Page 22 of Forbidden War (Forbidden 2)
KARINA
The cabin.
The memory woke me in the early morning, but it was blended with jumbled visions of my husband in bed with a harem of women and I was too upset to make sense of it all.
It lingers, now, unsettling me as I pull my hair back and wash my face. My eyes are glazed and dull, the dark circles beneath speaking to the poor quality of the rest I got last night. No amount of makeup is going to fix that. I didn’t cry after I realized Marco was gone. Not a tear as Dante and Frankie walked me back to the house after the party dissolved. I thought I might break down as I crawled into the cold, empty, traitorous bed, but no. The anguish just sat in my chest like an anchor, holding me in place until my eyelids eventually closed.
I can’t believe that Marco just left me that way, and with an oh-so-nice-of-him advance notice that he intended to sleep with Jessica just to spite me. A deep ache spears my heart. I never could have imagined Marco would do something like this. But more and more, it seems he’s becoming someone I don’t recognize.
When we first met, I idolized him in a naïve way. I’d been so smitten by him, so completely swept off my feet, that I wanted to believe in all the wonderful things I’d ever read or heard about romantic love, brainlessly projecting those fantasies onto our newborn relationship.
How wonderful he was. How attentive and caring and consistent in his affection. The heat between us and how real it felt. As if we were fated lovers reunited somehow over space and time. Now I know better. I was a fool to ever allow such thoughts into my head.
Reality is a bitch.
But it’s my reality, and I have to face it. This mess is partially my fault. Maybe I am being unreasonable in denying us both the physical connection that seems to come so easily to us. I just don’t know. All of this is so new to me. Here I am, trying to figure out what a workable marriage to Marco would look like for me, when I’ve never even had a boyfriend.
I avoid meeting my own gaze in the bathroom mirror as I get ready. My expression will be hollow and broken, I know, like a resurrection of my old self staring back at me. Maybe I’ll never fully be that lost, sad young woman again, but it’s not too far off, is it? I’ve already cut myself off from my family and condemned myself to a cold, loveless marriage. My husband is perpetually frustrated with me and made no secret of his plans to take other women into his bed.
Is this really the future I want for myself?
Looking over my shoulder into the bedroom, I survey the perfectly made bed. I slept on top of the covers, my head on the edge of the pillow, a thin throw blanket over me. I might as well have been sleeping in a complete stranger’s bed for all the warmth and familiarity I experienced in it. If only Marco had been there next to me…but no. He spent the night with someone else. As he will continue to do if I don’t figure out a way to fix this.
My heart is breaking even though it shouldn’t be. My entire courtship with Marco was a trick, a sleight of hand that I got completely snowed by. He thought he was gallantly saving me from the certain doom of marrying Pietro, yet here I am, just as unhappy as I would have been with my former fiancé. Pietro wouldn’t have wasted any time getting other women into bed after our wedding, either. At least Marco held out for a little while.
A sarcastic sob works from my throat.
I wish I could cut these feelings right out of my heart.
Worst of all, I miss Marco. I miss his warmth and the way he held me in his arms. Maybe it was all fake, but I loved it anyway. And maybe I’m just pathetic enough to take whatever shade of love and intimacy I can get. Why not? Perhaps I’ve fallen into some twisted level of Stockholm syndrome, falling in love with the man who has trapped me with his false affection.
Be that as it may, Marco is all I have now. He’s crushed me, yes, but a small part of me wants to grab ahold of him and hold on tight. See if we can make something of this mess we’re in. I don’t want to be miserable for the rest of my life. I’ve been miserable long enough.
I slip out of my pajamas and throw my robe over my undies as I peruse my closet for something to wear. Just then, the bedroom door opens. I scramble to pull my robe tighter around me, but then I see it’s Marco, and I relax a little.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
“We need to talk.” He gives me the barest glance as he walks past me.
My pulse throbs wildly as I look him over, straining for any sign of the woman he’s been with. His hair is smooth and in place. He’s wearing the same clothes as last night, but nothing looks creased or rumpled. Still, Marco is a pro. He won’t show me anything he doesn’t want me to see. I abandon the closet and sit in the chair across from him by the windows. It takes all my willpower not to throw myself into his lap.
I’ve never had to face the man that I love the morning after he spent the night with another woman. There isn’t a single part of me that knows what to do right now.
“Do you want a divorce?” I surprise myself as the question comes out of my mouth. But it’s the only thing I can possibly think of that he would want to talk with me about.
Marco’s brows shoot up. “What?”
“A divorce,” I say slowly, enunciating. “A dissolution of our marriage.”
He shakes his dark head and sighs. He’s certainly not acting like the cocky, triumphant man he should be, rubbing his conquest in my face. He seems frustrated. On edge.
“No. I didn’t come here to talk about us.”
Well. Of course he didn’t. Because there is no “us.” We’re just two names on a legally binding document that in actuality means nothing. But as devastated and angry and bruised as I am right now, I want to change that.
Standing from the chair, I slowly untie the belt at my waist and shrug my robe to the floor, leaving myself in nothing but a pair of black lace underwear. My pulse is pounding. I don’t know if I can stand to be rejected by him. But my body is the only peace offering that I have.
As the seconds tick by, I gather the courage to step closer. My palms find the strong lines of Marco’s shoulders, and I lean down to press my lips against the side of his neck. Catching the scent of his cologne, desire spears between my legs. Breathing softly, I place another kiss higher, just below his ear.
“Marco,” I whisper.
A gasp escapes him right before a shiver ripples down his body.
“No,” he says, gently pushing me away. He meets my eyes and there’s not a hint of warmth in his gaze. “Karina—”
My lips part to protest the resistance I feel radiating off him. He’s going to turn me down, deny my olive branch, my attempt to right the ship…and I don’t know how to change his mind.
“Please. I want to make things right,” I say.
“Then sit down and tell me the truth.”
Heart sinking, I pull my robe back on and slump into my chair again.
“Tell you the truth about what?” My voice is husky with emotion, my throat tight.
“It just doesn’t seem plausible to me that you can live inside the Bruno compound for your entire life and not know anything that might help us find Livvie.” He steeples his fingers and lets out a long breath. “You claim your family shut you out of the business. Fine. But I know how careless powerful people can be in the comfort of their own homes, how easy it is to eavesdrop unintentionally.”
He’s talking about me overhearing that conversation he had with Armani. I blush.
