Chapter 10 #2
Not the wheelchair. That surprised me, yes. But I've moved past it. The wheelchair doesn't make him less dangerous. If anything, it makes him more so. A man who commands this much fear while sitting down? That's not weakness. That's power.
No, what I didn't prepare for was the way he looked at me.
Like I was something he wanted to devour.
Like I was something he wanted to worship.
I press my forehead against my knees. Breathe. In and out. In and out.
The thing is, I can't read him.
I've always been good at reading people.
But Bruno?
Bruno gives me nothing.
His face is a wall. His eyes are shuttered. Every movement is controlled, revealing nothing he doesn't want revealed.
Even tonight, when he stared at me like that, his expression never changed. His jaw stayed locked. His hands stayed still on those armrests.
Only his eyes moved.
Only his eyes burned.
And I have no idea what it means.
Stay out of his way, everyone said.
But I can't stay out of his way. I'm his wife. We live in the same house. Tomorrow night, we have to stand together in front of his family's friends and business associates and pretend we're a real couple.
How am I supposed to pretend with a man I can't read?
How am I supposed to play the dutiful wife when I don't know the rules of his game?
I push myself up from the floor. My legs are unsteady. The dress weighs a thousand pounds.
I need to get out of this thing.
The zipper is stuck halfway down my back. I reach behind me, twisting, pulling. My fingers slip on the metal.
"Come on," I mutter. "Come on, come on—"
It gives.
The dress slides off my hips and pools at my feet. I step out of it. Kick it aside. Stand in the middle of the room in nothing but my underwear.
The mirror on the closet door catches my reflection.
I look... small.
Small and completely out of my depth.
The bed could fit six people. The closet is already filled with clothes I didn't choose.
Everything here belongs to the Sartoris.
Including me.
The room is too quiet.
I hate quiet.
Quiet means thinking. Thinking means remembering. Remembering means feeling all the things I want to push down.
My throat tightens.
I won't cry.
I never cry. Not anymore. Not since Mama died and I had to be strong for Gianna. Not since Papa started gambling and I had to be strong for everyone. Tears don't fix anything.
So I don't cry.
But loneliness?
Loneliness is different.
I can fight fear. I can swallow anger. I can bury grief so deep it almost disappears.
But loneliness creeps in through the cracks. It finds me in the silence. In the spaces between breaths. In rooms that are too big and too empty and too far from everyone I love.
Oliver texted me three times during the drive here.
You okay?
Text me when you get there.
I'm here if you need me.
I haven't responded yet. I don't know what to say. I'm fine would be a lie. I'm scared would worry him. I don't know what I'm doing would be the truth, but the truth feels too heavy to type.
The bed looks soft. Inviting. But I know if I lie down, the thoughts will come. They always do. In the dark, in the silence, when there's nothing to distract me.
You're alone.
You're trapped.
No one is coming to save you.
I shake my head. Move away from the window. Pace the length of the room.
Giulia mentioned breakfast.
"We take breakfast at nine these days," she said when she showed me to my room. Her voice was warm. Kind. She reminded me of Rosa, our housekeeper back home. "You should join us. The family eats together when they can."
The family.
I'm part of the family now.
The thought feels wrong. Like wearing someone else's clothes. Like speaking someone else's language. I don't belong here. I don't know these people. I don't know their rhythms, their rules, their secrets.
But Giulia invited me.
And sitting alone in this room, drowning in silence, sounds worse than facing a table full of strangers.
I grab my phone. Scroll through my contacts. Gianna. Claudio. Oliver. Papa.
My thumb hovers over Gianna's name.
She's probably asleep. I shouldn't wake her. She has class tomorrow. She needs rest.
But I need—
I need to hear a familiar voice.
I press call before I can talk myself out of it.
It rings once. Twice. Three times.
"Nella?" Gianna's voice is thick with sleep. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." The lie comes automatically. "I just wanted to hear your voice."
Silence. Then. "It's after midnight."
"I know. I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."
"No, wait." I hear rustling. She's sitting up. "How is it? The house? The people?"
"Big. Quiet. Everyone's been... polite."
"Polite?" She laughs softly. "That's not exactly reassuring."
"It's fine, Gi. Really."
More silence. I can picture her face. The worry in her eyes. The way she chews her bottom lip when she's thinking.
"What about him?" she asks finally. "Your... husband?"
The word sounds strange coming from her mouth. Strange and wrong and too real.
"He's..." I search for the right word. "Complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"Just complicated," I say. "I'm still figuring him out."
"Nella." Her voice drops. Serious now. "If he hurts you—"
"He won't."
"You don't know that."
"I know I can handle myself."
She's quiet for a long moment. When she speaks again, her voice is small. Young. The voice of the little sister I've been protecting since she was born.
"I miss you already."
My chest aches.
"I miss you too, Gi."
"Come home soon? For a visit?"
"I'll try."
"Promise?"
I close my eyes. "I promise."
We talk for another twenty minutes. About nothing. About everything. She tells me about a boy in her economics class who keeps asking her to study with him. I tell her to focus on her grades. She laughs. I laugh too, and for a moment, just a moment, I forget where I am.
But then she yawns.
"Go to sleep," I tell her. "I'll call you tomorrow."
"Okay." Another yawn. "Love you, Nella."
"Love you too."
The line goes dead.
The silence rushes back.