I pause to see how he’s taking it. He’s pushed the glasses back up his nose so I can’t see his eyes, but I stare at those black shields without blinking. His cock has retreated, at least. He doesn’t move; he doesn’t speak.
“Dinner is at eight tonight,” I tell him. “I’ll see you then.”
Chapter Thirteen
FINCH
The Maddalena is a big fucking boat, but even so, it has finite space. It’s hard for me to find a place where I don’t think Luca will be able to find me. Not that the fucker will come looking for me, but I don’t want to chance him stumbling over me again.
God.
He hit me right in my feelings.
I didn’t even know I had any left. I’ve chased enough highs to get rid of any of them, or so I thought. But no. A few nasty words and I’m a little kid again when my sisters told me they didn’t want to play with me that day. Only it felt worse than that, so much fucking worse. Like the day Mom died.
I push that fucking thought right out the porthole I’m looking through. I try to never think about shit that makes me sad, because it just brings on that black wave, and then I drown. I’m a party boy at heart, and hey, I can handle some guy turning me down.
In fact, it’s a fucking novelty is what it is.
No one’s ever turned me down before, and isn’t it so fucking funny that the first guy to do it is my awful wedded husband?
It’s hilarious.
I laugh to myself, and then laugh again, because it didn’t sound right the first time.
I’ve stashed myself away in a lower-deck room; I guess it’s where the crew might sleep, although this one is empty right now. I’ll go back up top soon enough and sleep in the sun for the morning, make sure Luca sees I couldn’t give a fuck about what he said. Then I’ll find something to do in the afternoon. There’s no internet here; not that there couldn’t be, but Tino Morelli is canny enough not to leave a digital trail from his yacht. There are a lot of old movies in the entertainment lounge, a lot of Sofia Loren. I can watch some of those and drink a few bottles of the Cristal they have stocked. Maybe I’ll jerk off later, since my husband doesn’t seem inclined to let me drain my balls around him.
But for now I’ll just sit here for a while and look out at the ocean.
It’s a little darker than the blue of Luca’s eyes. It looks calm. Only I know there are things swimming in the depths. Deadly things.
Fuck, I want so bad to go back up to my room and swallow down a handful of the emergency pills I stashed in the lining of my luggage, where I knew Luca wouldn’t think to look. Even just a couple to take the edge off of things. My heart could relax, let go of the pain.
But I don’t go up to my room. I don’t even move. I just stay there staring out the window for a while.
This is a business deal, nothing more. I won’t ever love you.
And then I realize—he called me Howie when he said it. Not Finch. Not angel. Not baby bird.
Howie.
What the shit-fuck-damn is that supposed to mean?
Dinner is amazing that night. It’s our official honeymoon feast according to Nunzio, the yacht manager, cooked by his wife Maria, the yacht chef. Nunzio makes it sound like such a celebration that I almost forget why I’m here. This could be a date in a top restaurant; Nunzio could be our waiter; Luca and I could be on a first date, getting to know each other, instead of sitting here on our goddamn disaster of a honeymoon.
I can’t help thinking of all those things we’ve missed out on—the awkwardness, the fumbling around for things we have in common, even a slightly less-bloody meet-cute—and it fills me with rage that we’ll never have those.
We’ll never be able to tell sappy stories to the kids about how we met, and when Luca proposed, and how I cried when I said yes, yes of course I’ll marry you.
And then Luca says to Nunzio: “Do me a favor, have a taste of this first. Let me know what it’s like?” He’s gesturing to the antipasto, our first course.
Nunzio gets this embarrassed, polite look and insists he could never intrude on our wedding feast.
“Perhaps I’m not making myself clear,” Luca says. “You’re going to taste everything before we eat it. And if you don’t do it, we’ll call your wife up from the kitchen, and she can taste it. And if you both refuse, I’m going to kill you.”
Nunzio gives a stupid little laugh, like he thinks Luca is kidding.
I stand up, making them both look to me. I love my fucking idiot husband down to the ground, no matter how much he tries to push me away, but there are some things that are just wrong. “Luca, sweetheart,” I chuckle. “Don’t kid around like that.” Luca and Nunzio both look at me like I’ve said something in Swahili. “Nunzio, he’s just messing around, but he’s got a terrible sense of humor. Better just leave us to it for now.”
I smile at the old man, my best smile, the autocratic one I inherited from Mom. People always did what she wanted, when she wanted, and she only ever commanded with a smile. Everyone talked about what a wonderful, charming woman she was.
Well, she was wonderful and charming, but she was a manipulative mastermind
