I lay on my side, burnt part of my face smushed into the pillow. I doubted I would sleep, too consumed with thinking of all the unholy things I wanted to do with my wife. But when I woke in the wee hours of the morning, it was the first time in ages that I didn’t need to drink myself into darkness.
When I rolled onto my back, my scarred face itching and tight from being smooshed into the pillow, I realized I was alone. Gabriella had snuck out.
Naturally, I went after her.
This time, when the fucking hinges wailed, she didn’t stir. Sleep had finally claimed her. I was torn. I stood in the doorway, watching. I wanted to go to her. To climb into her bed or haul her back to mine. When I’d agreed to this marriage, I was determined to give her space. But that was before I knew my wife. Now, I wondered why I cared if she felt shackled to a monster. Seeing this woman in my house, so close but so mentally out of reach twisted a knife deep in my gut.
If I was going to be miserable….
If I was going to have remorse….
I might as well have a reason to feel guilt. The plan I contemplated as I watched her was probably a villainous thing. But it might be the only thing that saved me. Tomorrow, she wouldn’t have a choice.
Chapter 22 – Gabriella
He knew my coffee order.
Myexactorder.
When I opened the fridge to grab the egg whites, I screamed. Covering my mouth, I stared at the sixteen-ounce plastic cup standing on the shelf, waiting for me. It wasn’t the only thing added to the fridge. My heart thumped hard against my ribs. My fingers shook as I reached for the black envelope with my name scrawled across the front.
Little Bird,
Use for whatever you need.
-L
Behind the note, which was just a torn piece of college-ruled notebook paper, was a shiny gold credit card. It had weight to it, made from real metal. Upon flipping it over, my married name was stamped on the back.
I can save the cash….
My gaze peeped up at the coffee. The credit card was business. The drink? That was personal. A large hazelnut latte with an extra shot, half the pumps of flavor, but with extra carameldrizzled inside. The whipped cream on top was falling flat, the ice slowly melting into the drink. But it was mine.
He knew.
The beast was thoughtful.
A shiver rattled down my spine. Not only had he been watching me—because how else would he have known?—but this was something nice. Why was he being nice?
“Can’t you just accept the kindness without fishing for an ulterior motive?” I muttered to myself.
No. No, I couldn’t. It didn’t make sense. My husband had no reason to be nice to me. He didn’t know me. And if he thought he could make me fall in love with him, he had another think coming. My heart was already broken, and I spent too long trying to mend it. The devil in a mask would only chew it up, spit it out, and laugh at me if I tried to make room for him.
It’s just coffee.
I was having a freaking existential crisis over coffee. It wasn’t even nine in the morning!
My phone chimed with an incoming text. I jumped, slammed the fridge shut, and fished the device from my back pocket. While my mind wondered what the drink offering meant, my eyes read the message.
Mama: Cara mia, are you coming to visit? I’m free this morning!
My jaw clenched tight. I was just there. Most married daughters didn’t go home to hang out on a daily basis. But….
What if something happened?
I ripped the fridge back open, plucked the drink, and began to guzzle as I sped upstairs. I plucked the cornicello pendant from the bottom of my makeup bag. The malocchio might not bother me here in my husband’s home, but my parent’s house was cursed. The evil eye was always present. Stroking the hornnecklace my heartrate calmed. Funny how I didn’t feel the need to wear it daily anymore.
But when one was married to the devil himself….
