Sunlight streams through the curtains when I finally drag myself out of bed. Saint is already gone—no note, no explanation. Just his side of the bed, rumpled and empty.
A small miracle.
A knock on the door makes me jump.
"Mrs. Marini?" A woman's voice, heavily accented. "I have breakfast."
Mrs. Marini.That's me now.
"Come in."
A woman in her fifties enters with a tray filled with coffee, pastries, fruit, eggs. Enough food for three people. She sets it on the desk by the window and smiles at me.
"Welcome to the family. I'm Lyla, the housekeeper. If you need anything, you just ask." Her voice is thick, Italian, and though I want to be polite, I barely manage a smile.
"Thank you."
She leaves, and I stare at the tray. My stomach turns at the sight of food. The smell of eggs makes me nauseous.
I pour a cup of coffee, black, no sugar, and take it to the window. Below, the Marini compound spreads out like a fortress. Guards at the gates. High walls. A prison dressed up as protection.
The coffee is too hot, burning my tongue. I drink it anyway.
I should eat. I know that. My body needs fuel, especially if I'm expected to get pregnant. But the thought of putting food in my mouth, chewing, swallowing...
My throat closes up. I think I'm hungover.
I leave the tray untouched and go to shower again.
In the mirror afterward, I study my reflection. The same face I had yesterday. The same body. But somehow different. Used. Marked.
Too thin,Saint said.
I hate that he somehow manages to still make me feel bad. Nothing will ever be good enough. Best I understand that now.
Turning away, I get dressed in the clothes someone has unpacked for me—a simple Zimmerman midi-dress in pale blue and cream. I'm glad it's not white. It's elegant but modest and casual. Appropriate for a Marini wife. I braid my still-damp hair and apply minimal makeup.
When I finally emerge from the bedroom, I find the breakfast tray gone and a lunch tray in its place. I'd been hiding in the bathroom for hours.
It doesn't matter. I still can't eat it. I grab the water, move the food around, and then place the tray outside the door.
I'm alone. I'm tired. And I'm praying for a baby I don't even want.
When did life get so fucked up?
For the first time, I allow the tears to fall.
CHAPTER 2
Gemma
Night two starts the same way night one ended.
The bedroom door opens around eleven. I'm already in bed, wearing the silk nightgown someone laid out for me.
Probably Lyla.
Saint walks in, already loosening his tie. He doesn't say hello. Doesn't ask how my day was. Tells me nothing about himself. He just starts undressing with the mechanical efficiency of someone performing a chore.
