Chapter 53
Chapter Fifty-Three
VIOLA
Iwake up slowly, the kind of lazy drift where the world comes back in pieces.
Sunlight is pouring through the windows, bright and clear, cutting across the dark sheets in long, golden stripes.
For a second, I just lie there, warm and heavy, the pillow still carrying the faint scent of him. Then I realize the bed is empty.
Ricci is gone.
I reach out anyway, palm sliding across the cool space where he should be, and something sharp twists in my chest. I miss him. Immediately. The feeling is so sudden it almost startles me, but it’s real. I slept better than I have in years, deep and dreamless, wrapped in his warmth.
We didn’t have sex last night. We just… slept.
Curled up together like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Part of me wishes we had. At least then I could have woken up to him still inside me, or with his mouth on my neck, or his hands sliding over my skin.
The thought sends a slow, warm pulse low in my belly, and I press my thighs together under the sheets.
I sit up and glance at the clock. I have definitely slept later than I usually do. He knew I was stressed about my meeting with the lunching ladies, so he let me sleep in. The thought makes me smile.
I get up and pad across to his bathroom.
The air still smells like him, that subtle cologne he wears.
I step into his shower without thinking twice, turning the water hot until steam fills the glass enclosure.
His products are lined up neatly on the shelf: body wash, shampoo, the same scent that clings to his skin every night.
I use them all, deliberately, letting the lather slide over my body while I close my eyes and breathe him in.
When I step out, towel wrapped around me, I smell like him.
The thought sends a little thrill through me.
Back in his room, I wander around a little, inspecting the space that still feels so new to me.
His closet is open, and I stop in front of it, fingers brushing over the rows of clothes.
I’m surprised by how much variety there is.
I’ve only ever seen him in intimidating, sharp black suits, but here are cashmere sweaters in deep charcoal, crisp white shirts, a few softer pieces in navy and deep green.
I try to picture them on him. He must look breathtaking in them.
I feel a strange little spark of curiosity about what it would be like to see him in one of these softer colors.
The thought makes my stomach flutter. In my other life, I always wore black, it was my simple, safe, protection, but standing here surrounded by his things, I realize I’ve missed so much.
I head back to my own room to get dressed for brunch.
I choose a light sundress, pale yellow with a subtle floral print, and pair it with a cropped denim jacket and comfortable flats.
The other wives will probably be decked out in designer gowns and sky-high heels, but I don’t want that today.
I want to feel effortless. Casual. Like I’m not trying too hard.
Plus, I’ll be heading to the studio afterward, and I don’t want to be clacking around in heels with clay on my hands.
I head downstairs, still thinking about the brunch, when I hear the rustle of a trash bag in the kitchen.
I freeze for a second, heart giving a little jump, then relax when I realize it must be Rebecca, Ricci’s housekeeper who comes three times a week.
I arrive at the kitchen entrance and she turns around to face me.
She’s in her late sixties with kind eyes. She smiles.
“Good morning, Mrs. Santori.”
“Hi, Rebecca,” I say, returning the smile even though my cheeks feel a little warm at the title. “Sorry we left a mess last night.”
She laughs. “If you don’t leave a mess, I’ll be out of a job.”
I grin and grab a quick piece of fruit from the counter. Then I head out to my dreaded brunch.
The women are meeting at a high-end spot inside one of those luxurious malls overlooking the river.
It is the kind of place where everything feels expensive and effortless at the same time.
I arrive right on time and spot them immediately: the wives are already seated at a table by the huge windows, sunlight glints off their diamond jewelry.
They’re overdressed, every single one of them.
Designer dresses, designer heels, and designer bags galore.
I feel their eyes on me as I approach the table. The stares are polite on the surface, but I feel their subtle condescension underneath. It makes my skin prickle. I sit down, smile, smooth my sundress over my thighs, and start counting the minutes until I can leave.
The river sparkles beyond the glass, but all I can see is the avid curiosity in their cunning faces.