The next morning, I wake up to my confiscated cell phone beside me on the table and Lex’s side completely unruffled.
He never came back. I tried to find my release in the shower multiple times, until the hot water turned freezing, but nothing compared. It seems Lex broke my body so I could only come with his touch. And I fucking hate him for that.
I hate this whole situation. I hate my lack of self-control around him, how my anger gets me into trouble with him. How my anger doesn’t affect him. I’m messing up screwing up my marriage.
Picking up my cell, I see it’s still early and I have a text from the bastard.
Lex: I’ve arranged for the rest of your things to be brought to our home.
I growl under my breath, eyes hazy from sleep. I don’t miss the ‘our’ part of that text. I respond, ignoring the dozen or so missed ones from Danica.
Me: This isn’t my home. I’m not staying here so it’s pointless to move it all.
Right away he responds.
Lex: You are my wife. This is your home. I own you entirely, little menace. Your items will be there before noon.
Before I can toss my phone into the wall, he sends another text.
Lex: And don’t even think of texting that girlfriend of yours. If you listen, maybe I’ll be in a generous mood when I return tonight.
I send him the middle finger emoji and promptly open the chain from Danica.
She texted me numerous times trying to locate me since we last saw each other, but that was weeks ago. The last one came in just last night. A drunken selfie at a local bar, asking me if I was coming.
At this point, I’m just happy to have someone to cause chaos with. Even if it’s with her.
I send her a quick reply, letting her know I’m alive.
Lex thought he could own me and maybe my body is on board. But I’m certainly not.
Promptly at noon, various large cardboard boxes of my items were delivered to the De Luca compound, the movers wordlessly bringing everything to Lex’s room. Almost like they were instructed not to speak to me or be deterred by me.
It would be just like my husband to do it.
Just like everyone in this house, no one speaks to me. Maria tries friendly chatter, and Nico always gives me a warm smile, but no one really talks to me. Just like when Pops was alive.
It was always easier to ignore the mess I was. He would shove me away, ignore me, neglect me.
Lex is no better, not speaking to me unless I give him what he wants.
I’d rather pull off all my eyelashes and nails with a rusty spoon.
Sullenly, I hang up my various clothes, the bedroom furniture covered with designer clothing, shoes, and purses. I didn’t think I had this much but seeing it all laid out, it’s overwhelming. A few boxes hold various books and items like stuffed animals I was given as a child. My jewels and beautiful priceless pieces lay on all the tables and chairs so as not to tangle. I don’t have a case to put them in here, so I’ll need to figure that out.
If I keep them. They’re all trophies my father forced me to wear.
Thankfully, my furniture wasn’t delivered. That’d make this huge room, with dark stained floors, and large canopy bed seem confined.
Much like the rest of the home, it’s comfortable, warm. Nico and Maria designed their home to reflect her upbringing in Italy. A large Italian farmhouse, with tiled floor in the main areas, this home is filled with good memories that wash over you the minute you enter. It has a large courtyard in the back and a bright tomato garden along the sides. I even spotted some grapevines further along the back of the property, fighting to grow against the late spring coolness.
This room is more masculine, darker but it still has traces of Maria’s touches. With high ceilings, a glinting chandelier and small, lace doilies in the corners, it’s as if she’s had to sneak them in when Lex wouldn’t notice.
Stepping back from the walk-in closet, I wrinkle my nose. My things fit. Like this space was designed for me. Lex has designer suits on one side, expensive ties, and cuff links all put in neat rows on the shelves. My clothes on the opposite side blend right in, like they’ve always been here.
God. This isn’t good.
Ripping his suits down, I make sure to crumple and dig my heel into every piece. I want him to be mad, annoyed, just like how I feel. If I can’t get even with him physically, I can take it out on his precious clothing.
I’m still livid about last night.
Walking back into the bedroom, I sigh, rage fleeing, and melancholy erupting. All my things are here. I’m officially a De Luca now.
How do I screw up my marriage now?
My phone pings, pulling me from the pity party I was about to collapse into.
Danica: Wanna head out tonight?
I force a smile, sniffling slightly, giving her a thumbs up emoji that I don’t feel.
I’m not in the best mood to go out. These moods are meant for me to hide in my room, under the covers, watching funny cat videos and eating the expensive chocolate I always kept hidden in my bedside table. These are the nights for hiding and dissolving into my sadness, letting the depression win.
But I don’t want to do that, not when I need to end this arrangement. I have to find a way to push him into a divorce and get out.
Harder now, when he seems so intent on keeping me.
Grabbing a dress and pair of heels, I turn toward the shower. Lex said not to speak to Danica, but I was done listening. Pops couldn’t control me, and Lex certainly can’t either. I’ll show him why.
Was it terrible to use a friend as bait, driving your supposedly murderous husband insane? Maybe. But it was the only way I knew I could get under his skin.
Danica was my secret weapon and I planned on using her to the fullest extent.
