A quiet panic clawed at me, and I suddenly found it hard to breathe.
With a muttered curse, I swung around and strode back into the hotel lobby.
Harold was just stepping out of his office as I was approaching the front desk.
"Mr Ferrante." He was flustered. "Is everything okay? Did you forget something?"
I flashed him a lazy smile despite the quickening panic in my heart.
"Everything's fine, thank you. I actually have a meeting nearby soon, so instead of heading back to my office, I was hoping to pitch a spot here to catch up on work until then."
Harold was all too happy to accommodate me. When I turned down a seat at his restaurant, preferring to sit in the lobby—facing the lifts—he didn't bat an eye.
So that's where I sat…for three agonising hours. I couldn't say exactly what I worked on; everything blurred and shifted on my screen until I gave up all pretence of working. My sharp gaze remained on the group of lifts, my stomach dropping every time it opened. I talked myself in and out of the idea that that woman was Millie, but when my calls and texts went unanswered, it further fuelled the dread that refused to abate.
It had just ticked over three hours when the lift doors opened for the eleventh time since I'd been sitting here. A young blond man stepped out, and my head dipped down before whipping up again. He looked vaguely familiar. It wasn't until he swaggered close to me, with an expression wrapped in cockiness, that I finally placed his identity. He was the same boy I spied chatting to Millie outside The Pig's Head when I'd come to collect her.Dio, that was months ago.
Twenty minutes after he left, the lift doors opened again. This time, there was no mistaking who the woman was. She had shed the blonde wig and glasses, but this time had the scarf wrapped around her neck. She wore the same blue jeans and white T-shirt.
And a limited-edition, red Birkin bag.
"Millie."
My wife's name was ripped from my throat as I slowly rose. My body felt weird. Like I was having an out-of-body experience. A dream wrapped into a nightmare.
The look on her face said it all.
"Alessio?" Millie's shocked voice quivered, and her eyes widened before darting around in clear alarm. "Wh-what are you doing here?" She clutched her red bag against her chest, her face ashen.
"I had a meeting here."
Her small hand went to her throat, and I narrowed in on her ringless fingers. I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach.
"I—"
"Not here," I gritted out, well aware that nosey eyes could be watching. "In the car."
Her eyes dropped from mine, and she slid ahead of me, her movements quick and sharp. My long legs caught up with her, and I surged ahead to open our chauffeur-driven car. Her eyes refused to meet mine as she ducked in.
I slammed the door shut behind me, and her tiny frame flinched. She was still clutching her bag tightly, her knuckles white.
I couldn't look at her. My whole body vibrated with rage, and it seeped into the quiet of the vehicle. I stared at her profile, unable to form the words that tore at my soul.
Why?
How long?
"What were you doing there?" My voice sounded foreign to my ears.
"I volunteer at an animal shelter down the road."
My fingers rolled into fists. "That's not what I meant."
Her lips tightened until a tic thrummed in her jaw. She didn't respond.
"Tell me you didn't sleep with him." I could hear the heavy cloak of jealousy in my tone. It rolled around me, spreading wide until it infected my body, robbing me of my ability to think or speak.
She rolled her lips in, still not looking at me. The silence stretched between us as I waited on bated breath.
