My back stiffened at the sound of my husband's voice. I kept my gaze away, staring blankly into the night.
"Why are you out here in the cold?"
Was it cold? Or was this numbness from the sting of acknowledgement that my marriage was just another statistic? When I thought back to earlier in the evening—flitting aboutfrom group to group, feeling important and respected, I wondered just how many of them turned to whisper to their companions:
"You see Alessio's young wife? The poor girl doesn't realise that she's mingling with one of his women."
I didn't react when I felt his jacket drape my shoulders, instantly heating me, but doing nothing to warm me from the icy steel of betrayal that burrowed deep within my bones.
His spicy cologne stung my nose. I loved his scent, but now I couldn't help but wonder if it lingered on Annabelle's pillow whenever he left her bed. Did she roll onto it, squeezing it against her nostrils like I often did?
"Millie? What is it,piccola?"
I flinched at the endearment.
"I had an interesting conversation tonight."
"Oh?"
"Hmm. With Annabelle Wentworth."
His breath sucked in, and he straightened from his lean. "Millie—"
"In future, could you please stick to social media models and C-grade actresses?" I flatly demanded. "I would appreciate not being forced to socialise with your whores."
My language was intentional, even though I saw no fault in what other women did in the privacy of their bedrooms. But I wanted to show him just how little I cared. That I saw what he did with these women was beneath me. Even if my heart was shattering with each breath.
"Millie. I'm sorry—"
"I'm ready to go now."
I withdrew his jacket from around my shoulders, folded it over the barrier, and calmly walked back inside.
Chapter 3
Alessio
My wife wouldn't look at me the whole ride home. The delicate curve of her jaw remained stubbornly turned, her expression blank as she stared at the moving scenery.
Not that I could blame her snub. When Annabelle had emerged from where I'd last seen Millie disappear to, a cold trickle of sweat slid down my spine. My heart had been in my throat, and I could barely concentrate on the conversation around me, especially when Millie had been MIA for quite some time.
When I'd finally tracked her down and she'd stared at me with an expression that matched the cold night air, my heart almost ceased beating. I'd made a grave mistake. One of epic proportions.
That damned Annabelle. I had no idea she would be there tonight. When I spied her hovering along the fringes ofmy conversation, I sent her a warning look before pointedly dismissing her. She knew better than to approach me in public.
I'd already been planning on ending our brief arrangement, even well before tonight. She was just not important enough to fit into my busy schedule. But in ignoring her, I ended up hurting the one person I cared about.
Millie. My wife.
I stared at my hand, curved possessively around her shapely thigh, yet I might as well be touching stone. My mouth twisted in frustration as she still refused to meet my gaze. I didn't care if she wanted space—she was my wife. There would be no frigid silences or cold shoulders.
Of course, the chances of ending the night buried deep in her like I'd planned to were now slim to none. Even I was not stupid enough to attempt a seduction in the aftermath of her confrontation.
Still, Millie would get over it. I glanced at her clenched jaw, and something akin to panic sank deep. Yes, she would simply get over it. She had to.
When we arrived home, I gave her the space she clearly needed. I made my excuses to work, but not before leaning over to plant a kiss on her head—and almost catching air as she swiftly turned to walk away. Her hand was already moving to remove the ring I'd gifted her.
I busied myself in my office, my mind, for once, unable to concentrate, and I ended up staring at my computer for long periods. Forty minutes was all I gave her to pout before I hunted her down.
