“Because you won’t fucking tell me!” He slams his fist onto the counter. “Goddammit, Abella.”
“You sound just like my father.”
I regret the words the moment they leave my lips, but it doesn’t matter. The damage is done.
He stalks out of the bathroom, and I call after him, but he doesn’t stop.
I don’t blame him.
My father was a monster, and Angelo is nothing like him. I don’t know why I said it, but this is the fear that lives in my mind. A marriage where I end up just like my mother—waiting for her husband to come home, only to realize he’s still having babies …with other women.
When I press a hand against my abdomen, I can’t hold back my grief. This is the beginning of the end.
I’m going to lose him.
Again.
42
ABELLA
Ideal with stress by throwing myself into work. In this case, I take on so much that I don’t have time to think. It’s easy to do right now with a long list of clients who want me to style them for the upcoming ball.
It’s been two weeks since our argument, and Angelo hasn’t touched me since.
Tension stretches between us every time we’re in a room together. And when we go to bed at night, it feels like there’s an ocean between us.
I know what I need to do. This isn’t how I wanted things to end between us, and I should apologize for what I said. But that will only make it harder to leave.
So, I let it fester instead.
The days start to blend together, and the strain wears on me. I’m staying late at work every night, and I haven’t been sleeping enough or eating the way I should. I’m chronically exhausted, and it’s taking a toll on my body. My period only lasted a couple of days, which happens when I’m stressed. And since that night, I’ve felt genuinely terrible.
When I end up with a migraine on one of my busiest days at work, I push through, thinking I can survive off sheer willpower. But by the end of the afternoon, my body makes the decision for me.
I’m clammy, woozy, and I vomit up what little I had to eat. When I step into the hall and Nicky sees me, he frowns.
“Jesus, you don’t look good,” he says.
“I need to go home.”
He hesitates. “Maybe we should take you to the doctor in the city first.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Mariella’s going to see me on the island. I already texted her.”
“Alright.” He reaches for his phone, and I stop him. “She’ll let Angelo know.”
It’s not exactly a lie, but it’s not the full truth either. Mariella will ask me what I want her to disclose, if anything. Right now, there’s no need to concern Angelo, especially when things aren’t good between us.
“Okay,” Nicky agrees. “Let’s get you home then.”
An hour later, Mariella greets us at the entrance with a worried expression. She helps me to the suite and into my pajamas before she gives me a quick exam and asks about my symptoms.
“You have a fever,” she tells me.
“I’m probably coming down with a bug. I haven’t been taking very good care of myself.”
She sits beside me on the bed and reaches for my hand, her eyes soft.
