21

MILLIE
By the time Gio returned that evening, I was on the verge of dozing off. While he had spent his day outdoors, engaged in mysterious activities, I had been trapped within the confines of the penthouse. Throughout the day, my only companions had been Melanie and Dario. However, Melanie had departed after preparing dinner, leaving me with Dario as my sole company. His lack of communication skills had made for a rather uneventful day.
I observed Gio as he emerged from the bathroom, the steam of a recent shower still lingering in the air. He barely spared me a glance, his demeanor distant. But did he truly think I cared? As he settled into bed beside me and extinguished the lights, I couldn’t hold back the words that simmered within me. Speaking into the darkness, I addressed the tension that hung in the air. “Could I explore the city tomorrow?”
His response was curt, devoid of any warmth. “As long as you’re accompanied by Dario.”
Suppressing my hurt and frustration, I swallowed hard. His earlier act of taking me to his favorite restaurant had given me a glimmer of hope that he wanted our marriage to succeed. Yet, it had all felt like a ruse, a mere ploy to draw me into his bed. And now, the punishment came in the form of his silence.
However, I reminded myself that I didn’t need him, nor would I ever. With that thought, I eventually drifted off to sleep, the rhythmic cadence of Gio’s breathing providing an unexpected sense of comfort.
It was in the midst of the night that I awoke, drenched in sweat from a nightmare. Gio’s arm was wound around me, his body molded against mine in a protective hold. Technically, I could have extricated myself from his embrace, but the warmth of his closeness felt surprisingly reassuring. A part of me, against my better judgment, still clung to the hope that perhaps this marriage could be more than a tumultuous journey.
~*~
The longing for Harper and Sienna had taken such a powerful hold on me that it almost manifested physically, a constant ache that I couldn’t shake off.
Dario, ever the master of blending into the background, attempted to remain unseen, yet his presence remained palpable. His voice broke through my thoughts, his offer surprising me, “Do you want to go shopping?”
I couldn’t help but stifle a nearly incredulous chuckle. Did he truly believe that shopping held the remedy for all woes? Perhaps for some, retail therapy was effective, but for me, it was far from a cure. “No,” I replied, a wry smile tugging at my lips, “but I’m rather inclined to find something to eat. Harper emailed me a list of restaurants she’s eager to try during her upcoming visit. I thought it might be a good idea to visit one of them today.”
A flicker of uncertainty passed over Dario’s features momentarily, and in that instant, frustration surged within me. “Gio granted me permission a couple of nights ago, so you needn’t worry yourself,” I burst out, the pent-up irritation escaping. “I’m allowed to escape this gilded prison whenever I please.”
His brows furrowed, his response curt, “I know. He informed me.”
It was utterly preposterous. Abandoning Dario in the living area, I dashed up the stairs to the bedroom. Swiftly donning a summery dress and slipping into sandals, I snatched up my bag and sunglasses before descending again. Astonishingly, Dario hadn’t budged an inch. Why couldn’t he at least pretend to be something other than my overbearing guardian?
“Shall we?” I commanded, my tone commanding. If he was so intent on embodying the role of my protector, then I would oblige him in treating him as such. Pulling a jacket over his shirt to conceal the holster, Dario signaled the elevator. Throughout the descent, silence enveloped us. As the doors slid open, I was met with the lobby of the apartment building for the first time. Its sleek black marble surfaces gleamed, adorned with modern artworks. A white, impeccably polished counter was manned by a middle-aged receptionist in a black suit. His respectful nod was directed at Dario, but it was me that his gaze bore into, unabashed curiosity evident in his eyes. “Good day, Mrs. Merante,” he uttered in a tone exuding excessive politeness. The impact of that address nearly caused me to stumble. It was all too easy to forget that I was no longer a Pearce. Especially considering my husband was hardly a presence.
Acknowledging him with a nod, I hastened to the exit, relief washing over me as I left the climate-controlled confines of the building. The city’s summer heat smacked into me with full force an uninvited guest. The mingled scents of exhaust and refuse seemed to cling to the air like an unpleasant shroud. Despite his tailored attire, Dario stood a step behind me, unfazed by the blistering heat.
“I believe we’ll need a taxi,” I commented, stepping toward the edge of the sidewalk. Dario’s head shook imperceptibly, yet I had already raised my arm. A taxi veered to the side and came to a halt beside me.
Dario lingered a few paces behind me, his vigilant eyes fixed upon my back. The intensity of his watchfulness was beginning to grate on my nerves. Passersby were casting curious glances our way as we made our way down Greenwich Street towards the restaurant. Unable to bear it any longer, I finally voiced my request, “Could you please walk beside me? I’d rather not have people assume you’re my bodyguard.” The bustling street seemed to amplify my irritation. It was likely he was still resentful about being instructed to take a taxi instead of the conspicuous black BMW that practically screamed ‘mafia’ from a distance.
“I am, in fact, guarding you,” he retorted with a trace of amusement.
I halted in my tracks until he caught up and matched my pace. The eatery we were headed to was enveloped in a charming display of untamed flowers, flourishing within terracotta pots. Stepping inside, a sense of nostalgia washed over me as it resembled the British pubs I had read about in novels. The waitstaff, adorned with tattoos, moved about with a certain flair, and the tables were so cozily clustered that it seemed entirely plausible to share a meal from a neighbor’s plate. It was exactly the type of place Harper would adore.
A faint expression of distaste flickered across Dario’s lips; it must have been a bodyguard’s worst nightmare, I surmised. The tall woman stationed near the entrance, sporting a septum piercing, inquired about our reservation.
“No,” came Dario’s reply, his eyes narrowing as though he couldn’t quite believe the audacity of the question. I relished the situation; within these walls, I shed the identity of Millie, the wife of Gio Merante. “It’s just the two of us, and we won’t be occupying the table for long,” I responded with courtesy.
The woman’s gaze shifted between Dario and me, a smile eventually gracing her lips. “You have one hour. You make a cute couple.”
As she led us towards our designated table, she missed the subtle shift in Dario’s demeanor. “Why didn’t you correct her?” his voice held a quiet curiosity.
“Why bother?”
“Because we’re not a couple. You belong to Gio.”
“True, I do. But in this context, not really.”
Though he didn’t push the matter further, I could sense his discomfort at portraying anything other than the conventional roles of bodyguard and the wife of his employer. As I indulged in a salad adorned with a delectable dressing, I found myself absorbed in observing the vibrant crowd around us. Meanwhile, Dario methodically consumed a burger, all the while maintaining a vigilant watch over our surroundings. The thought of bringing Harper to this place filled me with a bittersweet longing. A pang of sadness struck me I had never felt so profoundly isolated. Merely two days into this new phase of life, I found myself grappling with the daunting prospect of navigating countless days yet to come.
“So, Gio will be late again tonight?” I ventured, searching for a semblance of connection.
“That seems likely,” Dario responded evasively.
After our meal, I managed to coax Dario into meandering through the charming neighborhood surrounding the restaurant. But as time went on, his stiff posture and palpable unease became increasingly apparent, prompting me to relent. With a sense of resignation, we headed back to the apartment.