Chapter 19
EMILY
Iwake to the aroma of brewing coffee and the sound of absolute silence.
Even before I tear off my eye mask, I sense Lorenzo isn’t in the bedroom.
Maybe he never came home.
Then I prop myself up and look at his spot across from the perfectly intact pillow wall.
His sheets are thrown back, like he had to be somewhere in a hurry.
Or wanted to minimize any time he “had” to spend with me.
I press my hand flat against his side of the mattress.
It’s cold.
Yet the movement releases the faint cedar of his aftershave still hanging in the air above his pillow.
As I make the bed, I notice a Dante’s Inferno cocktail napkin on his nightstand.
Written on it is a woman’s name, written in a flowing purple script. The “i” in her first name dotted with a tiny heart.
I feel a jolt of jealousy.
Something in me tightens.
How ridiculous to feel this emotion.
I barely know Lorenzo.
I calm myself by asking why I should care if my fake, temporary husband’s seeing someone on the side?
It takes the pressure off me.
If Lorenzo has some girl at the ready whenever desire strikes, maybe I won’t have to erect the pillow wall any longer.
That way, I can finally throw my collection of “granny pants” in the trash where they belong.
I make my way to the bathroom for a shower. The hot water takes a moment to arrive.
When it does, I stand under it until the steam rises and fogs the mirror.
As I work strawberry-scented shampoo into my hair, a question surfaces through the white noise of the water.
Who was this woman with the purple pen?
The topless brunette from the VIP room, her dark hair spilling over bare shoulders?
Or the blonde by the entrance, the one whose eyes had tracked Lorenzo the entire length of the club floor?
I rinse my hair and watch the suds spiral down the drain. I mentally envision my anger, jealousy, and frustrations rushing toward that drain instead.
After all, I’m here in Manhattan.
Why not forget all about Lorenzo and instead treat my time here like an all-expense paid, much deserved vacation.
As I dry off, I think about how I’m going to spend my day.
Angie mentioned that as Lorenzo’ s wife, the Equinox is mine to use whenever I want.
The way she lingered on the offer, leaning in with that hopeful little smile, made it clear enough that she was angling for an invitation.
But if I go to the Equinox club this morning, I want to go alone. I need to get focused, think things out, and have time to myself.
I’ve made too many sacrifices of late.
An image of Teddy pops into my mind.
I imagine him as he must be right now, school uniform on, hands folded as he listens with what I hope is rapt attention to his teacher.
He’s a good student.
Well, an okay student.
But he’s doing well at the Berkshire School. I did the right thing by ensuring his tuition, paid until the end of the year.
Next year, we’ll see if our uncle Eton makes good on his promise.
Once my hair is dry, I work it into a braid. Then I coil it like a crown and pin it into place.
A sort of pseudo-Grecian look I came upon by accident, then added it to my repertoire.
Once dressed, I pad into the living room for my morning coffee.
Gina is already sitting at the kitchen counter.
Her blonde wavy hair flows loose around her shoulders. She’s laughing at something Ciro must have just said.
That French Bulldog of hers lies content in her lap.
No one notices me in the doorway.
This is the second morning in a row I’ve found her here, settled into my kitchen like it’s an extension of her own penthouse apartment.
It’s a little off-putting to share what is supposed to be my private space with a potentially snoopy sister-in-law.
I like Gina.
She seems friendly enough.
But where does she get off thinking this apartment belongs to her too?
“Gina, what a surprise.”
Her dog’s small black nose twitches. Then his ears change angles as if he’s curious to hear our conversation.
“Apologies if you think I’m intruding,” Gina says, flushing in embarrassment. “You probably think I’m barging into your apartment. Your space.”
I wait for her to say more.
“It’s just that since Dante’s gone most of the time, Ciro and I have become friends. He’s usually up in my apartment so I came down to see him. I should have checked with you first …”
Her voice drifts off.
“It’s okay.” I force myself to say.
At least Gina realizes she overstepped her bounds. “I see you have your cappuccino.”
“Oh, yes,” says Gina. “No one makes cappuccino quite as well as Ciro. He even ordered this special cup for me,” she says.
The cup she cradles is sleek, probably from some high end Milan shop. I see he’s made a near-perfect rosette in the foam.
Ciro smiles and makes a little bow.
“Happy to be of service. Would you like your usual black coffee, Miss Emily?”
“Thanks. Yes,” I say, moving toward the island.
The Frenchie lifts his blunt, wrinkled nose and sniffs in my direction before deciding I’m acceptable.
“Biscotti, right?” I say, scratching behind one of his bat-shaped ears. His whole back end wags with pleasure. “How did you get him?”
“Dante gave him to me as a present one morning, an early Christmas present,” she says, her eyes going a bit dreamy at the memory.
I nod and smile.
It’s hard for me to imagine Lorenzo surprising me with anything, let alone a dog. “Is Lorenzo much like Dante?”
“Lorenzo has too much charisma for his own good,” she finally says.
“You can say that again.”
We both laugh.
It’s true.
And not all that funny.
I can just see Lorenzo turning that charisma on the woman with the perfect purple penmanship. The one who dotted her “I” with a little heart.
“Ladies must love him,” I say, keeping my voice light as I fish for more gossip.
Gina wraps both hands around her mug.
“That’s for sure.”
Then her eyes find mine over the rim.
Seeing my reaction, she’s quick to change her tune.
“But that was before he married you,” she rushes out. “I’m sure he’s different now.”
“I’m not so sure. You do know ours is an arranged marriage,” I begin. “Temporary. Just for a short period of time …”
Gina shrugs. “Yes. I heard something about the brothers needing your uncle’s cooperation on a business matter. But what Dante and I have is the real deal,” she says, fingers touching her belly. “When our son is born, we’ll be a real family.”
“What was your life like before your marriage? Did you go to school? Work?”
“Both,” she says. “I’d been a caricature artist since I was a child. Sold my etchings in the park initially, later online. I majored in art at UC Irvine, and I studied here at the Academy of Visual Arts.”
A genuine, satisfied smile breaks open on her face.
“But my most important contribution was designing a wall mural for the Ricci brothers’ restaurant.”
“Dante and Lorenzo have a restaurant?”
Gina nods. “Yes. Luca, their youngest brother, is part of it too. He’s in Boston but he’ll be moving back here after graduation.”
“Is the restaurant open yet?”
“No. We hoped the restaurant would open later this year. Now we’re not certain it will open at all.”
“Why?”
Gina shrugs and waves her hand. “Your usual restaurant build-out drama. Then add on a complicated pregnancy …”
I look at her with new concern. “Is there trouble with the baby?”
“We had a scare early on,” she says, unconsciously stroking her stomach. “The doctor wants me to take it easy and stay off my feet as much as possible until the little guy’s born. So I couldn’t continue with the restaurant without risking the pregnancy.”
She hesitates.
“And with Lorenzo now tasked with managing the casino as well as the club, no one can step up to the plate to manage the restaurant project.”
“But it’s just a temporary problem, right? When your son’s born you can continue your work…”
“Yes. But by then it would be too late,” she says. “I’d love for you to see my murals. Have plans today?”
“Today is perfect. But you’re on bed rest …”
She makes a motion with her hand. “The doctor said it’s okay to go out from time to time,” she says, turning to Ciro.
“Can you arrange for the car to take us to the restaurant this morning?”
Ciro shoots her a look. “You know that I must ask Mr. Dante, considering your condition.”
“Then ask him,” Gina says. “I want Emily to see my murals.”
She looks directly at me.
“It’s important.”