He’s doing this for Elio. Elio is the one who’s taken over from Vincenzo Titone. Elio is the one growing their empire and their bank accounts with an iron fist.
I’m not sure if the fact Curse is doing all this for his brother is better or worse.
Worse, probably. Because it means that he didn’t have his own agency or interest in coming to get me at all. Not even my papà’s money would have been enough to lure him. He had to be ordered to do it.
Well. Fine. That’s how it is then. My rose-tinted glasses have been fully removed. Frankly, they’ve been crushed, the lenses nothing but glittery pink powder. And I’m likely all the better for it. Even if it doesn’t feel that way right now.
No. Right now, it still hurts to breathe too deeply because my heart feels bruised. It hurts just to get out of the bed and walk to the bathroom. But I make myself do it, and I feel just the tiniest bit proud of myself that I do.
I will survive this. I’ve survived so much already.
Curse Titone will not be the end of me.
I brush my teeth with the pink toothbrush Curse bought me and go pee. Then, I step into the shower. Warm water this time. I wash myself everywhere, trying not to remember how it felt for Curse to hold me here last night in the cold.
Once I’m done, I run into the same problem as yesterday. I don’t have anything to wear. But I no longer feel awkward and guilty about taking something from Curse’s closet. I no longer feel like some kind of burden to him. Now that I know how valuable I actually am to his family – or at least how valuable my papà made me – I figure it’s the very least I’m owed. I stride into Curse’s closet with my head held high, snatching another soft T-shirt and a pair of men’s black trackpants from the shelves.
Of course, everything is way too big. That’s mostly fine where the shirt is concerned, but the pants are so droopy that they slide down my hips and land in a pool around my ankles the second I try to take a step. I give up on those, replacing them with a pair of silky boxers. I pretend they aren’t his underwear, telling myself that they’re just shorts. They certainly fit me like shorts. They’re baggy, but they don’t seem to be at risk of falling down, so I keep them on and leave the room.
I make my way down the stairs to the kitchen. I pass Curse’s office, but don’t let myself look to see if he’s in there. I don’t want to let him affect me in any way going forward.
In the kitchen, I see a clear clamshell-style package of baked goods. Stomach grumbling, I pop it open to find Danish pastries inside, shiny with butter and drizzled with criss-crossing white stripes of icing.
They’re all lemon.
I’m not letting Curse affect me, right? So I push down the instinct to reject the food that he’s obviously set out for me. Maybe he’s trying to bribe me with that flavour so that I go along with his plan. I don’t care. They look amazing. So I’m going to eat them.
I’ve just polished off one delectable pastry, and I’m considering eating another, when a large collection of bags near the front door catches my eye. I wipe my sticky fingers on Curse’s shirt – something I never would have considered doing yesterday – and head towards them. A peek in one bag makes it clear that these are the shopping items I requested.
I crouch down, rifling through the bags. Maybe this is all meant to bribe me, too. Because this stuff is nice. When I wrote down that he could order me any brand, apparently he took that to mean the most expensive ones available. Multiple bottles of salon- and spa-brand shampoo, conditioner, body wash, body crème, body oil, and scented bubble bath fill an entire bag on their own. Instead of one hairbrush like I requested, there are four. A round one for blow outs, a paddle brush, a wide tooth comb, and a boar bristle one.
There are tampons, pads, and ten, yes, ten different kinds of deodorant. Which normally might be kind of offensive – who the hell needs ten freaking things of deodorant unless they absolutely reek? But in this case it’s obvious that I’m not expected to use them all, just choose my favourite of the fragrances. I’m faced with similar excess in the lip balm department. And not just lip balm. There’s lip salve, lip butter, lip jelly, lip gloss, lip masks.
Then there are the clothes. There have to be eight or more bags devoted just to all that. Jackets, jeans, leggings, blouses, sweaters, shorts, skirts, sundresses. There’s quite a bit of summer clothing, I realize. Even three swimsuits and two pairs of designer sunglasses. Well, I think bitterly, I won’t be needing all that if we’re divorced by April.
But then again, I will still need something to wear in the summer, won’t I? Even if I’m no longer married to him. It’s not like I can go back to Buffalo to get all my old clothes, and I won’t have money of my own to buy new ones. There’s no reason Curse wouldn’t let me keep all this once he gets what he wants from me.
I’m just checking out the bag of buttery-soft, pastel-coloured PJs when a presence behind me makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“Anything missing?”
“No,” I say. I close my eyes briefly, steeling myself to see him. “Well, actually, I guess there is one thing missing.” I rise and turn to face him. “A wedding dress.”
God. I had hoped after last night, I wouldn’t keep reacting to him the way I did before. But I do. He’s still so beautiful it physically hurts. My ribs ache.
Curse regards me in silence, his eyes narrowed. Calculating. Finally, he says, “Is that a joke?”
“Nope.” I gesture flippantly towards the bags. “I don’t see it.”
“Guess I hadn’t gotten quite that far yet.”
“Seems like you’ve already gotten pretty fucking far to me,” I spit back. “You’ve got me right where you want me. Marco is dead, and I’m here now, aren’t I?” I throw up my hands and let them fall. They slap against my thighs, stinging. “When were you going to tell me that we’re basically fucking engaged?”
His nostrils flare.
“When I was sure that you weren’t going to try to run.”
“Run,” I say. I laugh sarcastically. “Right. And run where? Back to New York, where I could get charged with being an accessory to my husband’s murder? Back to the city crawling with men who want to do exactly the same thing that you have? Men who want to take me for their own gain?”
