And the only person who ever made me feel safe?
Disappeared a long time ago.
The waiter is halfway through describing today’s specials when my phone buzzes in my purse. I ignore it at first—trying to stay present, keep laughing, keep pretending—but the second buzz comes harder.
I glance down.
Roberto:
Where are you?
Like he doesn't know. Like Pacco isn't standing by the terrace, watching me, and reporting to him. My pulse spikes, and my fingers go cold. I force a smile, flicking the screen off before the girls can see the way my hand trembles.
Gigi giggles. "Let me guess, he still can’t go ten minutes without his bride?"
Izzy grins around the rim of her water glass. "God, you’re lucky. I hope I find a man like that one day."
They laugh. I smile. Politely. Hollow. Like I’m not bleeding on the inside.
I text back quickly:
Me:
Maison Étoile. Rooftop bistro. With Gigi and Izzy.
The reply comes almost instantly.
Roberto:
Good. Get a dress for the Russo charity ball this weekend. Something elegant.
And something sexy for tonight.
Something white.
White.
The word stops me cold, and my insides tremble so hard I don't think I can hide it. Memories slam into my chest like a brick and pull me under. My mind doesn’t drift—itplummets.
Back to that night.
The white room.
The white dress. My wedding dress.
The way the netting of the canopy fluttered in the sea breeze like something out of a dream… before it turned into a nightmare.
The blood.
My blood.
Speckled across the sheets. Across the floor. The curtains. The rug. On his hands and even the fucking Orchid.
He was so calm. So methodical.
Like he’d been waiting for this moment with the patience of a man who knew he’d take what he was owed. By the time he was done, I didn’t even cry. I didn't have the energy. I was something else after that night.
Something not quite broken, but certainly not whole.
