18

MILLIE
Instinctively, I extracted myself gently from his grasp, my steps guiding me toward the glass door that beckoned to the rooftop garden beyond. I turned, meeting Gio’s gaze squarely before uttering my request, “May I step outside for a moment?”
A tenseness had gripped his jaw, evidence that he was no fool. He hadn’t missed how swiftly I evaded his touch. “Remember, this is your home now as well,” his voice resonated with a stern reminder, although the words fell short of the emotion I expected.
But it didn’t feel like home, and whether it ever would was a question that lingered unanswered. I pushed the glass door open, greeted by a gust of wind that ruffled my thoughts as much as my hair. Distant city sounds floated upward – the symphony of honks and life echoing from the streets below. The rooftop terrace was adorned with pristine white lounge furniture that claimed its space, but my attention was drawn past its confines, to a meticulously manicured garden that extended towards a transparent barrier. My gaze trailed even farther, finally capturing the expanse of Central Park in all its grandeur. The view was undeniably captivating.
Gio’s voice intruded upon my reverie, his grip on the banister beside me intensifying, “You’re not entertaining thoughts of leaping off, are you?”
Arching an eyebrow, I tilted my face to meet his gaze, attempting to discern whether his words were tinged with dark humor. Surprisingly, seriousness greeted me instead. “Why would I ever contemplate such a thing?”
He exhaled slowly, his eyes a mirror of unspoken complexities. “In some corners of our world, a drastic act like that is seen as the sole escape to reclaim one’s freedom. Your marriage, in their eyes, might resemble more of a gilded cage.”
I studied the gap between the rooftop and the ground, the void that held a certainty I had never before pondered. Yet, self-inflicted death had never occupied my thoughts. Before that, there was a myriad of choices, like escape or resistance. “I would never bring that kind of anguish to my family. Sienna, Karsen, Harper… they’d be shattered.”
A solemn nod of comprehension passed between us, the enigma of his expression tightening its hold on me. With a soft sigh, he broke the silence, “Shall we return inside?” His hand found a place on my lower back, a subtle nudge that guided me back into the apartment’s embrace. The door shut, a barrier between us and the rooftop’s expanse.
With a deliberate turn, Gio faced me squarely. “I have a meeting shortly, but I’ll be back in a few hours. Tonight, let me take you to my favorite restaurant.”
Surprise momentarily swept away my inner turmoil. “Like a proper date?”
A trace of amusement danced at the edges of Gio’s lips, though his eyes remained devoid of mirth. “Call it what you will. We’ve yet to embark on a genuine date,” he admitted, his arm encircling my waist as if to emphasize his point. An unexpected stiffness invaded my frame, the lightness that had accompanied his words now replaced by something more intense.
A plea I couldn’t decipher slipped from my lips, “When will you cease being a source of fear for me?”
The lines of his forehead deepened, his gaze drilling into me. “You’re my wife, our lives woven together. I have no desire for a woman who cowers at my side.”
The revelation startled me, a stark contrast to the dynamic between my parents, where both love and trepidation coexisted. “Are there individuals out there who stand unafraid of you?”
“Some,” he replied cryptically, lowering his head until his lips met mine. His kiss was unhurried, a deliberate exploration that coaxed a tentative response from me. My hand lifted, tentatively brushing the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. Another hand settled upon his chest, the solidness of his muscles beneath my touch an unexpected comfort. Eventually, he withdrew, leaving me both breathless and wanting.
A hint of frustration laced his tone, “I’m tempted to cancel this damn meeting.” His thumb traced over my lips, a touch laden with promise. His eyes flicked to his wristwatch, a silent reminder of the world’s demands. “But there’ll be time for this later. Take your time, explore,” he encouraged, moving toward the door, his absence lingering like an unanswered question.
I stood there, my gaze fixed on the door, lost in a moment of contemplation. I found myself wondering whether anyone would raise an objection if I decided to step out of the confines of this building. The notion, however, was fleeting, and I soon found myself drawn toward the staircase, my feet carrying me upward to the second floor. Amidst the row of white doors, one stood slightly ajar, an invitation I couldn’t resist. With a gentle push, I swung it open, revealing the expanse of the master bedroom.
The room stretched out before me, mirroring the grandeur of the living area below. A whole stretch of wall was adorned with windows, offering a panoramic view of the bustling city of New York. Front and center, the king-sized bed commanded attention, its gaze fixed on the very windows that overlooked the urban landscape. It made me contemplate the experience of witnessing the first rays of dawn from the comfort of that bed. The wall behind the bed, elegantly upholstered in black fabric, added a touch of opulence. At the far end of the room, a doorway beckoned, leading into a walk-in closet, while to its right, the transparent barrier of a glass wall revealed a freestanding bathtub nestled within the bathroom.
Compelled by curiosity, I stepped closer. Even from the bathtub, the city view was mesmerizing. The glass wall separated the bathing space from the bedroom, artfully concealing the washbasins and the shower, shrouding them in an air of privacy. A separate nook held the toilet, creating its own enclave.
“Millie?”
The sound shattered my reverie, sending my heart into a sudden frenzy. Slowly, I turned toward the source of the voice, and there stood Dario on the gallery, shouldering the weight of my bags. His unexpected appearance caught me off guard, and my pulse took its time to steady. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he spoke, genuine concern etched across his face. I managed a nod, still grappling with the surprise.
With a sweeping gesture, he addressed the bags in his possession. “Where would you like me to place your belongings?”
Recollection dawned upon me – Gio had deposited them on the sofa earlier. “I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps in the walk-in closet?”
Effortlessly, he glided past me, the bags finding a temporary haven on a bench within the closet’s confines. There they sat, alongside three suitcases and a pair of moving boxes, a testament to the life I had carried with me. “Can you tell me if I need to dress up for tonight?” I inquired, feeling a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. “Gio mentioned a dinner reservation at his favorite restaurant, but the matter of a dress code remains a mystery.”
A gentle smile curved Dario’s lips, casting a reassuring light. “No dress code, I assure you.”
The unexpected response piqued my intrigue. “Could it be a casual spot? Like a K*C?”
The concept of dining at a K*C was uncharted territory for me. Growing up, such places were off-limits, reserved for a different world. Memories surfaced of my parents steering us away from fast-food joints. There was that one instance when Harper, Sienna, Karsen, and I had managed to convince Enrique to treat us to a meal at Mc*****d’s, a rare adventure into the realm of fast food.
Dario’s chuckle brushed against the air. “Not exactly. I believe Gio has a surprise in store for you.”
Doubt lingered, skepticism coloring my thoughts. “Perhaps I should unpack then,” I mused aloud, eyes drifting towards my suitcases.
Maintaining a respectful distance, Dario’s professionalism remained intact, tempered by a genuine warmth. “Do you require any assistance?”
The thought of someone else handling my personal belongings, my undergarments, held little appeal. “No, thank you. I’d prefer to have some solitude.”
Empathy danced in Dario’s eyes as he withdrew, leaving me to my devices. I waited, ensuring he had descended the stairs before I began the task at hand. The first box beckoned, its contents promising a journey down memory lane. A photograph surfaced, one of me alongside Harper, Sienna, and Karsen. Unbidden, tears welled up anew, spilling over for what felt like the umpteenth time within the span of a day. It struck me – I had seen them that very morning, and yet an indescribable sense of isolation had taken root, casting a shadow over my surroundings.