33. When will you use the card?
MICHELA
33
After that morning, Corrado becomes a ghost in the house, leaving before I’m up and returning after I fall asleep. Most mornings, I hear him in the shower and want to join him in there but can’t summon the courage to do so, mainly because I feel like he’s avoiding me.
Corrado needs space. I bet he’s never had to share a space with a woman after he already had her under him. I wonder if he’s ever woken up with anyone. Probably hasn’t, and not because he’s never had a woman in his bed, but because most people wake later than he does and go to bed earlier.
Waking up with Corrado means waking up before dawn and falling asleep close to midnight, I bet. I don’t know how he does it, to be honest. It’s like he never tires. And his day starts right after he showers with a phone call, always to the same person, that lasts while Corrado shaves and goes through his morning routine of dressing impeccably and putting on one of his dozens of colognes.
While he speaks with the other man, it warms my heart to hear him whispering so as not to wake me. At least he’s aware I’m still around, and to be fair, that’s all that’s required of him during our fake marriage. It’s my own fault I let him eat me out, and now I wish he would make time for more.
In his own way, he does show me that he thinks about me.
Once showered, he makes me coffee and delivers it to me. When I’m awake, and he’s in my room, I pretend I’m sleeping. Other times, like on the weekends, I’m really sleeping.
You’d think I’d strike up a conversation with him or at least bid him good morning as he puts the cup on my nightstand, but I’m afraid if I did, he’d stop the ritual of watching me and taking pictures of me.
I don’t know why he keeps taking pictures of me, but his doing it also warms my heart. My heart is very stupid, seeing as how I’m falling for the man who’s avoiding me.
It’s Wednesday morning, and I’m walking the few blocks to work rather than taking my car and raging along with everyone else also driving from point A to point B in New York. Besides, I love to walk on the busy city streets with all the people around me, most of them just like me, trying to get by the best they can.
Corrado, though, he’s not like me. He’s not like most of us.
The difference between him and the rest of us is that he rules his own world while we are having to obey the rules of the world we live in.
I’m sipping the coffee he made me, thinking about my mom, who I get to video chat with this afternoon. I haven’t seen or spoken with her in over a week, and I’ve called daily for an update on her progress. Her doctor approved a ten-minute chat today. If she does well after it, we can chat longer next time and move on to visits.
My phone pings with a message, and I tuck my hand into my purse and pull it out. Taking care not to run into someone as I cross the street on a pedestrian green light, I open the message.
It’s from Corrado.
He sent me a picture of me. I’m wearing the little black dress and sleeping on my side, and I think back, trying to figure out which night this was. Then recall the night I made him dinner. The morning after he ate me out. Since then, he’s kept his distance, and I didn’t intrude on his need for space.
What has my heart doing flips and my mind returning to the memory of Corrado’s face between my legs is that, in the image, his hand is on my thigh, fingers splayed, digging into my skin the same way they dug into it while he ate me out.
There’s something violently possessive about the way Corrado touches me.
Or perhaps that’s only my wishful thinking, when I have no business thinking about the man whom I’ve agreed to separate from in a few months’ time. It could be sooner. The contract said he’d dissolve the marriage as soon as his business is concluded or at the end of the summer, whichever comes first.
I wish his business dealings would stretch to the end of the summer.
People start bumping into me. I slip left and around the corner, lean against the building, and stare at the three dots under the image. Corrado is typing a message.
I wait and wait, and when nothing comes, I slide the phone into my purse, nicking my nail on something inside there. Curious, I pull out the black card. Corrado must’ve slipped it into my purse.
My phone pings again.
I lean against a real estate sign and read:
We’re attending several functions this weekend, and the balance on your end of the card is still zero.
Good morning, Corrado.
Good morning, wife. The card?
I’ve been busy at work and home. Do you like the mini-garden in the apartment?
I’d have liked it more if you used the card to buy the plants. When will you use the card?
The man can’t be distracted.
Saturday morning.
One of the things I need you ready for is a brunch on Saturday.
Okay, I’ll go early in the morning.
That’s not enough time to pick out your wardrobe.
No, but it’s enough to pick out a few dresses and an outfit for the brunch.
I want you to buy a whole wardrobe.
I will.
When?
I’d hate working for Corrado. He asks all the right questions and allows no excuses. Thankfully, he’s not my employer, but even as a husband, he’s unyielding.
I’m walking to work, and if I keep texting, I’ll be late.
The beauty of being your own boss is that you make your own hours.
About that… My fingers flutter over the cursor, but I keep the fact I work for Evans to myself. I dislike disagreeing with Corrado, and I want our marriage agreement to work as smoothly as possible. It’s just that he wants me ready and available whenever he calls, and I want to gain experience for my work so that when we do separate, I can keep functioning.
Michela?
I really have to go now. I’ll text you later.
I start walking again, checking the time on my phone and also waiting for Corrado to reply. When he doesn’t, I return the phone to my bag, again bumping the card that’s burning a hole in my purse.
This past weekend, I thought about going out and using it, and I did, in fact, visit the local plant show, intent on using it for the plants I bought for the apartment as I want those to stay there after I leave, but when it came time to pay, I couldn’t do it. I’m not sure why, but I paid with my own money. That felt great.
What’s going to feel even better is when my first big paycheck arrives tomorrow. With the thought of my paycheck from a job I absolutely adore, I stride to work faster.
At the building’s entrance, my two bodyguards smile back as I pass, then call in my arrival with Corrado. There are two more I spot here and there sporadically. I think they might be following me, appearing whenever they want me to know they’re around.
Those four men are the same ones who faced the wall the night Corrado and I first went out. Back then, he said something about giving them to me, and now he has. I don’t mind being followed and watched by him or his. They’re always around, but never obnoxiously with me or following right behind me.
At the elevator, I recall overhearing one of the guards mentioning his son’s swimming competition. “Hey, Will, how did the swim meet go?”
Will’s eyes widen, and he pauses before answering as if unsure if he should. “We secured a spot in the finals.”
“Congratulations!”
Will dips his head, then faces away from me. His partner, Clement, snickers and elbows him. “Boss might cut your tongue out.”
I shake my head before stepping into the elevator. I want to think that Corrado wouldn’t cut out a man’s tongue for speaking with his wife, but then I recall Domenico looking at me in a way Corrado didn’t like, and Corrado asking for his eyes.
I ride the elevator to the office floor, and when it opens, Daisy’s standing there. We kicked off a great friendship, often spending all our breaks together. She’s single and living with her disabled dad. We’ve both been caregivers for our parents, and we talk a lot about that.
“How do I look?” she asks, worrying her lip.
Today, she’s wearing a pale pink shirt tucked into a bright blue skirt. Her brown hair is down, and her makeup is heavier than usual.
“Cute.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I swear. Where are you going?”
“On a lunch date.” She pulls me off to the side. “This guy kept coming in and requesting my table at the restaurant. The one I told you I work at on the weekends?”
I nod, and she continues. “He asked me out today for lunch.”
“I’m so happy for you, Daisy. See? There’s still hope for us.”
We laugh because she knows Corrado and I aren’t having sex. That’s all she knows, though. I haven’t told anyone about our arrangement.
“I’m nervous.” She worries her lip again.
“You’ll do fine. You’re an awesome person, and everyone loves you. He’ll love you too.”
“You think so?”
I nod. “For sure.”
She hugs me. “Thank you, my friend. I’m so glad you came to work here.”
“Me too. Speaking of work, I really have to go.”
“I know, right? Your husband beat you to it.”
“My husband?”
“Yeah, a hot Italian by the name of Corrado Mancini walked in this morning and tore into Evans, causing the entire building to climb up here so they could get a glimpse of them. We thought we might have to call security. Not that it would help.” She leans in conspiratorially. “Do you know what it was about?”
I gulp. “Maybe.”
“You didn’t cheat on him with Evans, did you?”
“Is Evans still alive?”
“Ah, yes, he is,” Daisy says. “Which tells me something else is going on.”
Corrado found out I work for Evans and not for myself. This is probably why he sent me the message about being my own boss. What’s worse is that he was texting me this morning from my office floor while ripping into my boss.
“You better get over there,” Daisy says. “I’d offer to help, but your husband scares the crap out of me, so I’ll stay over here praying for you.”
“Thanks, and good luck with the date.”
Daisy and I part ways, and I inhale deeply, only now noticing the clusters of people speaking covertly and eyeing me as if they know something I don’t. I recognize a few marketing managers from the company several floors below us. They’re staying for the drama. I bet Corrado already gave them a show.
As I approach my office, I pass Evans, who sits at his desk and looks up as I walk by. On a normal day, I would stop in, and we’d chat for a bit before I started working, but not today. I don’t stop by his office or so much as say good morning, because my husband is leaning against my desk, hands in his pockets, legs crossed at the ankles.
Corrado’s wearing a dark suit over a crisp white shirt paired with a red tie, and his hazel eyes look somehow darker as he glares at me. He spreads his arms, and I walk into his embrace, throwing my arms around his neck. Damn it, his hard body makes me weak at the knees. I haven’t seen him in weeks, and I missed him.
He smells wonderful, strong and spicy, and after I inhale, I run my fingers through his hair and hug him tighter. He’s warm and hard, and aggression rolls off him in waves.
I can’t get enough of that combination. I suck it up like a sponge, not caring if he’s mad at me or not. I’ll take any affection he gives me, and that’s terrifying and bad for the health of my heart.
“Corrado,” I say before he has a chance to say anything. “I can explain.”
“And you will, but first, you will sign a letter of resignation and hand it over to Evans.”
“Corrado, please.”
The arms around me tighten, and Corrado brushes his cheek against mine. At my ear, he says, “If there is no resignation, I’ll order him to open the window and jump. Evans and I were stationed together, shared barracks and lunches, and once, we drank our own fucking piss just so we could survive the night. Don’t make me give that order.”
He loosens his grip on me, and I cup his face. “Okay, but this job was part of our agreement,” I whisper so nobody hears, because I’m sure people are listening to every word we’re saying. An unfolding office drama is always a hit show.
“My original plan for you to work here as an independent contractor stands. Is that clear?”
“Clear.”
“Thank you. In the future, changing things without my approval will result in a punishment. Never yours. Always whoever you deal with, so take care how you execute my orders.”
I bristle at his harsh tone. Like I said before, I would hate working for Corrado. “I’m not your soldier.”
“You’re not, but most of the people you’ll deal with are.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I mean what I said. They’re mine, and they’ll do what I say.”
I sigh. “Okay.”
“Thank you.” He checks his watch. “Will you cook this evening?”
Cooking helps me unwind from the day, and it’s unsatisfying for me to cook only for myself, so I make enough for at least four people. In the morning, I find the empty dishes and rarely any leftovers. Corrado likes my cooking. I like that he likes it.
“I’m trying a new lasagna receipt. No ricotta cheese in this one.”
He pecks my cheek. “Looking forward to it.” With that, he leaves.