Chapter 38 Francesca
Francesca
“Cat, when you do oral things to, uh…”
“To Alessio?”
“Don’t say his name! It’s hard enough to ask without thinking who I’m asking about,” I grit out as my friend starts giggling.
“Of the two of us, I figured I’d be the one who struggled to talk about sex, Frankie.” I snort because she has a point. “Carlo hasn’t forced you to do that, has he?” she asks, seriously.
“No, nothing has been forced on me. I’m enjoying the bedroom aspects of my marriage.”
“Good. Now, ask away and just know I’m sitting here blushing.”
“That makes two of us. So… you’ve tasted his stuff, I assume.”
“Yes.”
“Does it leave a horrible aftertaste? Is your mouth dry the next morning?”
Cat makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like choked-back laughter. “No, that’s not something I’ve ever experienced. Was last night your first time tasting that?”
“Kind of? Actually, he didn’t come in my mouth. There was some salty liquid, but it wasn’t much-”
“His precum?”
“Jesus, Cat. I can’t believe we’re talking about this.” She snickers. “I didn’t really think that was the cause, but I had this same weird taste and dry mouth the morning after our first time having sex and-”
“Your mother just walked into the room,” Cat whispers over the phone, cutting my rambling thoughts and this particular conversation short.
“Sweet Mary,” I groan.
“I can’t wait to see you in a few days.”
“Same. Tell Mom I’ll call her tonight. I need a few hours before I can hear her voice after talking about jizz. Even if it’s over the phone.”
Cat laughs loudly before telling me goodbye.
I’ve had a lingering headache all day, ever since I woke up with the terrible taste in my mouth. I’d asked Faro to bring me back home after class before my rehearsal this afternoon where I’m singing a duet with a young man from the theater program.
I go to the bathroom to get something for my headache and notice an unfamiliar prescription bottle in the medicine cabinet.
Two tablets at bedtime. Do not operate motor vehicles or heavy machinery while using. Possible side effects – fatigue, foul taste, dry mouth, headache.
This must be the reason for my symptoms today.
Carlo gave me a sedative to help me sleep after my awful nightmare.
Between my worry for Ronan and my guilt over concealing things from Carlo, it’s not surprising.
I was grateful for his care last night, but I don’t care for the side effects of the medicine.
I start to put the bottle back in the cabinet when I see the additional note, a handwritten scribble in permanent ink –
Dissolves in liquid. Safe to consume alcohol if only one tablet is given.
Sedatives with alcohol? Why the hell would any legitimate pharmacist include a note like that?
Unless it wasn’t a legitimate pharmacist.
The Trio has its own doctors who see to bullet wounds and other things that might draw attention from law enforcement. Considering all the drugs the mafia produces and sells, I’m sure they can get their hands on any medication.
“Fatigue, foul taste, dry mouth, headache,” I murmur, reading the label again as a prickle of suspicion forms in my mind.
Thinking back on the morning after that first time with Carlo, the morning of my wedding, I remember how out of it I felt when I woke. The same foul taste, a pounding headache and lingering disorientation.
“Dissolves in liquid. Safe to consume with alcohol if only one tablet is given.” He drew me a hot bath and brought me red wine with some food. It tasted a little… off. I open the prescription bottle and lick one of the tablets. I slam the bottle back down, scattering them. “Son of a bitch!”
***
I am livid as Faro drives me back to school an hour later.
He keeps shooting curious glances in the rearview.
With my performance looming, I use that as an excuse not to talk, but I’m simply too angry for a rational conversation right now, and what good will it do me to rant at Faro over what Carlo did?
It only proves how na?ve I am. No, if there’s a fight coming over the sedative and how he knocked me out so he could manipulate everything, I’ll talk to my husband. God, I want to wring his neck!
We pass Damrosch Park as we’re arriving at the school. Ronan asked me to meet him there tomorrow at 2PM. “There’s a free concert I should attend to fulfill a course requirement,” I quickly lie. “Tomorrow at that park after class.”
Faro’s eyes meet mine in the rearview, and I force myself to hold his gaze.
Made Men are taught how to lie early and taught how to detect lies, too, but I’m not a total novice when it comes to deception.
I give him a vapid smile that conveys the concert had slipped my mind until now and, as I’m his boss’s wife, I’m certain of his compliance with this little matter.
“Outdoors at a public park? Not safe.”
“I trust you to protect me, and it's required.”
“Fine. If you must attend,” he says, begrudgingly.
Oh, I must.
Finding a way to escape Faro will be difficult if not impossible, but I have to try. I want to see my brother and know he’s okay. And I’m pissed off at my husband and sick of his controlling ways.
He could be stood up for his wedding by one bride and left by another before his reception.
I think of his smirk that morning on the stairs as Mom joined us, how he teased me over making deals with the devil and subtly threatened Alessio. Smug fucker. I should leave his devious ass over this trick.
Would you though?
“Yes,” I hiss at my weak, stupid heart. My heart isn’t convinced. I’m in serious danger of developing feelings for Carlo if I haven’t already. I have to hold onto my anger. At least until I’ve seen Ronan and can consider my options.
“Good luck on your performance,” Faro says, escorting me to the auditorium.
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble.
He chuckles. “I almost feel bad for the poor bastard who’s singing with you.”
I glare at him, wondering what he means before he saunters off to find a seat in the back where he can watch me. Always watching me. Always watched. I never wanted this.
For the first time in a while, I miss my lucky silver hair tie. Angrily, I stomp toward the stage, ignoring even Harper’s friendly wave when my name is called.
The young man from the theater department stands to join me for our duet of “Tonight” from West Side Story.
His name is Chris, and he’s cute. Preppy clothes, bright smile, slender build.
I would’ve thought him absolutely dreamy when I was thirteen.
Now, he strikes me as wimpy. Because I apparently like monsters.
“Ready for tonight, beautiful?” Chris asks with a wink.
I glower at him for calling me that and for the corny pun regarding the song we’re about to sing. And for the grave misfortune of him possessing a Y chromosome at the moment.
But as I’m about to tell Chris I’d prefer we behave professionally at all times, on and off-stage, the auditorium doors open for a late arrival, and my eyes are automatically drawn to the tall figure who steps inside.
In his crisp tailored suit, he stands out among the boho theater kids.
Who am I kidding? He’d stand out anywhere, like a Roman general among shepherds.
Or a demon wolf among innocent sheep, a predator among prey.
He doesn’t take a seat in the very back like Faro.
He strides to an empty row in the middle of the auditorium.
His eyes are fixed on me and my duet partner, and there’s a possessive gleam I recognize.
No wonder my bodyguard mentioned feeling sorry for my singing partner.
Carlo is an alpha, and an alpha never shares.
The devil that fuels my anger has me turning toward Chris, answering his wink with a gushing, “Can’t wait!”
The lights dim and the music begins, a balcony scene and fairytales of love at first sight.
It’s a myth I could almost believe in if I wasn’t so angry…
but not as angry as I want to be. Music always transports me to another place and knowing my husband is watching me overwhelms my anger.
My heart speaks loudest when I sing, drowning out logic and reason.
I’m not singing for my partner or the other students or professors watching us. I sing for him.
The last note is still fading when our small audience starts to clap. My eyes seek my husband. He’s standing and applauding, the pleasure in his expression is like sunshine after clouds. Every word of love and longing in those lyrics, I felt because of Carlo. How could I allow this to happen?
Turning, I smile politely at Chris, pleased we performed well together. That’s when the idiot places his hands on my face. I try to stumble backwards, to warn him, but he’s too fast. He yanks me toward him for a sloppy, wet and very unwanted kiss.