17

MILLIE
Karsen pressed his face against my ribs almost painfully, and I stroked his hair, feeling him tremble. Father watched with a disapproving frown. “Karsen, don’t be so emotional. Boys shouldn’t show their feelings like that,” Father remarked.
“We have to leave for the airport soon,” I said, trying to change the subject. Father needed to return to Chicago for business, and Gio and I were leaving for New York as well.
Tears welled up in Karsen’s eyes as he pulled back, looking up at me. “I don’t want to say goodbye,” he said, his voice choked.
“I promise we’ll see each other again soon,” I reassured him, even though I wasn’t sure when that would be.
“When?” Karsen asked, his lower lip jutting out.
“Very soon,” I said, but Father interjected sharply, “Enough of this, Karsen. Come here.”
My heart felt heavy as Karsen walked over to Father, who scolded him. I looked over to see Gio arriving in his Aston Martin, but my attention was quickly drawn back to Sienna, who hugged me tightly, followed by Harper.
Tears started streaming down my face as I hugged them back, not wanting to let them go. “I’ll miss you so much,” Sienna whispered between sobs.
“I’ll call you every day,” Harper demanded fiercely. “You promise?”
“I swear,” I choked out.
Father’s impatience grew, and he called out for us to leave. As they departed, I cried for myself, feeling like a part of me had been taken away. When I turned around, Gio and Sebastian were standing on the steps, watching me.
“Chicago isn’t the end of the world,” Gio tried to comfort me.
“You don’t understand. My siblings were my whole world,” I said, feeling utterly defeated.
“We should get going. I have a meeting tonight,” Gio said, gesturing towards his car.
As we drove away, I felt the weight of the changes that had occurred because of the wedding, and knew that my life would never be the same again.
~*~
The drive to New York stretched out before me, each passing mile a canvas for my introspection and sorrow. I found solace in the silence that enveloped the car, relieved that Gio hadn’t attempted to breach the quiet with conversation. In that moment, being alone with my thoughts and the weight of my sadness was a refuge I desperately craved.
Gradually, the towering skyscrapers of New York City emerged like giants awakening from slumber as our car navigated the congested streets at an almost excruciatingly slow pace. Yet, strangely, I welcomed the sluggish journey. It offered me a prolonged illusion, a suspension of the reality that a new home, a new life, awaited me at the end of this ride.
The city’s concrete jungle finally relinquished its grip as we descended into an underground garage. The engine’s hush allowed a profound quiet to settle between Gio and me as we stepped out of the car. Without words, he retrieved our bags from the trunk, most of my belongings having been relocated to his apartment a few days prior. This, however, marked my first encounter with the place he called home.
A pause ensued as I lingered beside the car, my eyes wandering over the surroundings. Gio’s stride halted, and he glanced back at me, a question in his eyes. “Thinking about running?” he quipped, a trace of amusement tugging at his lips.
Every single day, the thought echoed within me, unspoken yet palpable.
With a measured step, I closed the distance between us. “You would find me,” I responded, the words carrying a quiet certainty.
His gaze locked onto mine, unwavering and resolute. “I would,” he affirmed, a steely determination underscoring his voice. A swipe of a card summoned the elevator, its doors gliding open to reveal opulent surroundings adorned with marble, mirrors, and a delicate chandelier. The elevator’s interior spoke of luxury beyond ordinary, emphasizing that this was no run-of-the-mill apartment building. Together, we crossed the threshold, nerves coiling within me.
Though I had spent last night with Gio and the duration of our journey here, the notion of being alone with him within the confines of his penthouse stirred a different sort of unease. This space was his domain, a realm where he held dominion. Who was I kidding? In truth, the expanse of New York itself seemed to bow to his authority. He leaned casually against the mirrored wall of the elevator as it began its ascent, his eyes trained on me. I wished desperately for him to break the silence, to inject any form of distraction into the mounting panic that threatened to engulf me. Seeking respite, I glanced at the floor indicator; we had already climbed to the twentieth floor, and still, the elevator persisted upward.
Words finally flowed from him, filling the silence with insight. “The elevator is private, exclusive to the last two floors of the building. My penthouse occupies the highest tier, and Sebastian’s apartment is just below.”
A question sprang forth from my lips, voiced apprehension seeking reassurance. “Can he access our penthouse freely?”
Gio’s scrutiny bore into me, measuring my resolve. “Are you afraid of Sebastian?”
“The both of you,” I admitted, a candid confession of my anxieties. “Yet, Sebastian appears more unpredictable, while you strike me as someone unyieldingly in control.”
“Control slips through my fingers at times,” he disclosed, a rare admission that brushed my consciousness like a secret unveiled.
In response, my fingers instinctively twisted my wedding ring, a subconscious attempt to ground myself, to avoid the intensity of his gaze. Such knowledge, though offered willingly, felt like a revelation too personal to fully grasp.
A beat of silence passed before his voice resumed, offering insights into the dynamics that shaped this space. “You need not worry about Sebastian. His presence in my realm is customary, but our circumstances will shift now that we are married. The crux of our operations lies elsewhere.”
As if on cue, the elevator chimed, halting its ascent. The doors slid apart, ushering us into a realm of grandeur. I stepped forth and found myself enveloped by a sprawling living area characterized by minimalist elegance. White sofas juxtaposed against dark hardwood floors, a contemporary fusion of glass and metal forming the fireplace, and sleek black sideboards and tables were strategically placed throughout. Avant-garde chandeliers cast a cool, calculated light. The palette was subdued, monochrome, save for sporadic bursts of modern art and glass sculptures that adorned the walls. But it was the expansive glass wall, facing the elevator, that held my gaze. Through it, the terrace and roof garden extended outward, beyond which skyscrapers stood sentinel against the horizon, and Central Park sprawled in verdant repose.
I ventured deeper into the penthouse, my gaze drawn upwards to the ceiling that soared above the main living space. A staircase beckoned, leading to the second floor, an upper level that unfurled as a bright gallery, its potential concealed behind several branching doors.
The living area merged seamlessly with an open kitchen on the left, demarcated by a colossal black dining table. Gio’s watchful eyes followed me as I surveyed the space, a magnetic tension swirling between us. I found myself pulled to the windows, where I peered out, my gaze trailing over the city’s landscape. Yet, even the promise of a rooftop garden couldn’t dispel the truth that this, despite its splendor, was a gilded cage, perched high above the world.
A gentle prompt from Gio redirected my attention, his words pulling back the veil on the intricate threads that wove his life together. “Your belongings rest in the upstairs bedroom. Melanie left them in your suitcases, uncertain if you preferred to unpack them yourself.”
The unfamiliar name prompted my inquiry. “Who is Melanie?”
Gio’s presence solidified behind me, our gazes converging within the reflection of the window. “She tends to the household-a housekeeper, if you will. Her visits are sporadic.”
Unspoken questions lingered. Was Melanie more than a keeper of his home? A whisper of doubt tainted the inquiry, reflecting the darker corners of a world I had been thrust into. “How old is she?”
A faint quiver tugged at the corners of Gio’s lips, a subtle reaction that didn’t escape my notice. His voice, edged with a hint of amusement, sliced through the tension-laden air, “Are you perhaps feeling a tinge of jealousy?” With deliberate intent, he rested his hands upon my hips, an intimate touch that sent a surge of nerves rippling through me. His gaze remained steady, yet beneath the surface, a storm of anger seemed to brew. Strangely, he chose silence instead of directly addressing my question, a choice that stirred a mixture of intrigue and frustration within me.