13. Marco
Marco
Dodging fat raindrops, I hop back into my double-parked car and peel off toward the George Washington Bridge. I need to get the fuck out of here and try to figure out what happened between Bianca and me. Luckily, the hour-long drive upstate will grant me ample time.
What the hell am I even doing anymore? Just when I think I understand what makes her tick, she throws me a curveball. Now that I’ve glimpsed the vulnerability she hides beneath her armor, I can’t stop thinking about it.
She’s driving me crazy. This thing between us is getting messy and complicated, and I don’t do messy or complicated. I like things simple and as low-stakes as possible. The smart choice would be to nip these feelings in the bud and return to familiar ground.
After all, I agreed to let her off the hook with Aldo, but she can’t go unpunished after what she did to Zo.
Every action deserves an equal reaction.
Bianca revealed Livia as her weak spot, and since she stumbled onto mine by dragging Zo into our game, it’s only fair that I bite back.
I told her not to give me a difficult time.
To be a good wife. Those were the rules.
But since she insists on breaking them, I’m happy to return the favor.
A text from Luca confirms that Zo is alive and relatively unharmed, so I task the two of them with keeping an eye on Bianca while I’m away. I very much doubt my wife will miss my company for these next few days.
By the time I pull into the gravel driveway of Bear Mountain’s most luxurious cabin, the rain has stopped.
Gen stands on the porch in some kind of loose, cozy-looking matching sweater set, waving me in. Her family has owned this cabin for generations, and we used to sneak up here almost every weekend when we dated.
I come to get away from the city, sometimes with Gen but often without, and being greeted by the arched ceilings and massive picture windows never gets old.
I climb the steps and peck her on the cheek. “Thanks for letting me up, G.”
Her red hair is twisted into a messy bun, and the contrast to my wife’s slicked-back style jars me.
Of course, Genevieve is Bianca’s opposite in almost every way.
She’s a highly social nepo baby with a fat trust fund and too much time on her hands.
But she’s a fun time and if I’d ever planned to marry anyone prior to Bianca, it might have even been her.
I ended the relationship before it could get serious, though.
Still, we remain on good terms and often meet up for lunch or the occasional fuck when neither of us is seeing anyone else.
She hums and pushes open the screen door. “Still dealing with the fallout of your Cosmo spread?” Her easygoing lilt is completely unlike Bianca’s. “Or just needed some freedom from the old ball and chain?”
I clear my throat as she saunters over to the wet bar to pour us old fashioneds. “A little of both, I guess?”
She laughs, popping one maraschino cherry into my glass and four into hers. “Figured. Come on.” She holds up the drinks. “Sit down and tell me all about it.”
I sigh and drop onto the giant sectional in the middle of the room to start spilling my guts, an endeavor I’m finding oddly therapeutic.
Gen listens with a healthy dose of eye-rolling and a fair sprinkling of, “all men are fucking idiots,” to which I generally agree, and we spend the next few days playing catch-up while I simultaneously dodge my responsibilities and try to forget my marital problems.
I entertain the idea of a romp in the sheets with Gen for old-time’s sake, but just like with the woman from Bounce, the idea makes me uncharacteristically antsy.
On the fifth day, my phone buzzes with the text from Luca that I’ve been anticipating for hours.
She’s closing in.
Perfect. Right on time.
Although I’m fairly certain Bianca had a tracker installed on my car or phone shortly after she moved in, she hasn’t bothered to call and ask why I’ve holed up in the Hudson Highlands for the past few days.
But I’ve wasted too many hours stewing, and the urge to change the status quo has been eating at me.
So, being the pot-stirrer that I am, while G and I were watching Batman Begins this morning, I snapped a photo of our bare feet sticking out from under the black and plaid blanket and blasted it across my social media channels, tagging Gen’s handle.
As soon as I receive Luca’s message, I lead Gen upstairs to the main bedroom to prepare.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” She studies me and anxiously twirls a strand of red hair.
Coaxing her into this performance required some heavy persuasion, specifically my promise to secure the next unreleased Loewe bag before it even leaves the European manufacturing lines.
“I know you’re trying to get back at her for the STI thing, but this is a bit much, don’t you think? ”
“It’s fine, G. It’s just a little joke. Here, put this on. It’ll look more convincing.”
Despite my reassurance, Gen doesn’t seem the least bit swayed, but she still lets me shrug her into a satin robe I found in the closet, which covers her spaghetti strap top and high-waisted capris.
Her perfume permeates the room until all I smell is the ocean in winter. I used to enjoy the fragrance, but now my nose wrinkles at how cloying it is. These last few days were supposed to serve as a reprieve, but my mind keeps dragging me back to vanilla and plum blossoms.
Cinching the robe’s tie, my ears perk up as tires churn up the gravel outside. The screen door slams open downstairs as Bianca stomps through the house yelling for me, and Gen tenses.
“Come on, it’s going to be funny.”
Silently, I motion for her to get onto the bed, pausing to peel off my shirt and undo the buttons of my pants, and we assume the position. I gesture to her throat, reminding her to moan. She does so while eyeing me uncertainly, projecting her voice to ensure my wife hears.
A heavy quiet reigns below us before Bianca flies upstairs, and I bite down on my lip to keep from cackling. I have to make this convincing. “Yeah, baby, just like that. Oh, Genevieve.”
Gen widens her eyes as Bianca throws open the bedroom door next to ours, and deafening silence follows. She fidgets as we wait for my wife to appear.
A heartbeat later, Bianca launches into the room, brandishing that little nine-millimeter again, and Gen screams, tumbling off me and onto the floor. My wife’s eyes are wild as she processes my ex shivering in her robe and me on the bed in unbuttoned jeans.
Witnessing her possessive rage stirs something low in my gut.
“You bastard!”
She hurls herself at me. I barely notice Gen scamper away because I’m too busy fending off my murderous wife.
Holy shit, maybe she was serious about cutting off my dick.
Said dick stiffens, and with a growl, I capture Bianca’s wrist, disarming her and tossing her unceremoniously onto the bed beneath me. “Did you miss me, wifey?”
Her knee connects with my stomach, and my hold slackens just enough for her to wrench herself free.
“Fucking hell.” Groaning, I press my face into the duvet, angling my head so that I can glare at her with one eye. The entire thing only lasted a few seconds, but we’re both panting.
“You son of a bitch. Just couldn’t keep your dick in your pants, could you?” Still red-faced and furious, Bianca’s foot lashes out, nearly kicking me in the head. I grab her ankle, jerking her back down the length of the bed as I sit up, the blanket bunching under her.
“Well, you weren’t doing anything with it, so I didn’t think you’d mind.” I dodge the jab at my solar plexus but don’t manage to avoid the slap. If I weren’t on the receiving end of this ass kicking, her reflexes would impress me.
“You didn’t think I’d mind?” Unmistakable hurt slides across her features. She struggles to extract her leg, but my grip only tightens. “My mother cheated every chance she got before she ran off.”
Sympathy blooms in my chest. “What?”
A muscle twitches by her left eye. “If you really think I’m going to put up with the same behavior from you, no matter how much of a sham this marriage is, you’re delusional.”
Everyone knows Aldo’s wife abandoned the family, but the circumstances have always remained a mystery. Now I know why. I can’t imagine the blow to Aldo’s pride if word ever got out about his unfaithful wife.
This information also opens another fissure in Bianca’s ice fortress, so I tuck that nugget of information away for further exploration later.
I scoff and lift my head up higher. “What are you saying? Me cheating is somehow worse than, say, you knocking out my friend with a tire iron and then kidnapping him? Am I getting this right?”
Bianca’s sarcastic laughter hits harder than any blow to the face. “Everyone pretends to love you, but you don’t have real friends, Marco. Just a bunch of enablers who spend every day wishing you were someone else.”
The truth stabs deep, and I press close until our noses brush before speaking through clenched teeth. “I wish you were someone else. Anyone else.”
Her eyes blaze, her fingers tangling in my shirt collar. I can’t tell if she wants to embrace me, strangle me, or push me away. “Do you? Are redheads more your type?”
I wish I could drag my eyes from her mouth, but the plumpness of her lips as she croons unravels me. “Is that why you burst in here like a bat out of hell? So you could take her place?”
“Do you want that, husband? Do you want me to take her place?”
Bianca spreads her legs, and even that’s a challenge rather than an act of surrender.
She’s wearing another skirt set, this one a pale blue and pleated with a matching scoop-neck sweater.
Between her thighs, her signature white panties cup the rounded flesh of her pussy.
Bianca juts out her chin and regards me with unabashed confidence.
My cock pulses in time with my heartbeat, and I strive to form coherent thoughts. Is this another one of her games? Is she just trying to gain the upper hand by using her body to distract me because she thinks I’m a Neanderthal?
My stomach twists. Has anything I’ve done up to this point proved otherwise?
She cocks her head to the side, tilting her knees even farther apart to display the small, growing wet spot on the cotton between her legs. “If it keeps you from humiliating me, I’ll make sure you forget her entirely.”
I growl and snatch her by the ankles, yanking her toward me.
Fuck it.