Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 95013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Chapter 22
Aurelia
When I got home from work, I found Constantine sitting on the terrace with Medusa snuggled into his side. He didn’t notice I was home yet, his eyes on the couch across from him, even though no one was there. I wouldn’t have stopped to stare at him if I hadn’t noticed something was off.
I stared at him for a moment longer, and I could see it in the features of his face. Raw devastation stretched his skin. His eyes were hard and lifeless as they stared at the couch like he was reliving a memory rather than experiencing reality. His skin was gray, like he was sick, and his physicality was different. His shoulders were slouched instead of straight. His spine was slightly bent as if he had no energy to remain rigid. He was hunched and small with empty eyes . . . like he was barely alive.
I stepped onto the terrace, and it wasn’t until I was close that he acknowledged my presence with a stare. “Constantine, what’s wrong?”
It took him a second to look at me, like he’d been so deep in thought it required time and effort for him to get out of it. “Nothing.” He blatantly lied to me and didn’t seem to care that he lied, which was completely unlike him. He shifted his body slightly forward, elbows on his knees, falling right back into the hole.
I moved to the couch across from him and stared at him, watched him look at the ground, studied him absentmindedly rub his palms together.
“Constantine . . .”
He inhaled a big, deep breath that made his chest swell like a full balloon. “I didn’t realize the time.”
“What happened?”
All he did was shake his head.
“Why won’t you talk to me? You always talk to me.”
He continued to rub his palms together. “Rocco stopped by. Things were said. And I don’t want to talk about it.”
Surprise flushed through me. My texts went unanswered, but they did have an impact. However, it looked like they didn’t have the impact I wanted. “Constantine—”
He lifted his chin and looked at me. “I’m not okay, obviously. And I don’t want to pretend I’m okay, but I also don’t want to discuss it or dissect it. Nothing noteworthy or new was said. He told me what he thought of my character . . . and left. That’s it. That’s the whole story. And now, I just want to be alone.” He bowed his head again.
He’d never pushed me away like this before. Never completely closed me off. We were so happy before Darius took the palace, and ever since then, our happiness had been waves in the ocean, rising and falling, consistently high and then low.
Now I wished I hadn’t texted Rocco. I’d reached out because I wanted them to reconcile—not for him to come out to Taormina and rip Constantine to pieces. This was all my fault. “I’m sorry, Constantine.”
“It’s fine,” he said quietly. “Give me a couple hours, and I’ll bounce back . . . like I always do.”
I moved to his couch, going to the side Medusa wasn’t nestled into. I hooked my arm through his and laid my cheek on his shoulder. My hand rested on his bicep, and I just sat there with him.
He was quiet, staring at the table between the two couches.
“You should know . . . I texted Rocco a couple days ago.”
He didn’t react overtly, but I could feel his muscles tense under my touch.
“I said I wanted you to reconcile. I didn’t expect him to come here and say hurtful things to you. I’m sorry.”
He took a deep breath, held it for several long seconds, and then let it out again. To my surprise, he turned to me and pressed a kiss to my head. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I know you meant well. It’s not your fault you extended an olive branch and he decided to light it on fire.”
It took a few days for Constantine to bounce back to his old self, but when he did, he had a smile that could be seen a mile away. I loved that despite the fact that he had every reason to be unhappy, he chose to pursue happiness every time. Always rebounded from his funk. Always appreciated what he had instead of dwelling on the past. Never resented me for the circumstances we were in.
On Sunday night, his mother hosted one of her big dinner parties, and when we walked in the door, her home was already crammed with friends, family, and neighbors. The terrace was full of people drinking wine and raiding the ice chests of beers and sodas. Music came from a stereo system, but it was drowned out by the sounds of conversation and laughter.
His mother worked in the kitchen with her sister and her best friend Lucia, Isabella’s mother. It seemed like they were on good terms despite all the drama, so that was nice to see. We said hello to them in the kitchen, and all the women came right toward me and touched my stomach like there was anything to touch. I was barely six weeks along and my clothes didn’t fit the same, but it wasn’t super apparent to the naked eye. But they touched me like I was about to pop.