Page 13 of Banished and Pregnant by Her Sicilian Billionaire Husband

The sharpness of his voice, combined with the sudden thickness of his accent, makes me jump in my seat. Our marriage might have only lasted two years, but there are still a few things I remember about him, like how very little in this world can make him lose composure like this.

In fact, Curzio told me a little of how ice-cold Marcello had been in the past, even while risking his life. And so for him to look this violent—

“You have every right to blame me for this,” he says harshly. “So why not just get it off your chest—”

All I can do is shake my head and look at him helplessly. “I can’t force myself to feel what’s not there—”

“Then tell me,” he demands, “what’s there!”

And after that...

Silence.

Because the way he’s looking at me now...

I think he’s also realized just how loaded that question was, after eight years...

Eight long years of clause six.

That’s what it’s called. Clause six, on page four of the agreement I signed alone at my own kitchen table in Evanston, six weeks after he had me driven out of his gates. In the event of an unscheduled encounter, and in the absence of the minor child, the second party shall not address, approach, or seek the attention of the first party.

The second party. That’s me.

It isn’t a restraining order. No court ever saw it. It’s just eleven pages of Mr. Brent’s very best work, and a pregnant woman too frightened to argue about anything except the money, which she didn’t want anyway.

I asked him once, on the phone, what would actually happen if I broke it. He went very quiet. Then he told me, in a pained sort of voice, that he was extremely good at what he did, and that I’d best take his word for it.

So that’s what my husband thinks of me. He hates the sight of me so much that he paid a lawyer to write it down, in a numbered clause, that I’m not to look at him.

Marcello Bastianelli always gets what he wants, and back then, what he wanted was for me to be completely erased from his life. And now?

Tell me what’s there!

He’s looking at me now like he completely regrets what he’s asked for. But since it’s too late for him to take the words back...

“There is something I need to get off my chest, and it’s something that I never had the chance...”

His jaw clenches.

“B-Because eight years, you...”

A muscle starts ticking in his jaw when my voice catches.

“You made a promise to me. R-Remember?”

And when he only looks at me—

“Answer me!”

It’s my first time to cry out like that, and I’m appalled and ashamed. I was never the type to raise my voice like this, but he...

“I do.”

He promised, you see.

Twelve years ago, on our very first date, when I was so scared of losing my heart to a stranger who was clearly out of my league, I made him promise that he’d tell me to my face if he ever wanted to get rid of me...

And he said yes.