Chapter 11 #2
After a quick walk with him and Julian, I feed Beppe and make a sandwich, sending Eros a meme while I eat.
Ten minutes later, he still hasn’t responded, which is a familiar pattern this time of day.
It reminds me of the picture he sent me before, of him lying in bed in the middle of the afternoon.
It makes me wonder if he’s sleeping during these stretches of silence.
If that’s the case, his schedule runs even later than mine, which isn’t common.
In fact, there’s only one other person I know who stays up all night.
A panicky feeling settles over me as I consider it, but I quickly snap myself out of it. There’s no way he could be Eros. He doesn’t even like me.
Pushing that thought from my mind, I grab a throw blanket and settle in on the lounge with Beppe. I catch up on the group chat with the girls and buy the book they’re raving about.
I’m just getting into the story when I receive a text that triggers a familiar wave of nausea.
Riccardo: I forgot to mention we’ve got an investors’ dinner tonight. I’ll need you at 6:30.
I stare at the phone, confused and annoyed.
Up until now, Riccardo and I have only had meetings with our families present.
The idea of being alone with him unsettles me, let alone at a dinner I’m not prepared for.
That only leaves me an hour to get ready, and the last-minute plans spark a familiar sense of dread.
I haven’t had time to prepare for a social gathering—particularly with a bunch of men like Riccardo. What am I even supposed to say to them?
I don’t want to go. But, as usual, I’m torn between two realities.
The people pleaser in me insists keeping the peace is the safest option. It’s the part of me that’s been trained to prioritize everyone else’s comfort, even though they don’t care about mine. If they did, they wouldn’t force me into this arrangement in the first place.
The unfiltered part of me resents them for the things I’ve never had the courage to say out loud. Every time I cave, I feel like I’m slowly suffocating.
Riccardo doesn’t know a single one of my interests, and if he did, I’m sure he’d tell me they weren’t acceptable.
He couldn’t even grasp that design isn’t just a hobby, but something I want to do for real.
He has no idea about my love for animals, and I’m fairly certain he hasn’t even realized I’m a vegetarian.
If he saw how sensitive I am or how deeply I feel, he’d call me weak.
In his eyes, I’m little more than an extension of him—someone he can parade around as proof that at least one woman has to let him touch her. He doesn’t see me as a person.
On that note, neither does my own family. I’m either a burden or a pawn, and I’m so tired of swallowing my anger to make myself more palatable. In the moment, I can’t help but think of all the things Romeo wrote in my journal that hit too close to home.
Are you waiting for permission? Fine, I’ll give it to you.
It’s not your job to make other people feel comfortable.
Ever considered telling them to fuck off?
No is a complete sentence, Gabi.
For one blissful moment, I dream of sending Riccardo a text like that.
No. Fuck off.
It would be the best feeling in the world if there weren’t real consequences, and conflict didn’t make me physically ill. But if I don’t take a stand, this is what the rest of my life will be like.
I’ll be ordered about, my identity stripped down to nothing more than Riccardo’s wife. For once, that reality feels more terrifying than the idea of upsetting him.
So, with more bravery than I usually possess, I make an attempt, knowing deep down it probably won’t get me anywhere.
I type out the text and send it before I can overthink it.
I’m working on my senior collection this weekend. I’d prefer to stay home if that’s okay.
To my horror, my phone rings a moment later, and his name flashes across the screen. I gulp in air, slightly paralyzed as I consider ignoring it. But I know he’ll definitely have a problem with that. So I answer reluctantly.
“Hello?”
“Gabi.” He greets me in a clipped tone. “You know, when I agreed to marry you, I told Michael it was a good idea for you to finish school. But if it’s getting in the way of our future—”
“It’s not,” I say quickly, panic sinking in.
There’s no doubt that’s a threat, and I don’t have to question whether Michael would allow him to pull the plug on my senior year. He can’t get rid of me fast enough.
“You’re going to be my wife,” Riccardo grits out. “That’s your priority. All you have to do is show up and look pretty. It’s really not that hard. My investors want to meet you, so this is nonnegotiable.”
I close my eyes, fighting the pressure behind them. “Okay.”
“Put on that black dress you wore at Angelo’s birthday party. I want you to look hot but not trashy. Take a picture and send it to me before you leave so I can see your hair and makeup.”
I shudder at the thought of him having a photo of me on his phone, not to mention him leading me around like a show pony in that dress. But he knows exactly what he’s doing by leveraging my final year of college. I don’t have a choice.
“Alright.”
“The event is in the IVI banquet room at 6:30. Leave your dog at home, and don’t be late.”
I force a sound of agreement, and he hangs up without a goodbye.
Beppe tries to comfort me while I spend the next few minutes dissociating. I don’t want to leave him behind, but Riccardo has me in a chokehold.
With what little time I have left, I force myself into action and follow his instructions.
The black organza babydoll dress he commanded me to wear hits mid-thigh, and it’s not something I would have chosen for an investors' dinner. It’s my go-to party dress, but tonight it feels more like funeral attire.
I pair it with the same black satin platform heels that I always do because I’m short on time, and then I touch up my makeup. After a few dabs of setting powder and a quick hair check, I snap a picture and glare at the screen as I send it to Riccardo.
In contrast to the photos I send Eros, this one makes me feel gross and cheap. I can’t imagine what it will be like when I actually have to let him touch me. The thought turns my stomach.
Riccardo: Try again. Send me one with a smile this time.
My grip on the phone tightens as I stare at his directive.
I always suspected Riccardo would be domineering in the worst way, and now he’s starting to show me his true colors.
I don’t want to comply, but again, I think of school as I plaster on a fake smile and send him the updated picture.
Riccardo: Much better. You’d do well to remember that I’m investing in you, Gabi. I expect a return.
It’s tempting to send him back a barf emoji, but I choose self-preservation instead.
Gabi: See you in a little bit.
When I lead Beppe down the hall, I find Julian cleaning up his dinner dishes in the kitchen. He takes a look at me and frowns.
“Going somewhere, Miss Bianchi?”
“Riccardo has requested my presence at the IVI banquet room,” I answer solemnly. “I have to be there at six-thirty, and he said I can’t bring Beppe, so I’ll have to take him out first.”
Julian’s jaw tightens as he nods. “Get his bag. I’ll keep him with me during the event.”
The pressure around my ribs loosens a fraction. “Are you sure? Riccardo might get angry.”
“Fortunately for me, I don’t answer to Riccardo.”
Relief hits me hard as I lean down and stroke Beppe’s fur. Just having him close will make me feel better. He’ll calm my nerves on the car ride and give me the courage to do what I have to tonight.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Julian.
I return to my room and grab Beppe’s tote bag, and as I’m walking back down the hall, I hear Julian speaking quietly to someone on the phone. But by the time I reach him, he’s already ended the call.
“Ready to go?” He joins me at the elevator.
I blow out a breath. “As much as I can be.”