Chapter 12 Chiara
Chiara
Angelo walks into the kitchen as I sit at the breakfast bar eating a bowl of Cocoa Puffs. Dominic has tried repeatedly to make me eat healthy stuff, like fruit and yogurt, but my stubbornness prevails. With much gnashing of teeth, he agreed to add my preferred cereal brands to the shopping list.
I spent too many years listening to Vivian drip poison into my ears each time I picked the unhealthy option. From the minute I hit puberty, she refused to let me eat anything other than half a grapefruit for breakfast.
The minute I escaped, I found the unhealthiest kids’ breakfast cereals known to humankind and fell in love.
Some would say I’m addicted to all the e-numbers and sugar, but those people can go jump off a cliff.
Cocoa Puffs are the best thing ever. Way tastier than dry toast or cardboard granola.
My husband stalks across the room like a panther wearing Hugo Boss.
I resolutely ignore him while slurping down the last dregs of the chocolate milk left in my bowl.
It’s another blisteringly hot day, so I’m wearing as little as possible without scaring small children.
Since the household staff ignores me, I usually wander around in bikinis.
I noticed a guard eye-fucking me the other day, but he hasn’t shown up since. Hopefully he’s on annual leave now and not lying at the bottom of the bay, stuffed into a hessian sack.
“For the sake of my staff, I’d prefer it if you wore more clothes,” Angelo remarks while pressing buttons on the coffee machine.
I still haven’t figured out how to work the damn thing. It has more buttons than the space shuttle. Dominic usually takes pity on me in the morning and makes me a cappuccino, but the rest of the time I resort to instant coffee.
“If you don’t like my bikinis, take it up with Luka. He bought them for me.” Angelo grinds his teeth but doesn’t retaliate. “Where is Luka anyway?” As much as I hate to admit it, I kind of miss him. He’s fun, and when he’s around, my days are less tedious.
This mansion may be luxurious, but it’s still a prison.
“Sleeping off his hangover, I expect. He went to a music festival.”
The bitter taste of jealousy floods my mouth. God, I’m stupid. Luka probably sees me as a pity project. An opportunity to piss off his older brother. The minute he gets a better offer, he leaves.
If I’d had a phone, I could have checked his socials and figured out where he was, but since my husband insists on treating me like a five-year-old, I’m not allowed internet access.
“Sounds fun.” I pick up my empty bowl and sashay over to the dishwasher, making sure to bend over so Angelo can admire my peachy ass. The ass he’ll never, ever have.
“I’m sure he enjoyed himself,” Angelo agrees. “He usually goes to these things with a bunch of models and influencers.”
I resist the urge to slam the dishwasher shut before standing and gifting Angelo a beatific smile. His gaze slides down over my tits briefly before he looks away, jaw clenched. A small smirk escapes.
The pink bikini I’m wearing is a little on the small side. Dental floss offers more coverage, if I’m honest. Pretty sure Luka bought it from a stripper store.
“I’m glad he’s having fun. God knows one of us should enjoy themselves.”
Do I sound bitter?
Probably.
I pick up my drink and prepare to head outside for another long, taxing day of sunbathing. I found some trashy paperback novels in the living room, presumably left by Fina, and I’m halfway through one about a poor woman being forced to marry an arrogant duke.
A case of fiction imitating life. I’m taking notes in case the heroine finds a creative way to off the asshole duke because, so far, it’s fair to say he deserves it.
“Don’t get too comfortable, Chiara. We have an appointment this afternoon.” I freeze.
“Appointment?”
“Yes. At the fertility clinic.”
My blood runs cold.
The way the redhead sitting behind the reception desk blatantly eye-fucks my husband makes me want to rip her fake nails off. Her attitude is utterly unprofessional, and if I had a phone, I’d leave a one-star review.
Slutty staff, would not recommend.
“Please take a seat, Mr. Di Rossi. Doctor Hammond will be ready for you shortly. Can I get you anything to drink?”
Alison, according to her name tag, flutters her eyelashes at Angelo while pouting prettily. He ignores her shameless behavior and shakes his head.
“No.” When he steps away from the desk to check his phone, I give her a huge fake smile.
“Go suck a lemon, sweetheart. He’ll never be yours.” The redhead blinks in surprise, taken aback by the venom in my voice.
He isn’t mine either, but she doesn’t know that.
Angelo grins when I follow him to the cream sofas by the floor-to-ceiling windows. The low coffee table has a stack of leaflets featuring cute babies. It makes me want to vomit.
“Jealous, darling?”
“No. Just reinforcing the story you and Fina put out there that I’m mentally unhinged.”
His jaw clenches. I guess he didn’t know I’m aware of the bullshit the Di Rossi’s spun after I did a runner.
“Threatening the receptionist certainly feeds into that narrative,” he agrees before picking up a magazine and flicking through the pages.
“Mr. And Mrs. Di Rossi?” A woman in a mint-green uniform appears from a side door.
Angelo stands. “Come, darling.” He takes my hand, ignoring my scowl at the intimate gesture, and drags me across the reception area.
I’m herded like a cow into a luxurious consultation room complete with posters of smiling mothers and babies. The doctor greets us with a warm smile. Probably because Angelo is paying him a fortune.
“I’ve read your notes, Mrs. Di Rossi,” he says after a few moments. “And I see no reason why you can’t conceive naturally given some time.”
Angelo squeezes my hand hard, and I fight back a sharp retort.
“My wife has a few issues around intimate matters,” Angelo explains with a straight face. “We would like to discuss assisted conception.”
The doctor chokes at the revelation my husband is suggesting I’m unable or unwilling to have sex. The poor man’s probably confused about why Angelo hasn’t just divorced me if he’s so desperate for a baby.
A few moments pass while the doctor considers his response. Angelo grips my hand in case I try running away if he lets go. If there weren’t two guards posted outside and likely others at the various entrances to this exclusive clinic, I would definitely attempt to escape. But I’m not an idiot.
I’ll wait for the right opportunity to come along.
Angelo can’t keep me confined to the mansion forever. People will expect me to show up at public functions now that the psychiatric facility where I allegedly spent the last twelve months has discharged me.
I smirk to myself at the thought of playing the mad wife let loose.
“There are several options if you, um, don’t wish to try conceiving a baby the natural way, Mr. Di Rossi.
We can try intrauterine insemination or in vitro fertilization.
Intrauterine insemination is the simplest method.
Your sperm would be placed in your wife’s uterus for nature to take its course.
IVF would require eggs to be harvested from your wife and fertilized in a laboratory before—”
“No.” I cut off the doctor, unable to listen to further talk of egg harvesting. “Nobody is harvesting anything from me. I am not a lab rat.”
“Mrs. Di Rossi, I can assure you the procedure is perfectly safe.”
The man’s patronizing tone makes me want to snatch the gold fountain pen resting on his desk blotter and stab him in the eye.
“I don’t give a fuck whether it’s safe! Nobody is stealing anything from my body. Are we clear?”
The doctor’s gaze flicks from me to Angelo. Beads of sweat appear on his brow. He takes a tissue from the box on his desk and quickly mops it away. Then he attempts a smile, which comes across as more of a death rictus.
“Um, well, that’s something you can discuss with Mr. Di Rossi at home? Another option is to hire a surrogate, but that would also require egg harvesting, unless you opt to use a donor egg, of course.”
“If my husband wishes to use a surrogate and donor eggs, I have no problem with that.” I smile so wide my teeth are probably visible from the moon, knowing full well he won’t want that. He’s already told me it’s not an option.
“Thank you for your input, Doctor Hammond. I can see that my wife and I need to sit down and chat about our options.”
The doctor makes polite noises and presses a button to call the nurse to show us out. I snatch a boiled sweet from a glass dish on a side table and pop it in my mouth. It tastes of mint, which helps settle my stomach.
Angelo is silent until we’re safely back in the car with the privacy screen raised. The tension between us is palpable, but I am unrepentant. I told him I wasn’t interested in being a broodmare. Unless he rapes me, it’s not fucking happening.
And if he wants to try raping me, he better be prepared for me to fight back.
Memories of the trucker who tried to rape me flash through my mind, and my stomach revolts in earnest. Bile surges up my esophagus, and I swallow hard, but it’s no use. I’m going to hurl all over my shoes any second now.
“Can we stop the car, please?” I beg as Angelo opens his mouth to speak, or more likely, yell at me.
“For fuck’s sake, Chiara, I’m not letting you out of the car so you can run off,” he snaps.
Sweat prickles down my back. My face goes numb. I grip the seat and focus on not throwing up. The idea of puking all over Angelo’s Italian leather brogues is mildly amusing, but it would be his poor staff that had to clean the car, not him.
“If you don’t stop the car, I’ll throw up in your lap,” I grit out through fresh bile.
A vision of the trucker’s hand groping me hits hard and fast.
If I hadn’t been carrying a knife back then, he would have raped me.
Thank fuck he’d stopped for fuel before he got handsy with me, or I’d have been in dire straits. Fortunately, I escaped his cab after stabbing him and found a female trucker willing to offer me a lift. She’d literally saved my life that night.
“For fuck’s sake,” Angelo snarls, oblivious to my mental meltdown. He presses a button to lower the privacy screen and instructs his driver to pull over. The minute the car stops, I dive out and empty the contents of my stomach in the ditch.
A cool hand lifts my hair from the nape of my neck while I retch some more. When I’m done, Angelo gently pulls me to my feet and passes me a bottle of water. I crack the seal and swallow a mouthful before spitting it back out.
One minuscule measure of kindness does not erase all the fucked-up things his family has done, but the iron cage around my heart loosens a fraction.