Keeping his bride

Verona

LATER THAT NIGHT, I’m requested downstairs for dinner with Luca. I’m surprised when I enter the dining room and it’s just the two of us. I frown, hoping that Dante had something to eat at least.

Luca is still wearing his suit from the wedding, making me feel completely out of place in my comfy top and yoga pants. His tie is missing now, though, and the top few buttons of his black shirt are undone. I’m starting to think that this might be how Luca does casual.

I approach the table and see bowls of a cream soup and a variety of grilled sandwiches with different kinds of cheeses and meats.

“It’s nothing fancy,” Luca says when I sit down to the right of him at the long dining table. “I haven’t hired a professional chef yet.”

I nod in understanding. I didn’t expect anything extravagant, but I don’t tell him that. I think the less I talk around him, the better.

We eat our meal in silence. The sandwiches are really tasty. The soup is a little bland, but I eat it anyway since I’m hungry. I’ve never been one to turn down food. My aunt was never the best cook, and the boarding school meals were atrocious, so I grew accustomed to eating whatever was served to me. It was either eat or starve, and I obviously didn’t want to starve.

After I’m finished, I wipe my mouth with the linen napkin and turn to my husband. “Luca, about earlier…” My voice trails off, but he holds up a hand, stopping me.

“I know. Dante told me everything,” he says.

I furrow my brows at that. Dante had no right to tell Luca. I was going to tell my husband on my own eventually. Dante didn’t need to share my traumatic childhood since it’s not his story to tell.

Benito enters the room to announce there’s a delivery.

“Yes, upstairs. You know which room,” Luca says cryptically.

“Do you always get deliveries this late in the evening?” I ask him.

He turns to me and says with a smirk, “Only when they’re absolutely necessary.”

I stare at him for several seconds before looking away. A server brings out dessert, which consists of different kinds of cakes and pastries. They all look good, but I only take one piece of mint chocolate cake, my favorite. With everything being so new and my nerves on edge, I hardly have an appetite. I’m not even able to finish the delicious cake.

Luca frowns at my plate before he meets my eyes. “Not up to your standards?” he questions.

What is it with him and thinking everything is beneath me? I’m not some stuck-up prude like he clearly thinks I am. “I’m full,” I simply answer.

He nods, but I can tell he doesn’t believe me. “I’ll try to get a chef and kitchen staff hired this week, so that the housekeepers aren’t doing the cooking and cleaning.”

Well, if the housekeepers are cooking, they aren’t doing a terrible job. I’ve had better, but I’ve also had much, much worse. And if this is what I have to eat every night, then I’m fine with it.

We sit in silence as I sip my water and Luca nurses a small glass of dark liquor. It isn’t until Benito enters the room to let Luca know the delivery was taken care of that Luca tells me I’m free to return to my room for the evening.

I stare at him, blinking. I figured on our wedding night, of all nights, that he would want to…

“What?” he snaps as he glares at me, like I’m wasting his time.

“Nothing. I…”

“You what?” he asks, standing and towering over me.

I shrink in his presence. I don’t know what I was thinking. Do I even want to sleep with a man like Luca? The answer is a clear and astounding no. I need to get my ass to my room before he changes his mind and forces himself on me. “Goodnight,” I tell him before leaving the room.

I decide to wash this stressful day away with a hot bath. I soak for what feels like hours before I’m finally calm enough to get out. I towel dry my hair and then wrap a white robe around me as I walk into the bedroom.

I go to the closet to change for bed and stop dead in my tracks. The once almost empty closet is now filled with clothes. New, unfamiliar clothes.

In awe, my fingers breeze over the soft, expensive fabrics of the racks of new shirts and dresses. I check the tags, and sure enough, they’re all in my size. It makes me wonder if Luca guessed or if he snooped in my closet when I wasn’t in my room and checked the tags of my old clothes.

Speaking of my old clothes…I go back to the rack I had them on. My heart sinks as I realize my stuff is gone. All of my clothes are missing…including my mother’s dress.

“No, no, no, no,” I chant as I search rack after rack, searching for the beloved dress.

After I’ve searched the entire closet and torn my whole room apart and come up empty, I find my feet moving before my brain can even catch up. Logical reasoning is completely thrown out the window at this point, as I leave my room and go the short distance down the hall for the door that Benito told me earlier was the door to Luca’s room.

My tiny fists bang against the wood, rattling the frame. It takes him several seconds to answer; but when he does, I instantly regret my decision to confront him.

No longer in his suit, Luca is shirtless with a pair of dark gray sweatpants hanging off of his hips, his hair dripping wet from a recent shower.This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - ©.

“May I help you?” he asks, agitated.

“M-my stuff!” I blurt out, stammering because I’m so upset. “What did you do with my clothes?”

“Let me guess,” he says while crossing his arms across his chest, his muscular biceps on display, “You don’t like your new clothes.”

“I don’t care about the new clothes!” I yell. “I care about my old ones!”

He rolls his eyes. “For a princess such as you, I would think you’d be happy to be rid of those ugly rags.”

“They weren’t rags!” Tears burn in the back of my eyes, but I refuse to back down or show any weakness. “I want them back. Now!” I demand.

“Now?” He uncrosses his arms and takes a step forward, towering over me. “Those clothes belonged in the garbage, and that’s exactly where they are.”

I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. If I lose my mother’s dress, the only thing I have left of her, I just don’t know what I’ll do.

He steps even closer to me and leans down to whisper in my ear, “If you come to my room in the middle of the night again, it better be because you either want to sit on my face or get on your knees.”

A hot blush creeps up my neck and cheeks as I lower my gaze to the floor, all the anger and fight in me quickly depleting. I’ve never had a man talk to me like that before. I was always off-limits to anyone who dared look in my direction. But I have a feeling Luca isn’t used to being told no.

“Trash doesn’t go until Tuesday. Maybe you can still save your rags,” he remarks, fueling my anger and making it instantly spark back up again.

Furious, I turn away from him and go down the hall and steps. I run to the kitchen, searching for any garbage bins where my clothes might be.

Benito is sitting at the kitchen island, eating a sandwich with a glass of milk. “Something I can help you with?” he offers.

“My clothes. What did you do with them?”

He stands, leaving his half-eaten sandwich sitting on the counter as he leads me outside to a row of garbage cans at the back of the house. “Luca told me to throw them away.”

“I know,” I tell him with a sigh before I open one of the garbage can lids. I find a black plastic bag and rip it open. The smell of rotting food hits my nose, and I turn away in disgust. “Do you know which one you put them in?”

Benito goes to the next one and opens it. “Maybe this one.” He pulls out some bags, and underneath all the trash are my old clothes.

“Oh, thank god,” I exclaim before I dig into the pile and pull out my mother’s dress. I bring the fabric to my chest and press it against me. It reeks of garbage, but I don’t even care. I’ll wash it tomorrow and bring it back to life, just like always.

I catch Benito’s confused expression. “It was my mother’s,” I explain to Benito. “It’s the only thing I have left of her,” I whisper.

“Ah,” he mutters in understanding.

Hurrying into the house, I hold on to the dress for dear life. I’m still fuming by the time I make it back to my room. Luca thought he could just take my things and throw them away as if they meant nothing. I wish I knew what he cared about so that I could throw that away. But a part of me thinks he doesn’t care about anything at all.