14. Leora
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Leora
I giggle as he hurries out of the living room. He is one of those people who gets super awkward when they receive gifts. I think I almost saw him blushing now. He looked nervous. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough.
I think he’ll take it up to his bedroom and open it in private.
But I am one of those people who loves to watch people’s expressions when they open gifts. I love to see their faces and if I made the right choice.
I thought long and hard about what to get him and after a little bit of snooping in his room this morning, I found his watch collection. A very impressive selection of rare watches - and so I hunted down a very rare, limited-edition watch - from his favorite brand. I know it’s his favorite brand because more than half of the watches in his collection are that brand.
I can’t help myself.
I have to see his face when he opens it.
I hurry up the stairs, running. I press my body against the wall and peak around the doorframe.
He is sitting on his bed, taking off his shoes. The gift box is next to him on the bed.
I grin.
He’ll definitely open it now.
He slides his shoes under his bed and sits staring at the box for a moment. Then he picks it up. Standing.
“What the fuck did she do this for?” he mutters angrily. My heart sinks. Does he not like the fact that I got him a gift? Why would it upset him?
“She really doesn’t get it.” He murmurs, then walks over to his dresser and pulls the bottom drawer open, tossing the black box into the drawer - unopened. He stands up and kicks the drawer closed.
My heart is in my throat and tears and stabbing the back of my eyes. He turns around and I duck out of the doorway, out of sight.
I hear him carry on getting undressed.
Then I bolt downstairs, needing to get away because I can’t hold back the tears anymore and I don’t need him to hear me crying.
Sitting in the living room with all the lights off - the dark is bringing me a quiet, lonely comfort.
I’m thinking about everything. Everything that happened since I first kissed Mas.
Everything that I misread - misunderstood or made assumptions about.
And basically, I realize, I have made the wrong assumptions about every little moment between us.
He could not have been clearer.
He is one hundred percent not interested in me.
This marriage is for show. Nothing more. And he has zero intention of even trying to let it mean more.
We are not real husband and wife.
I fold my knees against my chest and rest my face against my knees as I cry.
I’m so na?ve. I’m so immature. I know nothing about love - and now - I’ll never ever learn about it because I am married to a man who will never love me.
I cry for over an hour. I guess I knew all along. You can be as delusional as you like, but somewhere in the back of your mind, in the bottom of your heart - you know the truth.
I could feel he wasn’t really into me.
I was just wishful.
When I can feel my eyes are too dry to cry anymore and I am too tired to keep them open, I drag myself upstairs to my bedroom.
From now on - I will stop being that annoying, pestering, delusional girl.
I will accept things for what they really are.
The sooner I embrace this the better it will be for both of us.
I lie in bed with a broken heart.
I can’t sleep.
My mind is fighting with itself. My heart is begging me not to give up.
But all that is happening is that I am getting more and more hurt over a man who doesn’t want me. I don’t deserve to feel this broken, this worthless, this rejected.
By my husband.
Just before I fall asleep, I promise myself to close my heart and rather be numb towards him that risk any more pain.
It’s for the best.
Life isn’t a fairytale. And I am not a princess.
Over the next week I do my absolute best to stay out of his way.
I spend a lot of time out of the house too. Shopping. Walking around the city garden. Visiting friends. Browsing bookshops. It doesn’t really matter. I just need to distract myself and create distance between Mas and me.
When I am home and he’s around, I try not to be in the same room as him.
Sometimes, in the morning it’s awkward as we are making coffee at the same time and it’s impossible not to exchange a few words.
But I keep my answers short and get out of his way as quickly as I can.
I don’t even think he has noticed. If he has, it’s a relief for him to not have to fake being nice. Not that he was very good at being nice. Even in a fake way. If I am brutally honest with myself, he hasn’t been nice to me once. And I was blindly going about thinking I was in love with him.
I sigh as I carry my coffee cup up to my bedroom.
I was in love with him.
But I had to turn it off. I had to block my heart and stop my feelings.
It still hurts. I can still feel it there - the hope - but I have to drown it.
Nothing good can come of being in love with Masaccio Vece.
I drink my coffee and get ready for another day where I will leave the house to get out of his way. “Is this my life now?” I say, talking to no one at all. “Is this what the rest of my life is going to be like? Married to a man who doesn’t even want to speak to me - not even comfortable in my home—lonely—” I stop talking because if I carry on, I will cry again.
This sucks.
This is the worst possible outcome I could ever have imagined when I was told I would marry Masaccio Vece.
My dream man.
I pick up my handbag, sip the last of my coffee, and head downstairs to my car.
“Where are you off to?” Masaccio’s voice comes from behind me as I reach the bottom of the staircase.
“Just out for a bit.” I say coolly.
“You’re hardly around anymore.” He walks down the stairs and stands close to me. Too close. I can smell his cologne. I can feel the heat from his skin.
It annoys me.
I want to roll my eyes. ‘ Oh, you noticed I’ve been going out a lot lately did you.’ I’m surprised.
But instead, I just nod. The less I engage with him the better. I take a small step away from him, trying not to be enticed by his scent. Or his body.
It even hurts to look at him because I still think he is the most gorgeous man alive.
No point though. There is no point to any of this.
“Will you be home for dinner?” he asks, and I can’t figure out why he’s still talking to me.
“I’m not sure.” I say, shrugging. Then before he can stretch this awkward moment out any further, I turn towards the front door again and wave my hand over my shoulder. “Bye.” I say, walking away. Now he doesn’t have to pretend to be polite and I don’t have to suffer through another moment with the man I wish I was allowed to be in love with.
“Oh - bye.” He says.
I hurry out of the front door. Biting my lower lip as I rush towards my car. He is standing at the front door watching me - why? Why is he even interested in what I’m doing?
As I pull out of the driveway, I make a point of not looking back towards him. I don’t want to know if he’s still there watching or not. Either way it will just hurt me.