Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
E MERALD
I’ve gone back to doing some shifts at the casino while the kids are in school. Saint wasn’t happy about this, but we came to a compromise over it, and I know that Carmine can’t get to me here with the Imperiosi security crawling all over the place.
I push the loose strands of my hair back from my face as I continue to fill the cart to restock the main floor.
I hear the door swing open. “I can’t believe he’d pick her...”
“Right? You’d think after Ronnie, everyone would know what type of woman she is.”
I stop what I’m doing, my hand tightening around the box of cocktail stirrers. I peer through the gap in the stock shelf to the other side where two girls, Janice and Myra, have just come in and are filling their carts with chips and cigars. Either they don’t know I’m here, or they just don’t care.
“She’ll ditch this job once she has the wedding ring on her finger,” Janice says. “She’s only still here as a backup in case Saint dumps her. I mean, where else will she be able to meet another rich man?”
“Have you heard what everyone’s calling them? Saint and the Slut .” I close my eyes, wincing violently as I hear Myra’s cruel words, ice crawling through my veins as humiliation washes over me. “Anyway, she’s fat and ugly. Eventually he’ll come to his senses.” Snide giggling fills the room.
I wish I could just march up to people like this and confront them for being such mean girls, but what they’re saying slices so close to the bone that my mortification freezes me to the spot.
“You’re totally right,” Janice replies. “And then she’ll move onto the next poor rich sap when he dumps her. It’s a shame Saint’s wasting his time with her. I heard from Milly that he’s great in bed, and I’d love a chance to find out for myself.”
“You might not have long to wait. You know he doesn’t do the whole longer-term thing,” Myra adds.
Slut. Worthless. Unlovable. The words run through my head, bombarding my mind. Each a different person’s voice from over the years. Again and again, those voices build to a roar until they’re all I hear. Until they drown out everything else in my mind.
The box I’m holding clatters onto the cart, and I freeze as the straws spill out over its surface. Oh God . I wait a breath, then another.
But they carry on talking, not realizing that I’m the other person in the storeroom. “A man like Saint won’t be satisfied with a worthless piece of trash like her,” Janice snickers.
Abandoning my cart, I start to inch toward the door, sliding silently along, careful not to make a single sound. If I can just get out of here without them seeing me…
Then, I can just pretend like this never happened. I’ve heard variations of this for far too long now. From Ronnie’s ma, Calcedonio, Ria, and so many others. And I want to cover my ears and block these women out. Because I just need to get away from their cruel words.
My hand touches the door.
I push it open, wincing at the piercing creak from the hinges.
And I freeze .
But they take no notice. “Maybe she’s good in bed after learning some tricks from her hooker mom,” Myra says. “I mean, she must be up for gang bangs and water sports and all the disgusting slutty stuff like that.”
I edge open the door a little more. Just enough for me to slip through and escape…
More cackles from Janice. “Of course, she is. Apple can’t fall far from the tree, right? Emerald Fiorelli is nothing but a piece of trash who belongs in the gutter.”
And right at that moment, I let the door slam back shut.
Because I have to change the narrative.
I can’t just let people keep on talking about me like this.
I can’t let them tarnish me with what my parents have done.
And stiffening my spine, I step out from behind the shelves. “I take it you’re talking about me,” I snap. No way in hell am I going to pretend that I didn’t just hear all that.
“Huh, what…?” Janice spins around, her jaw nearly hitting the floor when she sees me.
“Emerald, I…didn’t realize you w-were in here,” Myra stammers.
“Obviously,” I retort before tilting my head to one side. “There’s something that I’m wondering...”
“Uh, what would that be?” Janice is suddenly too high.
I laser them both with an icy glare. “Do you have to try really hard to be such a pair of mean cows, or does it just come naturally to you?” Okay, calling them cows isn’t very nice of me, but it’s a heck of a lot nicer than the C-word I really want to call them.
Neither is able to utter a single word in reply.
“Honestly, what do you get out of all this backstabbing?” I ask them. “Does it make you feel bigger? Superior? More important?”
Janice bristles. “Eavesdroppers never hear good things. You shouldn’t have been creeping around and listening to us in the first place.”
“Do you think that by talking about me, the gossips won't talk about you and your personal issues? Do you realize how hurtful it is when people are nice to your face, but then you find out they’re saying nasty things about you behind your back? Especially when they call you words like fat and slut.”
“It was just a b-bit of harmless fun,” Myra stutters.
I clench and unclench my jaw. “ It's a form of bullying . Say if you had a daughter one day, and she was going through something like this at school with people calling her mom a whore and saying she was the same as her mom, how would you feel? Would you just tell her that it’s a bit of harmless fun ? Is that something you would want your own child to go through?”
Janice flushes beetroot red.
“Just stop,” I grit out. “Be better people. Stop trying to drag others down in an attempt to lift yourselves up. Do you think by joining in the gossip that others will like you more? Because let me tell you, if your so-called friends are happy to say things behind everyone else’s backs, they’ll probably also be talking about you. Wouldn’t you rather have real, genuine friends that you can trust and rely on?”
Myra looks like she wants the ground to swallow her whole.
“By the way, I work, so I don’t need to be a gold digger. Also, I like my curves, and so does Saint—because he always tells me that my body is absolutely perfect. When you see someone going through a tough time, that person doesn't need everyone else to pile on as well. Why do women have to do this to each other? Why can't we just be kind to one another? That's all I'm asking. Be kind. You know the stuff you say about me isn't true, but you still say it and repeat it and perpetuate it. Please just stop . Please just be kind .”
And I can tell by their expressions that they feel ashamed of themselves now that I’ve called them out on their behavior and bitchiness.
I would never have had the guts to say something like this to the mean girls who used to insult me at school, and I’m proud of myself for saying something. And with that, I spin on my heel and stride back onto the casino floor.
Women like that are nothing but bullies. And as soon as they’re confronted, they become spineless cowards. They’ll never change.
But I can change.
I can start standing up for myself.
I can start taking action to make things better for myself.
And I’m really determined to do that.
* * *
When I get home later, I’m feeling good about myself after standing up to those mean girls.
Saint is working in his home office that evening, and I stop by his study to ask him something, but he’s on the phone. I back away from the door, thinking I’ll just ask him later.
But then I hear Christian’s voice over the speaker, and what he says catches my attention. “Word is that Carmine still isn’t convinced by your engagement, especially after he heard what happened at your engagement party. Do you really want to carry on with this plan, Saint?”
“Of course. It’s a sound plan, and I can still turn things around and convince people that the relationship is for real. And that will keep Emerald safe from that fucker.”
Christian exhales a heavy sigh. “Look, Saint, I hope this isn’t just you being stubborn.”
“Stubborn?”
“Yeah. You know, you wanting to prove a point. Because Alberto bet you a hundred grand that you would never lower your standards to be with someone like Emerald. You know, after he said he thought she was fat and a whore.”
My heart plummets to my stomach in a single second. And my good mood instantly deflates. Striding back toward the kitchen, I don’t listen to the rest of their conversation, fury and something else simmering inside me.
I’m never going to get away from my family’s reputation. And I don’t know what stings more—being called fat or being called a whore. Okay, so I’m not a freaking size six, but so the hell what? Why does beauty have to be judged by your goddamn dress size all the time? I’m not about to start apologizing for my figure—that’s never going to happen, not in a million years.
But did Saint really make such a disgusting and insulting bet over me?
And being called a whore again after what I heard Janice and Myra say about me earlier…
It’s like the word hits a raw wound inside me that never heals.