Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
My words are soft, but my smile is cold. “You’re making the mistake of thinking you have a choice.”
Her beautiful face pales as she stares up at me. Her shock is evident in her breathless reply. “You can’t.”
“I can, wife.” I rub my thumb over the delicate skin of her wrist. “And I will.”
She knows it’s true. The vein that throbs in her delicate neck tells me so.
I let her go. “You can have a shower and sleep in your bed.” Walking to the door, I add, “You earned it.”
“You’re a monster,” she says to my back.
I chuckle. “I’m glad you’re finally figuring me out.”
Her frustrated cry reaches my ears as I shut the door between our rooms and turn the key. When I walk to my shower, I should feel victory. As it turns out, winning this round brings me no joy.
Chapter
Seven
Sabella
* * *
Long after my shower, I still lie on my back and stare at the ceiling while playing the last few hours over in my mind. So much happened since yesterday—catching lice, discovering a boy who slipped into the house, and now Angelo’s irrational talk about wanting a baby.
I don’t know why I didn’t tell him about the boy who helped himself to cereal and milk. Some deeper instinct prevented me. I didn’t want him to go after the child and punish or scare him. I’m not sure what to do about the situation. I want to help the boy without getting him into trouble. My heart softens anew when I recall what that poor child had chosen. Of all the things he could’ve taken, he’d settled on a box of honey-glazed rice puffs. It’s not the most nutritious breakfast in the world, but it’s such a typical choice for a child.
I toss and turn as troubled thoughts keep me awake. At the center of that turmoil is one man—my husband.
When Heidi locked me in the bedroom with an embarrassed apology, the animated sounds of the dinner party that reached me through the door kept me up. I lay on the bed, hearing every happy giggle and boisterous laugh. Through it all, I heard his voice—each inclination and rumble of that baritone timbre. I couldn’t make out the words, but I understood their meaning, the appreciation and happiness he expressed for other people, anyone but me.
I tried not to listen, but my ears were tuned to his voice and my mind subconsciously searching for it. Like a golden thread that held the conversation together, his voice rose and dipped, sometimes disappearing only to resurface with a soft murmur or a delighted chuckle. It was always there, even when it faded for a few seconds, both disturbing and hurtful but a constant no less. At least to me. A constant in my life now. Yet I’ll never be graced with his blessing or experience the warmth of his pride. I’ll never know what it feels like to make my husband happy. I’ll never be the recipient of his approval or the lucky woman who evokes his laughter at a dinner party.
That’s not my fate.
My destiny is his wrath. It’s the price I’m paying for my family’s sins. It’s the price Angelo has to extract for his losses. Maybe tormenting me makes dealing with his pain easier. Heaven knows, he’s perfected the art of torture. He’s a master at it. He doesn’t even need a whip.
Hearing Angelo entertain his friends while I was closed in here left my heart aching. It inexplicably hurt when I noticed his fancy dress pants and waistcoat as he stood so tall and proud in the hallway. It was impossible to miss how well the tailored clothes hugged his strong frame and how handsome he looked. The pain that throbbed in the hollow of my ribcage couldn’t have been a product of envy. I have no desire to sit at Angelo’s dinner table or meet his friends. Angelo’s action only burned like a red-hot spear through my stomach because he humiliated me when he dismissed me in front of his friends. As I was forced to listen to them laughing and having fun until the early hours of the morning, that ache bled inside me until my chest felt like one big bruise.
I thought that was bad.
What he did after hurts even worse.
What he said and how he behaved, I can’t forgive him for that.
Angelo made it clear he doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t believe me, so there’s no point in trying to convince him of the truth. He’ll always question my motives. Let him believe I’m looking for information to get him arrested. He can think what he wants. I don’t care. However, I don’t have the luxury of not caring about falling pregnant. I can’t not take to heart the threat he made after fucking me and leaving me cold. Because I can’t have his baby. I refuse to bring an innocent life into this mess.