s a quiet man, Marco, but gentle and soulful at heart. His mamma did good raising him. With a small smile, he hands me over to Valentino, who clasps my small hand in his big one and starts to tug me up the steps to get inside the Office of the City Clerk where we’ll be married.
It's surprisingly empty and quiet inside. We’re in and out of a room in a matter of half an hour. I don’t even know who the person who married us even is—wasn’t really paying attention, my focus on the tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome man about to become my husband. In his tailored blue suit, he looks dashing and more than a little dangerous, too. There’s been a tightening around his lips I’ve noticed in the past few days. I didn’t think it was there the day I woke up in that plush bedroom.
We say “I do” when it’s our turn, dutifully, sign the paper with Marco as our witness, exchange rings, and then we’re being told we’re husband and wife and the groom can kiss the bride. It’s a haze of things happening too quickly yet also trickling along like a bubble of air trying to make its way out of a vat of molasses.
I turn to my husband just as he faces me, and I await his kiss…which lands so very close to my lips, on a corner and a bit on my cheek, too. Before I can reckon, he hasn’t kissed me on my mouth, Valentino is taking my hand and thanking the officiant, and we’re already out of there. The SUV is waiting for us on the curb when we make it to the steps, and we’re in and on our way again. Valentino takes his phone out and starts typing away furiously. It’s like I’m forgotten, for all intents and purposes.
When we get back to the Short Hills house, he stops in the foyer and finally glances up at me.
“You’re going to be okay?” he asks.
I nod, turning on my heel so I won’t have to see him turn away first and head to that goddamn study of his, where he’ll barricade himself for the day, and night, too. I’ve been here for a handful of nights now, and Valentino hasn’t spent even one of them with me.
There’s a festive hamper in the kitchen, full of champagne, caviar, strawberries, a rich chocolate spread, as well as cheeses and a loaf of fresh sourdough. The note is from Renata, saying she knows us lovebirds need our privacy today, of all days, so we’re to enjoy this—if we even find time wink, wink—until we return home to Morris County the next day.
A sudden fit of anger surges through me, and I’m tempted to send the basket and all its contents crashing onto the tiled floor. I don’t need any of this. The very idea of champagne or any alcohol at all makes my stomach sour. The imagined reek of caviar makes me want to throw up. The chocolate, well maybe that I can get on board with. But what I really need? I need Valentino. I need my anchor, my rock.
I need my husband.
This has been going on for far too long! I won’t let anything control me, take away my agency anymore, so this means I need to take matters into my own hands. Something has to give, and it won’t be me.
Rage surging through me, I stalk the house for Marco. I find him in a sitting room next to Valentino’s study. Twilight is falling outside, though the lamps aren’t yet on inside.
“I am arming the alarm system on these two floors in five minutes,” I tell him. “You better make it below before I do.”
The basement is a self-contained apartment where he and his family have been staying while here. Tonight, I need our privacy.
Marco chuckles as he gets up. “He’s in a lot of trouble.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
He brushes past me, then stops and comes back.
“Give him hell…but not too much, okay?” he says with a mischievous smile and a wink.
I have to stifle my own smile coming up because of his light teasing.
Marco drops a soft kiss on my cheek. “You’re good for him. Never forget that.”
His words fuel the fire in me even more, and after making sure he’s headed below, I go around the house arming the alarm system. There, we’ll be safe this way.
Next, I stalk to Valentino’s study and knock, pushing the door open before he can answer me.
“Naomi,” he says, looking up from a document in his hand and blinking at me.
“Put that away.”
“What?”
I nod at his desk. “This. Whatever it is you’re doing.”
He huffs, which just serves to enrage me even further.
“I’ve got work—”
“No,” I cut him off.
Fire is raging inside me now. I can’t bear to be with him and be so close yet so far, to have him be mine yet anything but. All of these emotions are gathering, storming, burning inside me, and I don’t want to cull them, to tell them to calm down, to sit tight and…what? Behave?
“Naomi—”
The slight hint of impatience in his tone rips the top off, the storm blowing out of me and tumbling away, obliterating every bit of sense that might’ve been left in me.
“No, you don’t have work,” I bite out. “What you have is me. Here, with you, but then again not. What you have now is a wife, and I won’t be one of those discarded things who suddenly turns into a sainted virgin once vows have been spoken so you can then go to your slutty mistress who will fulfill all your depraved fantasies while your wife waits patiently for you at home!”
A part of me is aware I’m not making sense. I must’ve watched too many Mafia movies and TV shows when I was younger, to be spewing such outdated and frankly ridiculous claims right now.
“What is it you want from me, Naomi?”
If I hadn’t still been lost in my spiel, which was still rolling itself out in my mind, I would’ve paid heed to the quiet in his tone.
“It’s Mrs. Andretti now, you asshole. I’m your wife, and as such, I have rights.”
In a flash, he’s out of his chair and rushing to my side. His hands close on the curve of my shoulders, and he’s whipped me around and pressed my ass into his desk. One knee slips between my legs as he braces his hands on either side of me, his big body looming over me as his narrowed eyes bore into mine.
“Naomi Andretti,” he says softly. Too softly. “So, you’re asking me to fulfill my husbandly duties?”