“Why haven’t you called me, Skittles?”
“Look, Nathaniel, I wish I could tell you I’m sorry, but I can’t right now. One day, I can explain everything, but n—”
“You’re making a big mistake.” His interruption is welcome, because I don’t know where I was going with my weak explanation of nothingness.
“Probably.”
Tugging my hand free of his, and with one, last longing look into his beautiful baby blues, I walk away… and smack into a hard, toned chest. Marco.
“Are you okay, Tesoro? You were gone for a while.”
His features morph instantly from worried to angry as his gaze travels over my shoulder to the man standing behind me. He’s definitely jumping to conclusions if a talk with an ex is making him that mad. Although, I also can’t blame him, it wasn’t exactly a normal and friendly talk.
Marco breathes heavily out of his nose as Nathaniel passes us with a smug look I haven’t seen on him before.
Seething with anger, he digs his fingers at my waist as he tries to contain his sudden rage. And ever the professional, I stroke my fingers through his hair the way he likes, to soothe him. At least that’s what I’m telling myself, it’s for him, not me. It’s part of the contract.
“Fucking Nathaniel.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
RIVER
Last night was a cluster fuck of epic proportions.
In public, we were the perfect couple. Touching and whispering in each other’s ears with loving smiles plastered on our faces. Except, if anyone took a microscope to us, they would have known that our whispers were of me telling Marco to stop being a jealous asshole. And Marco grunting his frustration. They would have seen that his smile was actually a scowl and his loving touches were nothing more than possessive posturing.
As soon as the door to our car closed behind us, the façade was dropped and the silence came hard and fast. Needless to say, I slept in my own bedroom instead of sharing a bed with his broody majesty.
Today, though, I feel a little guilty. I mean, he knows there’s a past with Nathaniel and if I can explain things there may very well be a future with him. But none of this makes sense. I get it, anyone could have walked in on me talking to Nathaniel, which would have put our sham of a marriage at the mercy of high-society scrutiny.
Still, instead of sulking, he could talk like an adult.
After showering and dressing in the most comfortable clothes I own, I make my way to the kitchen for some much needed coffee and breakfast. It may be mid-February outside but in our home, the temperature is perfect. No slippers needed with a plush carpet such as this one.
“What the fuck, Marco? You’re going off script.” Enzo sounds worried, pissed off, even.
“Don’t worry about me, just make sure I have all the fucking information I need.” I should probably make my entrance instead of eavesdropping on what is surely a conversation about business. Whatever the fuck that may be.
“I’m telling you, this is a bad idea.”
“Get me the details. I want to know everything. Where he is, what he’s doing, when he eats and when he fucking shits. I want all of it.” I’ve never heard Marco this worked up. He prides himself on his control but clearly, he’s losing it right now.
“Is everything okay?” I walk in like a fresh flower and not at all like someone who’s been listening to a private conversation.
Enzo looks over at me, almost apologetically, while Marco barely acknowledges my presence.
Asshole.
“Okay. So, I’m just going to grab a cup of coffee and you boys can resume…” I wave my hands in the air to describe whatever the fuck was going on since words escape me. “This whole thing.”
I’m not used to this. In our family, silence isn’t something we do. We talk, we work out our problems. We solve our disagreements. This separation of church and state—church being our relationship and state his business—is the most frustrating part of playing the role of Marco Mancini’s wife.
Just as I’m about to walk out, I hear Enzo’s not so whispered words.
“You have to fucking tell her.”
I freeze. Marco curses under his breath and I’m guessing Enzo is going to get his ass kicked for that stunt.