26. Caelia
There’ssomething off with my dear husband tonight, but I can’t quite figure him out. I don’t like that I know this. Being able to tell that something’s off means that I spent way too much time around him, studying his every expression, tracing every inch of his skin, knowing him, and memorizing him. His jaw twitches so subtly that I would miss it if I weren’t already looking. He takes sharp, quick breaths like he’s in pain. His knuckles have turned white. Whatever is bothering him, he’s trying to distract himself by asking me to dance. I know better than to ask him about it, so I keep quiet.
The ball is in full swing, and people enjoy the music and food. Our eyes lock, and our bodies are drawn together by an invisible force that neither of us seems capable of fighting. My hand is clasped in his, and I worry it will become clammy. My other hand rests on his arm as we move together perfectly. Contrary to what I made him believe, I’m not a terrible dancer. I hate how easily we get lost in each other; our movements are fluid and effortless as he twirls me across the dance floor. I keep my eyes fixed on his, not wanting to break the connection, my dress trailing behind me as we spin.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Mattia smirks, raising an eyebrow.
“Like what?”
“Like you hate me less.”
I swallow, trying to think of a witty retort, but my mind goes blank. The misfortune happens so slowly that I don’t even realize it at first. But as I think about this question, I feel a warmth radiating from within me. My body melts into his as if we were made for each other. He holds me close like he doesn’t want the dance ever to end. And I feel safe in his arms tonight. Regardless of what happened between us in the past, I can trust him tonight. His hand caresses my back lazily, the smirk never leaving his face. And I don’t feel the need to wipe it away, either. At this moment, he feels more like himself than he has all night. For some reason, he’s been dreading this ball.
The song eventually ends, but we’re both reluctant to let go. So we don’t. Another song begins, and we draw even closer. My chest presses against his, a shiver running down my spine, my feet unsteady. I don’t want to share a special moment with my husband, but I don’t know how to stop it either. I allow it to happen because I am too tired to fight. Again. And again. And again. This is all this marriage has been since the beginning—a constant battlefield. But for one night, I tell myself that nothing bad will happen if I allow myself to lower my guard.
He leans in close to my ear, his voice low and alluring. “You’re doing it again,” he says.
“I’m tired, Mattia. So, so tired,” I confess.
The orchestra plays a slow melody, and the violin’s sound stirs up my emotions.
“You can lean on me, Caelia.”
He knows I’m not talking about physical exhaustion. Just as I know that the meaning of his words runs deeper. I can lean on him as my partner, husband, and friend. It’s a strange world I’m living in, where my husband has become my friend and my stability. It’s not just about the sex. It’s about that too, but not only. It’s all the conversations we had, the movie nights we shared, the training sessions, and the moments when he made me laugh or showed vulnerability with his guard down.
I need to get out of this marriage while I still can.
The possibility of falling in love with my husband is no longer laughable or far-fetched. I promised him a loveless and childless marriage, but human emotions are fickle. My emotions are shifting, changing with every moment spent with him.
He kisses me, and my heart skips a beat. I was wrong. I can’t lower my guard. Not tonight, not any other night. He will find a way to slip through the cracks he created in my heart and heal them from the inside out. He will pour himself into my soul until I won’t be able to fight against him.
“Mattia, I need to have a word with you.”
I look at his father, past his shoulder. He doesn’t acknowledge my presence. I’m the dirt on his shoe. Regardless of his alliance with my father, there’s still too much bad blood between them. He will never consider me a part of the family. His disdain is almost as obvious as my mother’s.
“I’ll be right back,” Mattia says, knowing he can’t deny his father.
I nod, watching him sneak through the crowd. I take a deep breath, stepping aside from the people still dancing. I don’t mind being alone, but I have learned that at these events, it’s better to engage in conversation with someone than to be a sitting duck, waiting for someone to corner you—someone like Mattia’s brother, whom I see charming a young girl on the dance floor. Luckily, I see my sister talking to my mother. It’s not the company I wished for, but if I had to choose between my mother and Ludovic, she’d be the lesser evil.
“Caelia, you look gorgeous.” My sister smiles as I approach.
“You do, too, sister,” I reply, hugging her. Then I nod at my mother, standing beside my sister.
“I saw you dancing with Mattia,” my mother remarks with a deadpan expression.
“Well, yes. He’s my husband. This is a charity ball. Dancing was expected,” I remind her.
“Don’t be insolent.” She wrinkles her nose.
“Then maybe stop being such a pain.” I sigh.
I don’t know what came over me tonight, but I say and do all the wrong things. Cosima purses her lips, trying to hold back a laugh. She looks beautiful, wearing a rose gold mermaid dress, her blond hair in a high chignon, and a few strands falling free on the sides.
“Watch your tongue, Caelia. I am your mother.”
“I’m very aware of who you are. My unapproachable, displeased mother. No need to remind me.”
“I think that’s enough,” my sister says, but her gaze is fixed on our mother. She’s struggling to hold back a laugh.
I turn my head, and to my surprise, I feel a stinging sensation on my cheek. It takes a moment to register that my mother just slapped me in front of everyone. I laugh, rubbing my cheek.
“I wish you weren’t my daughter,” she spits with venom in her eyes.
“Finally, the truth.” I continue to laugh. “That makes two of us.”
She shakes her head disapprovingly before turning on her heel and walking away.
“What’s gotten into you? Are you all right?” Cosima removes my hand and inspects my face. “You’ll be fine, but seriously, Caelia, what’s going on with you?”
“I’m sorry, Cosima. I don’t know. I’m just tired of her constant complaints. No matter what I do, it’s never good enough,” I admit.
“She won’t forgive you.”
“No, she won’t. She hates hearing the truth. How about you? How are you holding up?” I attempt to change the subject.
“I’m fine.”
“Answer again.” I nudge her. “Without lying.”
Her mask falls. What remains is a tired smile and exhaustion.
“I feel like crap.” She laughs. “I couldn’t find a good enough excuse to stay home tonight, so here I am.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not right now.”
Cosima has been avoiding my calls since the abortion, and when we do speak, she’s always lying, pretending that everything is fine. But I know it’s not. She wants to mingle with others at the ball, and I don’t want to be left alone, so I follow her, even though I’m unfamiliar with most of the people she stops to talk to.
“I think I need some fresh air,” I announce when everything overwhelms me.
I make my way toward the exit, a strange feeling tingling at the back of my head. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Domenico following closely behind me.
“If you’re going to follow me, you could at least entertain me with conversation,” I tell him, catching him off guard.
He nods and closes the distance between us. Domenico has become a familiar presence in my life over the past few months. While I don’t recall him being one of Mattia’s most trusted men, something has changed. He’s always there, watching and guarding me from the shadows. I wonder from what or from whom he’s protecting me.
“Don’t you think your skills would be better used to guard Mattia?” I question him.
“He can take care of himself,” he responds with a smile.
“And you don’t think I can?”
I try to avoid the photographers outside, so I sneak into the gardens through the back of the house.
“I didn’t say that, Mrs. Benedetti.”
The night sky is a blanket of stars, with the scent of flowers filling the air. Lanterns and strings of twinkling lights illuminate the gardens. It seems magical. The music fades behind us; the sounds of crickets come alive. There’s a water fountain in the middle, surrounded by a stone patio. There’s a pound at the end of the garden. It’s a beautiful place, with lily pads floating on the surface and fireflies lighting up the night. It’s the place Mattia kept my head underwater until I almost drowned one year ago. Now that I think about it, I don’t even remember what I did to offend him. It was summer. We were having dinner with his parents on the patio. I must have said something that displeased him.
“Are you all right?” Concern pours into Domenico’s voice.
“You’ve seen me naked. You could at least call me Caelia.”
I never got used to being called Mrs. Benedetti.
“Half,” he corrects me. “Half naked.”
“You’re right. Still, call me Caelia. Mrs. Benedetti is Mattia’s mother. And some unfortunate woman that’s going to marry Ludovic one day.”
“Let’s hope she wasn’t born yet. Or that no father hates his daughter that much.”
I laugh. I think I’m starting to like Domenico, although he reports back to Mattia, and he’s seen me naked. Well, half-naked.
I’m about to ask him something, but I don’t get a chance to. A gun goes off inside the mansion, and it doesn’t take long for people to come out screaming and running in all directions. I blink, confused, trying to understand what’s happening. An alarm triggers in my brain. My heart stops. It’s not the first time there’s been an attack during an event like this. God knows what’s going on this time. Some business went wrong. Another war is brewing. I stand still, my heart tugging me in a different direction than my body.
“Don’t!” Domenico shouts, grabbing my wrist and halting my escape.
“Mattia is in there!”
“I know, but my instructions are clear for situations like this,” he explains as gunfire continues to echo from within the mansion. Someone screams, and my heart pounds while my head spins. “Don’t fight me, Caelia,” he warns firmly.
“What if?—”
“Come with me,” Domenico interrupts, pulling me in the opposite direction. “He’ll be fine.”
“You don’t know that!” I yell, surprising both of us.
I stop abruptly, staring at Domenico. Confusion clouds his expression, mirroring my inner turmoil. He waits for me to follow him, but my heart tugs me in the opposite direction. There isn’t enough time to sort out my conflicting emotions, understand why I hesitate, and even consider entering the house where danger lurks.
“If anything happens to him, I’ll have your head.”
“Understood.”
He nods.
Stupid, stupid heart. It’s not that I care about his life. I just don’t want to be a widow.
Mattia will die, but it has to be by my hands. No one can steal that from me.