Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
After putting water on to boil, I go through the cupboards until I find a mug and jars of tea leaves. Choosing chamomile, I brew an infusion and stand by the window while sipping the drink. Beyond the vegetable garden, the moonlit vineyard is visible. If the property is as big as Heidi said, I’m effectively a prisoner here.
The herbal tea quickly warms me inside. My muscles are sore, and my skin is itchy from the wool carpet and Angelo’s dried seed on my thighs, but I try not to think about it. Maybe I can quickly rinse down while he’s sleeping. I’m yet to come up with a plan to avoid begging for basic living necessities, but I don’t think about that either. I’m too tired.
I carry the mug upstairs, heading back to my room. On the landing, I stop. It wasn’t my plan to go there, but my feet carry me left instead of right. I tread carefully, like a trespasser, driven forward by curiosity and a strange, invisible pull.
The hallway is dark except for a sliver of light that falls from a door that’s open a crack. The decision to go there isn’t conscious, but I find myself in front of it, pushing a palm on the heavy wood.
The door swings open soundlessly. The light comes from a desk lamp with a stained-glass lampshade. The room is fitted with bookshelves and a writing desk. A sewing machine stands on a large table. A cozy sitting area with a well-worn sofa and armchair faces the window. On a rail pushed against the wall hangs the wedding dress.
I step into the room. It looks like a study. The books on the shelves include an eclectic collection of fiction, romance, biographies, and recipes. A framed photograph of the Eiffel Tower hangs on the wall. The space looks well lived in, much warmer than the rest of the beautifully decorated house.
Going over to the desk, I trace a finger over the dust-covered wood. Brochures are stacked in neat piles on the surface. I tilt my head to study them. They depict flowers and formal place settings with fancy crockery. Wedding brochures. Some have photos of cakes. Others show chair covers and tablecloths. All the colors are in shades of apricot. This is what Angelo’s mother had planned for us.
Something twists in my chest as I stare at the pictures of a wedding that never came to fruition, a wedding my dad kept a secret. I understand why he tried to stop it from happening. He knew Angelo. He understood the duality of my dangerous husband’s personality. He did what he did to protect me from this fate, but the price was heavy. Unthinkable. The price was this—a deserted room layered in bitter-sweet memories and covered in dust.
It’s unbearably sad.
I shouldn’t be here. I won’t be welcome.
Leaning over the desk, I switch off the lamp. Heidi must’ve left it on when she returned the dress. I leave quietly, shutting the door behind me. When I turn, I come face to face with a picture in a frame hanging on the door on the opposite side of the hallway. Pressed flowers in all the colors of the rainbow are glued on a painted background of pink, spelling a name.
Adeline.
I go closer and squint at the name and date written in the corner in thick black ink. Angelo’s sister made this when she was ten years old. The tightness in my chest increases, squeezing the air from my lungs. Sadness wraps around me like the emptiness in the house. How hard it must be for Angelo to have lost his twin.
Did she look like him? Was her personality the same? Was she also cursed with cruelty and kindness living side by side in her heart? Were they close?
I hesitate. I should go back to my room, but I’m riveted by the past, curious about my husband and his history. It’s the notion that I’ll never know that part of his life that sways me, that makes me open the door and flick on the light.
The room is similar in design to mine, but it’s an explosion of colors. Bright yellows, oranges, reds, and pinks fill every nook and cranny. The wallpaper is pink with a sunflower motive. A hand-knitted blanket in purple, blue, and turquoise covers a wrought-iron bed. Porcelain trinkets, bottles of perfume, and glass bowls filled with costume jewelry stand on a dresser. Rows of bead necklaces hang over the frame of the mirror. A red sweater is carelessly draped over the back of a chair, and a pair of yellow ballerina flats lie askew in front of the bed as if they’d been kicked off in a hurry.
The photo frames on the dresser catch my attention. Clearing a small space, I leave my mug on the corner and pick up a heavy silver ornate frame.