Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
It’s the final nail in my coffin.
A huge photograph of Valeria and me takes up most of the front page. We’re smiling for the cameras snapping pictures of attendees of a charity gala we attended jointly years ago, and the headline splashed in bold letters states:
CARLISLE ROYALTY SET TO WED IN SPRING.
After slapping the newspaper down, I race through the penthouse, calling Valentina’s name. I don’t get a single response. The bathroom is empty, and her clothes are gone.
First instincts have me wanting to pop a bullet between the concierge’s eyes. I ordered breakfast but requested for it not to be brought up until I called again.
His imprudence is the reason Valentina’s delectable body is no longer warming my sheets.
Instead of dressing in a suit that will conceal my gun, I return to the balcony. Call it intuition—or perhaps I tend to seek out trouble—but a restless energy is pulling me toward the balcony.
When I step outside, the cool morning air brushes against my skin as I lean over the wrought iron railing. Below, the streets of Carlisle are already stirring, and the aroma of baked goods and lemons mingle with the briny tang of the Tyrrhenian Sea.
I scan the crowd for only an instant before I catch a glimpse of molten locks. Valentina is standing on the sidewalk of the building across from mine, waving down a taxi.
“Valentina…”
A flash of heartbreak darts through her eyes when she looks up. She doesn’t return my greeting. She simply gives me the one-finger salute before she slips through the back passenger door of a cab and disappears into the city.
11
VALENTINA
Ican’t believe how easily I fell for Giovanni’s tricks. I was so foolish. Am I that desperate for a fairy tale that I let myself believe I was in one? Giovanni didn’t want me because he found my double-digit dress size sexy or my sass endearing. He needed someone who was unaware he’s mere months from marriage.
Anger envelops me as the crumpled newspaper on the kitchen table mocks me. It’s the same newspaper I casually opened while filling a mug with coffee this morning, hopeful a quick dose of caffeine would remind me of my responsibilities.
A naked-head-to-toe Giovanni standing on the balcony of his penthouse made my obligations seem inconsequential. My only wish was to wrap myself in his arms again.
Then it all came tumbling down.
The headline screamed my stupidity at me on repeat. Giovanni and Valeria looked every bit the power couple the city needs them to be, and I felt the size of an ant.
I don’t recall getting dressed or how I was greeted by name when rushing out of the hotel foyer Giovanni took me to last night. I just wanted to go home and bury my head in shame.
My guilt worsened the further the taxi traveled. News of Giovanni’s engagement was featured on every newspaper in the newsstands my taxi rushed past during my journey home. If that isn’t bad enough, the commute stole the last of my funds and left me with only the bitter taste of regret.
I feel sick and used. And stupid. So very stupid. I’m not solely angry that I believed him. I’m furious I allowed myself to become the other woman.
It’s my fault. I loved the way he looked at me and how he made me feel special. But countless orgasms and a night beyond comprehension can’t displace morals.
I should have pushed harder for the truth. Then maybe I wouldn’t feel like I’m walking around this city with ADULTEROUS written in thick black ink across my forehead.
During the first hour home, I was worried Giovanni would track me down. He’s relentless, and I learned firsthand last night that he doesn’t take no for an answer.
He raced a high-speed train to catch me, and the remembrance had me terrified he’d do it again. I was so worried he’d show up at my door and cloud my head with so much lust again that I’d find it impossible to push him away. Then I remembered that although I’d left my purse in his car, I couldn’t afford to update my details when we moved to Sicily, so my license still has my US address on it.
Thank goodness for small mercies, like my phone slipping out of Giovanni’s pocket during our foray on his living room floor. It’s financially impossible for me to get a new one. All my salary goes toward my mother’s medication. I can’t spare a single cent.
Even though I’d prefer to hide my shameful face for a little longer, I can’t. My shift at the pub starts in an hour. I’m getting dressed in my uniform with hands that won’t quit shaking when my phone trills. The sound startles me, and I jump.
When the caller ID flashes across the screen, the dinner I scarfed down with my mom and aunt sinks to my stomach like a rock. The IVF clinic I attended yesterday is calling.