Chapter 6 #2
I step out of my dress and relieve myself of everything else as I enter the bathroom.
The water is hot, scented with lavender and something citrusy.
I slide into it with a sigh. This is exactly how I like it.
Heat that sinks into bone. Bubbles that rise just high enough. Silence that doesn’t pressure.
I busy myself with scrubbing, rinsing, and soaking. I try not to think about what comes next. But my mind goes there anyway. Our wedding night.
He'd said he wanted me. That he’d wait. But why? Why would someone like him want someone like me? When he could have women who speak, who hear, who know how to move through the world without stumbling over it.
I didn’t believe him at first. But that kiss… that kiss has made me start to wonder.
Maybe he has a defect kink. Maybe it’s my silence that draws him. Or my inexperience, my innocence that appeals to him. Perhaps he likes the power of it.
I close my eyes and throw my head back. Suddenly, I’m imagining him here.
His hands on me, his mouth following the path of water over my skin.
I imagine him lathering soap across my breasts, down my thighs, his hands slow and deliberate as they slither across my skin.
I imagine him pulling me into his lap. Heat licks at my skin.
My breath hitches. I clench my legs together. I shake my head to clear the vivid imagery. No. I won’t do this. I won't think about what comes next.
I finish my bath and step out, toweling off quickly. I choose something plain to wear. Soft cotton. High neckline. Nothing that says take me. If he takes one look at how I'm modestly dressed, maybe he’ll change his mind.
I lie face up on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I think of my father. I’m glad he didn’t come. He would have glared at me the whole time anyway. He doesn’t deserve the right to give me away. He was never my father in the true sense of the word.
I think of my mother. She would’ve made today something beautiful.
She died trying to give me a sibling. My father had insisted that she give him a child who is not broken.
I was ten. God, I miss her every day. If she were alive, my life wouldn't be this much hell.
But at least now, there's something new to look forward to.
I yawn again. Dio, I'm unbelievably tired. The ache in my limbs has finally come to lay claim. I don't resist as I let sleep take me.
Something rouses me. I wake, disoriented. I don’t know how much time has passed. It's dark. A lamp is lit somewhere. Have I slept through the whole afternoon?
A shadow flickers over me and I turn, startled. It's Giovanni. He's here, standing over me, staring at me with an unreadable expression. My eyes clear of sleep. Is he here to collect?
He looks fresh. Clean. Changed. He’s in a simple dark shirt and low-slung trousers.
His shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled, and I catch a glimpse of…
is that a tattoo? I lift my eyes to his.
His hair is damp. His masculine scent clogs my nostrils.
He looks deliciously like the kind of sin you want to dabble in.
He says something. I see his mouth move, but I don't hear him. My hearing aid isn't on. Did he say, “It's me?”
I blink up at him. He must have seen my confusion because he looks at my ear and realization crosses his features. He signs, It’s just me.
I nod. My body tingles with sudden awareness. Damn, he’s beautiful.
My throat tightens. Surely he’s here to claim his wedding night. I shift a little.
Sorry I woke you, he signs.
I don’t reply. I brace myself. If he's here to collect, he should get it done and over with.
But he doesn’t move. He signs again. I came to check on you. To get you for dinner.
I stare at him. What?
Are you hungry?
I shake my head. No.
His brows draw together. It tells me he doesn't like that. He signs again. I’ll have Maria bring dinner up. You need to eat.
Then he leans down. This is it. I tense.
He kisses my forehead, then ruffles my hair.
Goodnight, cara, he signs.
Goodnight, I sign back, stunned.
He leaves, and he takes all the heat with him. I sink back into bed as cold seeps into my body. There's only so much shock a body can take in a day.
I thought he said he wanted me. Doesn’t he anymore? Has he suddenly changed his mind? Maybe he regrets this already. Maybe he's blaming himself for making this catastrophic mistake.
I hate that I feel disappointed. I hate the sadness curling in my chest, squeezing my lungs.
I wasn’t hungry before, but if I'd been, my appetite is well and truly ruined, thanks to my husband.
I sigh as I bury my face in the pillow. This is going to be one hell of a marriage.
Maria hovers like a nervous bird while I pull the dress over my shoulders.
She’d wanted to help me dress, fuss over my hair and face, but I told her no.
I can do it myself. It’s not unkindness.
I’m not used to people fussing over me. Besides, I simply need to feel like I have a little control over something.
Last night, I slept peacefully for the first time in what feels like years. No footsteps outside my door. No shouts. No phantom fears dragging me from sleep. Just me, in a bed that smells distinctly like Giovanni.
I woke this morning disoriented, not knowing where I was. But then my gaze found the soft curtains, the lavender on the windowsill, the gentle swirl of a new life settling around me.
I woke up as Liliana Renzetti.
Maria had come earlier, signing carefully, that Giovanni expected me for breakfast. His mother is around.
That makes my stomach knot. Maybe because I imagined her as cold and hard, disapproving.
Maybe because I wish Giovanni had come to tell me himself.
Or because a part of me is still curled up inside over the way he’d kissed my forehead and walked away like it cost him nothing. I try not to let it fester.
I slip into the dress that Maria left for me.
It’s soft cream with delicate lace at the sleeves, modest and elegant, cinched just enough at the waist to flatter.
It’s the kind of dress a woman wears when she wants to look effortless but composed.
Giovanni’s choice, apparently. My hair is loose around my shoulders, framing my face.
The fabric catches the morning light pouring through the window, and for a moment, I almost don’t recognize the woman in the mirror.
I never thought I was much to look at. But something has shifted. There’s something softer in my eyes, a lightness in my features. I look... luminous. As if I’ve somehow bloomed overnight, but that can't be possible. Maybe it’s the peace. Or the freedom. Or him.
Maria catches my eye in the mirror. She signs, You’re beautiful.
My throat tightens. I sign back, Thank you.
I finish dressing and open the door to step into the hallway. I stop in my tracks. Giovanni is already there, waiting.
He's dressed in a black shirt that hugs his shoulders, the first two buttons left undone. Slate-grey slacks. No tie. So simple, yet so refined. His hair is slicked back.
My breath stumbles as I take him in. The clean, shaved line of his jaw. The dark shine of his hair. The quiet heat in his eyes when he sees me.
“Good morning,” he says, close to my ear. Then he leans in and brushes a feather-light kiss against my cheek.
My heart stutters.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes lingering.