“We’ll explore the city. Be cordial with each other. Pretend we’re happy in this marriage. And then when we return to New York, you can go about your life and I’ll go about mine.”
“Does that mean I can date other men?”
His expression darkens. “No.”
“So I’m stuck with you and yet, I don’t even get to know you? I don’t get… anything?”
“I thought you didn’t want to get to know me.”
“I don’t,” I say quickly. “I’m just saying. And you don’t get to date other women. I don’t want you cheating on me.”
“There is no one else,” he says, looking away from me. Interesting. Once more, I can tell he’s not saying everything.
“Is there? Anyone else? I remember when you said you didn’t want to lose another woman. What did you mean by that?”
“I already told you: nothing. Drop it, Ciara. Get some sleep. It’s going to be a long week.” He goes into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
But there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Not when there’s so much on my mind.
So instead of going into my own bedroom, I decide to leave the house. And I don’t tell Marco where I’m going. I refuse to be controlled a moment longer.
Chapter Nine
Ciara
Sneaking out is so much easier when I don’t have a guard following my every move. I take the car into the city and after researching on my phone, I find a nightclub to go to. Might as well party. It’s my honeymoon after all. It’s not like I’m going to get anything from my new husband. Marco is distant and confusing but every so often I’ll see a spark of passion in him. I wish I could see more but I know he won’t show me. He doesn’t trust me after I admitted to wanting him dead and honestly, I can’t blame him for that. I wouldn’t trust me either.
The nightclub is packed with people at one in the morning. This is where the night owls go. Where the wanderers go.
I grab a drink – some fruity cocktail that tastes good but I know is going to give me a hangover in the morning – and head onto the dance floor. I let myself get lost in the alcohol and music. No one, not my father or brother or husband, can stop me from having fun.
A man approaches me. Closer in age to me than Marco is. Cute with dark hair and a slim build.
He speaks to me in Italian and I shake my head. “Sorry,” I say.
“Ah. You’re American.”
“Yes. Am I that obvious?”
“Maybe a little. I’m Andre. Come dance with me.”
I hesitate. Marco made it clear I couldn’t date other men just because we’re going to live our lives apart. But… Marco isn’t here right now. And it would be fun to dance with a cute guy. Nothing more has to happen.
I place my hand in Andre’s outstretched one and let him pull me deeper into the crowd. “I’m Ciara.”
“An interesting name.”
“It’s Irish.”
“I thought you said you were American.”
“I am. Irish American.”
“Ah.” He shakes his head. “You Americans define things in a funny way. Here everyone is just Italian.” He settles his hands on my hips and pulls me in closer to him. The heat from his body is comforting. Relaxing. It feels good to be close to someone. To not have to fear if that person will try to hurt you or not. Try to control you or not. Get under your skin.
Andre and I dance without saying a word. He runs his hands along my hips and down to my ass. I promptly place his hands back on my hips. I’m not here to be felt up. I’m just here to dance and to get lost in the moment.
Andre quirks his eyebrow at me – like it’s a challenge – and lowers his hands back down to my ass, giving it a squeeze. I shove him away from me.
