“No, thank you. I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.” I hang up the phone and go to her side of the bed.
I look at the woman lying there. Her cheeks are flushed pink, her lips parted and dry. Her hair is a tangled mess, but she’s still absolutely beautiful, still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. It hurts that she betrayed me. I hate that she’s put me between her and my family, practically making me choose between the two of them. It isn’t fair. After everything we’ve been through, both of us, to be in this position.
But Regazza promised us his daughter, and I’m not sure how much better off my family is than before she came here.
I know that I am, though. My entire world has tilted on its axis because of her, and not just because she’s having my damn child.
I stand and walk away from her. I don’t like being so close to her.
I want to touch her. Hold her.
I want to forgive her.
But forgiveness isn’t in the Rossi code.
CHAPTER 15
“I shall crave of you your leave that I may bear my evils alone. It were a bad recompense for your love to lay any of them on you.” ~ Twelfth Night, Shakespeare
Angelina
I lose track of how the days begin to blend into one another. I hope for something, anything, to end the miserable, torturous nausea and sickness and fever. Feverish dreams wake me from sound sleep, the sheets tangled and strangling me in the heat of the night, clinging to my sweat-drenched skin.
And all through it, Orlando takes care of me. Calls in a doctor to assess my condition and get me started on prenatal care. Brings me Nonna’s good homemade soup and thick slices of bread with butter. The chicken broth tastes good, soothing my belly, and when I tell Orlando, he brings me steaming mugs of it to sip to ease my nausea.
I wake. Eat. Fall asleep, then begin it all again, all held hostage in my prison.
Will it ever end? Will I survive it?
I’m vaguely aware of him conducting business, but he speaks in low tones on the phone and rarely disturbs me. I wait for him to leave, half expecting him to station guards outside my door. He doesn’t.
I’m always bound, even when bathing. He helps me, though.
A part of me wishes he wouldn’t.
On the fourth day, my fever breaks. I sit up in bed and shiver. Orlando’s in the shower, the heavy drone of the water like a thunderstorm in the background. I reach for my neck. I’ve never taken off the Riot of Flowers, my little diamond stars.
There’s a slim silver laptop sitting on the bedside table within reach. With the water still running in the bathroom, I decide to risk it and dip my toes in the outside world. I take the laptop and tap in his password. I’ve watched him sign in and know it by heart.
I doubt he cares if I use it, though I know I’m not allowed on my phone.
I wonder about Elise. Is she coming here? Has she found a place to go?
Will she find me?
Or has someone else found her first?
I close my eyes with the thrum of heat that comes from fear, the prickling sensation along my neck that’s not unlike the clenching of my belly. I haven’t felt like myself in so long.
I tap on the laptop keyboard quickly. He didn’t tell me I couldn’t use it, but I definitely feel like I’m sneaking behind his back.
I want to look for Elise, see the latest news on her father, see if I can find out more about the Rossis. But instead… I find myself tapping out Riot of Flowers Diamond Necklace.
My cheeks heat, and my fingers come to rest on the lowest cluster of diamonds where it fits in the hollow of my neck.
Designed by the famous jewel smith James McAdams, the Riot of Flowers went for an amazing $5.1 million at a Christie’s auction in Hong Kong. This exquisite masterpiece features twenty-six Burmese rubies and star-shaped diamonds with weights ranging from 1.27 to 5.38 carats. Each ruby is nestled beside a cluster of pear-shaped and white marquise diamonds. The diamonds and rubies are strategically placed to create a floral effect that makes the necklace resemble a riot of flowers. The precious gems are set in 18k white gold and precious platinum.
Five. Point. One. Million. Dollars.
This… this piece of jewelry right here could be my ticket to freedom. I could sell it to a dealer and live well for the rest of my days.
I close my eyes and stifle a sob. I know I could do that. I don’t want to. It feels like utter theft to go from betraying the only man I’ve ever cared about to selling the only gift he ever gave me, this beautiful, symbolic piece of jewelry.