Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 27737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
And just a bit terrified.
Because childhood wounds never really heal completely, and I think there'll always be a part of me that would wonder if a day would ever come that even someone like Giancarlo would—-
"In time..."
And there it is, I think dully.
He's going to tell me the same things my father used to say, just before he'd start beating me up.
In time...you'll learn not to disrespect me.
In time...you'll know what's good for you.
In time...
"You will."
My heart stops beating.
Giancarlo lets go of my hand.
And still I wait...for nothing, it seems.
I don't get it.
Is that really it?
In time, he says, you will...what?
Dark eyes gleam at me.
"Do you need it spelled out, dolcezza?"
It seems like I do, but I'm too proud to admit it out loud.
"You said, 'fuck you.' And my reply is..."
His earlier words echo in my mind—-
In time...you will.
And this time, to both our surprise—-
I actually end up...blushing.
Coincidence
"I HATE HIM, I HATE him, I hate him."
It's eleven in the evening, and I've successfully imposed myself on my only friend.
"I mean it, Maryse. I hate him—-"
The other woman only rolls her eyes at my passionate claim. "Do you want some tea?"
"Maryse!"
But my friend only raises a brow. "Yes or no?"
"No!"
And it's not because hot drinks remind me of my unhappy childhood.
Honest!
We pass by the kids' bedroom on the way, and my irritation temporarily subsides as I watch Maryse place a kiss on baby Ingrid's cheeks and ruffle Tom Jr.'s hair. It still feels surreal every time I'm confronted with the reality that Maryse is now both a wife and a mother, and a damn good one at that.
The night nurse closes the door behind us, and Maryse's gaze turns mischievous when she looks at me.
"What?" I ask warily.
"One day it will be your turn—-"
"Ugh."
"And then I'll be the one to tease you about being a barefoot contessa."
"Over my dead fucking body!"
And so we end up bickering back and forth just like how Cat and I ended up agreeing to disagree earlier this day. What is it about Giancarlo Marchetti that always puts me at odds with my friends?
"You just don't understand," I say angrily as I stomp past her to open the door to their second-floor music room.
But Maryse only nods while pouring herself a cup of tea.
"You're not even taking me seriously—-"
"Because you haven't yet said anything worth taking seriously."
Grr.
Has she forgotten she's supposed to play the role of my unpaid armchair therapist? She's supposed to agree with whatever I say, dammit!
"You don't hate him, Sari. You never did. And what I don't get is why you insist on lying to yourself about this all the time."
I throw myself on Maryse's leather couch, which isn't just massive but proves to be massively comfortable, too.
You always take his side," I grouch. "But if you knew the real him—-"
"I know the real you, though—-"
"He's just so smug," I go on ranting since what Maryse just said is absolutely irrelevant.
"And conceited—-"
"While you, on the other hand, have not a single proud bone in your body? Is that it?"
"You're missing the point!"
This is about Giancarlo, not me!
"Okay, fine," Maryse concedes. "Maybe I am missing the point. So enlighten me. Why do you hate him?"
"Because!"
"You'd have to do better with that."
Her lips twitch as she says this, and I bite back a groan.
Why does no one take me seriously when it comes to Giancarlo?
Why?
I throw my arm over my eyes and close them for good measure, but it's no use. I still see him behind my lids, and I hate it. I hate him! But most of all, I hate how I've been feeling so strangely self-conscious around Giancarlo every time I'm in the same room as him.
Why, dammit?
Why is everything so fucking weird when I didn't even used to mind hearing other girls talk about him like he's the juiciest piece of steak?
"Everything's suddenly changed," I hear myself mutter, "and it's all his fault. Things were never awkward—-"
"Changes like that don't happen overnight."
My eyes fly open at her words, and I'm already shaking my head in protest as I shoot up to a sitting position. "I've been his fiancée for years, but I never—-"
"You were abducted. And almost raped."
Why is she bringing that up all of a sudden?
"There are so many studies that show how women who haven't been able to heal and overcome their trauma end up falling for men who are no different from their rapists. But you..." Maryse eyes me over the rim of her teacup as she takes a sip. "You're one of the luckier ones, and I hope you know that." She lowers the cup back on its saucer before settling back in her armchair as she tucks her legs under her. "The Marchettis gave you the chance to heal at your own pace. You became yourself again without even realizing it."