Chapter 10 Beatrice
BEATRICE
The door clicks shut behind me, and I press my back into the hard wood. I tilt my head up and allow the last remaining tears to fall from my eyes. My purse falls to the floor, and I nearly go down with it, the weight in my chest too much to carry.
I had been holding all of this in the entire ride back home. The car had been filled with nothing but tension.
“Damn you, Giacomo.”
The man he was today; he’s nothing like the wounded boy I saw that day.
Silence swells like a wave, thick and cold as I breathe heavily, trying to control my heart. I don’t even bother to turn on the lights. The apartment glows faintly in the dark, city lights leaking in through the glass—fractured and hazy, much like the way I’m holding myself together.
The zipper of my gown bites into my spine with every breath, but I don’t move to change. My heels are still on, and my feet ache from the hours I’ve been in them. My earrings dangle from my ears and tap against my heated skin.
From the moment I put this outfit on, I didn’t feel like me. I felt like I was cosplaying someone else. His bride, his woman, the perfect doll that stood at his side obediently—until I didn’t.
I look down at my shaking hands. I ball them into fists, trying to steady myself, but they continue to tremble.
Never in my life has a man ever disrespected me the way Giacomo has. His condescending nature and the way he views me more like a trophy than an actual human being.
“Calm down, Bea. Calm down.” I try to soothe myself, but nothing seems to be working. I feel the toxic concoction of anger and grief mixing in the center of my chest. I’d never tolerate this… if it weren’t for my mother.
I walk into the kitchen, my heels clicking against the mahogany floors.
I stop at the fridge and pull out a bottle of wine.
My fingers tremble as I pour a glass. The bottle clinks too loudly against the marble countertop—so loud it makes me jump when I set it down.
I chug the first sip like it’s water. Then the second. Then the rest.
It burns as I swallow. But I relish it. I pour myself some more and do the same with my second glass. I don’t know what I’m searching for at the bottom of this liquor. Amnesia? Comfort? Reprieve?
All I know is that I don’t want to feel the chaos currently roaring inside me.
I sit on the high chair and barely manage to settle myself. I pour my third glass, but this time I don’t down it. I pause.
‘If anything like this happens again—anything at all—I want you to call me immediately…I’ll come for you.’
His voice echoes in my head.
I rub a tired hand over my face, likely smudging more of my makeup. But I don’t care. I have no one to perform for in here. I am all alone. I can break if I want to, cry if I need to. But right now, I feel like throwing things against the wall and cursing the heavens for making this my fate.
Funny, isn’t it? I’m surrounded by everything I once thought I wanted—designer clothes, money, the glamorous future he painted for me… even the fashion job he once promised. And yet, I have never felt more confined, trapped, and sad.
Through all this misery, there have only been small pockets of light. And most of those pockets of light… all have him in them.
I place my elbows on the marble and put my head in my hands. “Matteo.”
I speak his name into the stillness, as if I’m afraid he might appear out of the blue.
No matter how hard I try, he is a constant in the back of my mind. He is like a warm blanket on a cold winter day, shielding me from the harsh cold.
I think of the way his hands fit around my waist like they belonged there. The way his voice stayed steady when everything else was breaking. The way he looked at me like I wasn’t something to be owned but rather admired.
Like I wasn’t weak or small or… broken.
He made me feel like… like I could be powerful.
I lift my head and close my eyes, and the memory lifts and fades into something else.
The anger of my fiancé. His fury radiating off him in waves so hot they scorched the surface of my skin.
‘Don’t test me like that ever again.’
The words echo in my head, louder than when he first said them.
I push off the chair, my wine glass forgotten on the counter. I walk to the grand piano, where a fresh bouquet of roses rests on top. I pause when I catch a glimpse of myself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
My hair is all over the place. My lipstick is smudged, and so is my mascara. The highlight that had glittered on my cheeks has faded, and all that remains is the flicker of the perfection he tried to clothe me in.
I walk to the mirror, my steps slow and tentative, like I am approaching a stranger. My eyes stay glued to my reflection as I lift my hand and press my palm against the cool glass.
“This isn’t you, Bea.” My voice comes out so broken and riddled with pain I nearly crumble to the floor. “He is breaking you.”
The words I speak can’t be uttered around anyone. This is a secret I have to keep to myself.
“This can’t go on.” I nod to myself.
I turn from the mirror and make my way to my purse that I dropped by the door. I rummage through it until I find my phone, but as I pull it out, I also see his card.
Matteo.
I dig it out with shaking fingers and stare at the number printed clean and simple beneath his name.
Without thinking, and with tears trailing down my face, I punch his number into my phone and save it. I then go to my messages and type out three simple words—words I am scared to say out loud because doing so would solidify the truth.
‘I feel trapped.’
That’s it.
My finger hovers over the send button. My mind goes back and forth, trying to make the correct decision. I hover over it and almost press send, but then my phone buzzes with a notification.
Mama: Hey baby girl, just went on my first run today. The meds are working and I’m feeling great.
“Oh God,” I choke out, unable to hold back the flood that threatens to escape my eyes. “Mama.”
And just like that, whatever boldness I had to reach out to Matteo fades.
I can’t do it.
Her life is dependent on how I behave when it comes to Giacomo. I can’t afford to be blinded by emotions that could risk her care.
I shut my phone off and walk to my room, kicking off my heels with a clumsy clatter. I close the door behind me, my heart heavy with sadness and resignation.
I crawl into my bed and curl up under the covers, dress still on. I don’t have the strength to take anything off. I leave the lights on to keep the darkness at bay while I try to sleep the heartache away.
“It’s okay, Bea. You will get through this.” I try to ease myself, but the words do nothing to calm my heart. “You will make it.”
For a split second, I almost wish I’d taken that step and gone over the ledge.