4. Starve to deathdine with your fake husband, that is the question
After we sign the marriage licence, everything moves at the speed of light. I’m barely present in my own body, working on autopilot as I guide the rescue team through cameras.
They found her. I watch the screen with a knot in my stomach, a burning sensation at the back of my throat that prevents me from drawing enough air into my lungs.
She’s naked and half-drugged, held at gunpoint by a man using her as a shield.
Moisture leaks on my cheeks, but I don’t move to wipe it away. With my lips parted, I taste salt, but I don’t know where it’s coming from.
Time feels suspended. I’m not sure I’m even breathing as I watch Igor approach them and drape his shirt over her body. He and the man with the gun leave the feed and Pierce runs to Lana, who crumples at his feet.
I’m frozen.
They have her.
My vision blurs and I remain seated in front of the three monitors in Andrea’s office, until tremors rock my body, starting at my navel and climbing up my chest. My whole body shakes with the undiluted fear catching up to me.
I must remain here for a long time, drawn out of my stupor by the sound of the front door opening and closing.
They can’t see me like this.
I close my eyes and finally wipe the tears away, inhaling deeply and exhaling smoothly a few times to settle my nervous system.
Pierce and Andrea set up a sleeping and exhausted Lana in a guest room. Pierce and I don’t move from her bedside until she wakes up twenty-four hours later. He gives me a haunted look before leaving me with my person so I can tell her I’m not coming home with her.
“How are you feeling?” she asks me weakly.
“I should be the one asking you this.”
She makes a move to sit up, but I stop her by pressing a gentle hand to her shoulder. I glide a strand of hair that falls in front of her face behind her ear. The gesture is familiar, sending me back to when we were just kids braiding each other’s hair and playing dress up.
“Don’t move, babe. Keep your strength.”
“I’m fine.” The wince on her face says otherwise, but Lana is more stubborn than a mule, so I don’t insist and sit on the side of the bed, taking her hand in mine.
“It’s okay if you’re not, babe.”
Silence settles between us, but it’s not oppressing. It feels like a welcome reprieve after days of anger and searching and panic. I look into her green eyes, so similar to mine, and don’t press her to talk when the agony in the depth makes them darken.
“I’ve brought you some food, though that heathen didn’t have much in his fridge or pantry. I wonder how he survived all these years. Can you believe there wasn’t any real cheese in there? I could only find this soft thing that can barely be called that.”
I’m clearly rambling, but it makes my cousin smile. It’s also a good way to ignore how I feel. The perspective of facing the meltdown I had when I was alone is overwhelming. So is the prospect of being stuck here for five years.
I look at the pack of sliced cheese like it offends me because it fucking does. First order of business once Lana is better: ask her to send me proper food from Kalliste. I won’t survive without brocciu.
“That will do, G, thank you. And aren’t you vegan, anyway?”
“Cheese doesn’t count.”
I make light of the situation because I can’t stand the thought that we were a few minutes away from losing her completely. It’s a well-honed defence mechanism by now.
“What do you need?” I whisper to her, still holding her hand. I can’t let go.
“I need for you to not treat me like a victim. G, look at me. I’m alive. You saved me. Pierce saved me. Igor…”
She doesn’t finish her sentence, her voice breaking on the name of her friend and bodyguard.
Ex-bodyguard now.
Misha Petrov’s whole game was to exchange Lana for his brother Igor and we didn’t have much choice but to go through with it. They both vanished and Andrea and Pierce have been searching everywhere for them, to no avail.
Tears line her eyes and mine reflect the sentiment. I take her in my arms and when she squeezes me to her body, which still smells at her lingering perfume despite having showered multiple times, I take it as an invitation and squeeze her back.
I almost lost her. She could have died, just like my mother.
I’d sell my soul to the devil ten times over if it meant she was safe.
“I can never thank you enough for what you did. How are you, really, G?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve survived men like Capaldi all my life.”
“They never were your husband, though.”
“Fake husband,” I insist. I don’t want to look too closely at what I feel for Andrea right now. Because I’m confused. He helped us retrieve the person I love most, so I’m grateful. But he also negotiated for my freedom in exchange for his help. He’s just one more made man taking something from me that wasn’t freely given, and though I understand everything in our lives is a contract, a business agreement and driven by need and power, it doesn’t hurt any less.
Thankfully, Pierce clears his throat behind me and enters the room.
I kiss Lana’s cheek and she lets me go but not without making me promise to text her about my situation.
Pierce and I switch places, but I remain at the foot of the bed. Andrea’s looming presence at my back is a beast in its own right. I refuse to give him any of my emotions so I keep looking at Lana and Pierce, until they start kissing and that’s my clue to leave.
On my way out, I ignore him and lock myself into the room he gave me in his house.
* * *
After Lana and Pierce leave Andrea’s annoyingly comfortable cottage to get back to Kalliste, I’m left with my new husband in what will be my home for the next five years.
I was too preoccupied to look around me when we first came here. Now I look around, taking my new environment in with fresh eyes. Everything in the living room feels like it’s been designed with me in mind, from the creamy walls to the exposed beams, from the cognac leather sofa to the coffee tables made of raw wood and the bookcase and dresser to match. The open kitchen is all reclaimed wood and porcelain white and though I can’t cook for shit, it really makes me want to hang out there.
I could almost feel comfortable if it wasn’t for the aura of danger around Andrea and his scent of tobacco leaves and bitter orange permeating every single inch of space. It’s fucking with my head, the emotions of the past few days heightened. I can’t trust anything that comes out of my mouth right now.
I retreat to my room but he stops me by encircling my wrist with his large hand. There’s no pressure there but the gesture reeks of dominance and power. Tingles spark from the place his fingers touch me and climb up my arms like an army of little flames.
“Dine with me tonight.”
“I’d rather starve to death.” I smile sweetly and pull my body out of his reach.
I get to the room and close the door behind me, exhaling heavily like a weight off my shoulders has been lifted. It hasn’t but at least, I’m not in Andrea’s proximity anymore.
The place is sparse and simple, with light beige walls and equally boring beige sheets on a King size bed with a canopy. Next to the bed is a vintage cognac Chesterfield seat that matches the sofa in the living room. It looks like an eyesore in the middle of so much beige though it’s my favourite feature of the room, along with the wood beams on the ceiling that seem to go through the entire house and the huge windows on two walls of the room. The curtains, unfortunately, are beige as well.
The only thing that isn’t beige here is the bathroom, lined with tiny small turquoise tiles from floor to ceiling and a golden clawed bathtub that’s calling my name.
After I draw myself a bath, I undress and get in with a moan, the hot water melting my tired muscles. The smell of the bubbles invades my nose, citruses immediately putting me at ease. I drop my head back and close my eyes, revelling in the short moment of respite after days of all-consuming anxiety.
In the silence of the bathroom, I let the tears fall down then submerge my head entirely and yell into the water until the lack of oxygen burns my lungs. I come up for air and repeat the process a couple of times, enough for my body to relax.
Most people think I’m an air-head and everything glides off me, but they couldn’t be further from the truth.
I already miss my home, hot summer nights and cold autumn mornings, Friday dinners at the Bartoli’s mansion and Mammona’s ravioli. Summer hasn’t even ended, and it’s already raining here, leaving everything damp and depressing.
I know she’s safe but I also can’t stop thinking about Lana and text her before putting on polyphonic songs from my home country to help me relax.
Time to think of ways to manage my pest problem. Pierce made me promise not to kill him—yet—so I can’t come back on a promise I made.
Thoughts of murder and blood, my favourites, lull me to sleep and I let my muscles and my anxious mind take a much needed rest. I’m still half-asleep when a zing of energy lights up a path under my entire skin, from the roots of my red hair to the tips of my pink painted toes. My eyes blink open but nothing has changed in the room except for the setting sun peeking behind the grey clouds visible through the oval window.
A glass of red wine sits on the corner of the bathtub. I sit up straight in the bath, turning my gaze to every corner of the room like he’s going to jump on me any minute.
Fucker was in this room while I was naked.
I’m so killing him.
I didn’t think it was necessary for me to lock the door. I wouldn’t walk all over his space; it should be a given that we stay in separate areas of this place and don’t interact with each other and especially not when I’m so naked, literally and figuratively.
The water is still warm and I don’t feel like getting goaded by his stupid methods. I rarely indulge in alcohol, but I take a sip and groan. Fucker knows his shit! I bet my left tit this is a Sant Armellu Merlot from one of the best wine sellers of Kalliste.
My mind is spiralling and now there’s no way I’ll relax despite the warm water and the delicious wine.
I get out of the bath and put on the fluffy white bathrobe hooked on the wall before exiting the room. Warm male jogger pants and a white tee-shirt rest on the bed for me. I’m a big girl so I’m actually surprised when the clothes swallow me. It just reminds me of how big Andrea is. I shouldn’t like it so much.
I need to get my clothes here asap if I want to survive. There’s no way I’m going to be wearing this asshole’s clothes that smell like him every day until the end of this sham.
Determined to ask my new husband to give me a car so I can take myself shopping tomorrow, I get to the living room area where the table is set for two people.
“So kind of you to join me,” Andrea says with a smirk on his annoyingly handsome face.
“I need clothes until mine arrive.”
“But you look so delectable in mine, guerrieritta.”
“Be serious, Capaldi, this isn’t sustainable.”
“Would you rather be naked?” he drawls.
“Not even in your dreams, asshole.”
He groans and mumbles something unintelligible, then walks to me. I have half a mind to back off a step before I catch myself and stay rooted in place out of pure spite. My eyes are probably spewing venom at this point, and I wish he would disintegrate.
He leans in and his smell invades my senses. Bitter orange. My eyes widen at realising I must smell exactly like him because the bubbles I’ve put in the bath have the exact same scent.
My throat dries and words remain lodged inside. It’s a good thing I’m wearing men’s clothes three sizes bigger than me, no makeup and no adornments, probably have bags under my eyes bigger than this house and have bitten his head off more times in twenty-four hours than anyone I’ve encountered in my life. He’ll know to stay away from me.
“Get whatever you like.” He glides a black card in my hand without breaking eye contact.
“Your bank account isn’t going to like it.”
“I can afford it,” he says with the confidence of a rich man used to getting what he wants.
“We’ll see about that.”
The corner of his lips lift and he places his hand to my lower back, directing me to the table. “Please Giulia, join me for dinner. You must be starving.”
“Fine. Just because I’m hungry. I don’t want to spend time with you,” I say with less venom than I intend.
“Unfortunately, we will. But we can get to that tomorrow. Buon Appetito,” he says, reminding me of my purpose here. I need to understand why he needs a wife so badly if I have a hope of shortening our contract, or at least cohabit with him with the least amount of contact possible until our time is up.
We eat a delicious mix of vegetables that are crispy yet ferm, just how I like it, in a butter and white wine sauce to die for to accompany wild rice. Flavours burst on my tongue and I take two plates, relishing in the flavours. Behind the large windows at the back of the kitchen, night has fallen on the green forest surrounding Andrea’s house, alerting me of the late hour and how starved I actually am.
“You can congratulate your cook,” I say in between bites.
Andrea sits back in his chair, observing me with too much intensity. I swallow the food down, keeping my gaze on my plate and hoping he’ll lose interest soon. I don’t like attention I haven’t drawn by design, to fit a particular purpose; it unsettles me.
“I’ll be sure to do it,” he says mysteriously. “Any future request?”
I narrow my eyes and don’t answer at first, but if I’m actually going to live here, there’s something the cook will need to know. “I don’t eat meat.”
“No meat. Noted.”
“And next time you come to my room while I’m there naked, I’ll cut your balls and use them as paperweights.”
“So violent, guerrieritta,” he muses with a smile.
“I swear, Andrea, don’t fuck with me on this. You agreed to my terms. Don’t come inside my room when I’m naked.”
“I know your rules very well, sweetheart.” I hate the endearment he’s chosen for me. It sounds condescending and demeaning. “That one isn’t part of it, but I’ll give it to you as a courtesy.”
“A courtesy? Ever heard of consent?”
“I assure you, next time I come to your room while you’re naked, you’ll be willing.”
“Oh please, spare me the seduction game, Capaldi. We have rules, remember?” I tsk.
He says nothing, trying to hide his smile behind his wineglass like a teenager.
Sparring with him is getting on my last nerve, so I leave the table after clearing my plate and setting it in the dishwasher with the rest of my dishes.
When I’ve brushed my teeth and got myself ready for bed, closing all the curtains, I’m so tired I fall asleep the second my head touches the pillow.