For one blissful moment, I dream of sending Riccardo a text like that.
No. Fuck off.
It would be the best feeling in the world if there weren’t real consequences, and conflict didn’t make me physically ill. But if I don’t take a stand, this is what the rest of my life will be like.
I’ll be ordered about, my identity stripped down to nothing more than Riccardo’s wife. For once, that reality feels more terrifying than the idea of upsetting him.
So, with more bravery than I usually possess, I make an attempt, knowing deep down it probably won’t get me anywhere.
I type out the text and send it before I can overthink it.
I’m working on my senior collection this weekend. I’d prefer to stay home if that’s okay.
To my horror, my phone rings a moment later, and his name flashes across the screen. I gulp in air, slightly paralyzed as I consider ignoring it. But I know he’ll definitely have a problem with that. So I answer reluctantly.
“Hello?”
“Gabi.” He greets me in a clipped tone. “You know, when I agreed to marry you, I told Michael it was a good idea for you to finish school. But if it’s getting in the way of our future?—”
“It’s not,” I say quickly, panic sinking in.
There’s no doubt that’s a threat, and I don’t have to question whether Michael would allow him to pull the plug on my senior year. He can’t get rid of me fast enough.
“You’re going to be my wife,” Riccardo grits out. “That’s your priority. All you have to do is show up and look pretty. It’s really not that hard. My investors want to meet you, so this is nonnegotiable.”
I close my eyes, fighting the pressure behind them. “Okay.”
“Put on that black dress you wore at Angelo’s birthday party. I want you to look hot but not trashy. Take a picture and send it to me before you leave so I can see your hair and makeup.”
I shudder at the thought of him having a photo of me on his phone, not to mention him leading me around like a show pony in that dress. But he knows exactly what he’s doing by leveraging my final year of college. I don’t have a choice.
“Alright.”
“The event is in the IVI banquet room at 6:30. Leave your dog at home, and don’t be late.”
I force a sound of agreement, and he hangs up without a goodbye.
Beppe tries to comfort me while I spend the next few minutes dissociating. I don’t want to leave him behind, but Riccardo has me in a chokehold.
With what little time I have left, I force myself into action and follow his instructions. The black organza babydoll dress he commanded me to wear hits mid-thigh, and it’s not something I would have chosen for an investors' dinner. It’s my go-to party dress, but tonight it feels more like funeral attire.
I pair it with the same black satin platform heels that I always do because I’m short on time, and then I touch up my makeup. After a few dabs of setting powder and a quick hair check, I snap a picture and glare at the screen as I send it to Riccardo.
In contrast to the photos I send Eros, this one makes me feel gross and cheap. I can’t imagine what it will be like when I actually have to let him touch me. The thought turns my stomach.
Riccardo: Try again. Send me one with a smile this time.
My grip on the phone tightens as I stare at his directive.
I always suspected Riccardo would be domineering in the worst way, and now he’s starting to show me his true colors.
I don’t want to comply, but again, I think of school as I plaster on a fake smile and send him the updated picture.
Riccardo: Much better. You’d do well to remember that I’m investing in you, Gabi. I expect a return.
It’s tempting to send him back a barf emoji, but I choose self-preservation instead.
Gabi: See you in a little bit.
