Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 39756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
“I’d love to, but I can’t. Tomorrow?” I’m so wrapped up in my own feelings that company is the last thing I need.
“Yes, you tell me when, and I’ll be there. Things will get better after you cry on my shoulder.” God, my best friend is the absolute best.
“I love you, Delaney, never forget that, and if you have time between clients, we’ll do lunch. Today, I must deal with a few pressing matters.” Mainly my husband, who is once again missing. I’ve been patient, and I think my patience has had about enough. I’m more than just a fuck doll he can wring orgasms out of, fall asleep next to, and then leave, like my feelings mean absolutely nothing to him.
“You tell me a place and a time, I’ll be there,” he repeats. The garage door opening alerts me that either Enzo is back, or Nico, though that’s highly unlikely. Knowing my husband, he won’t be home till after midnight. Tonight, things are going to be different, though. I’ll turn away from him, use the period excuse, which isn’t all that untruthful seeing as I’m days away from starting and probably also the reason I’m on edge.
“Sounds good. I’ll call first thing tomorrow morning, and we’ll set a date.”
“Love you, girlie. Things will get better.” I glazed over what was going on, preferring to tell him the issues I’m dealing with face to face since, you know, I can’t tell my husband.
“Love you. Talk soon.” I hang up the phone, place it on the counter, and go about finding something for dinner. Assuming I’ll be by myself again tonight, I take out one of the cook-at-home meals that come pretty much prepared, besides the minimal chopping of vegetables, herbs, and whatnot.
“Hmm, what to have? Sliders or gnocchi,” I say to the empty house that’s become my home. Using my condo as an office actually works, and it’s a better tax write-off while also serving a fallback plan, a plan that might be needed before too long. My head is in the refrigerator, meaning I’m not paying attention to the alarm beeping as someone walks in, a hazard that comes with the territory because this house is like a department store. Guys walking in and out, checking doors and windows before leaving, or if Enzo needs something out of Nico’s home office, he does that, too. I’m beginning to feel like a piece of furniture, and it’s starting to really piss me off.
“You make gnocchi from something other than scratch, and you’ll be doing the whole family a disservice, vita mia.” I don’t move my away from the refrigerator, using the cool air to calm the rising anger building up inside me, threatening to bubble over, and if he doesn’t quit talking, I’m going throw the gnocchi at his dumb head. “You’re not going to say hello to your husband?” Yep, I’m going to do it. Dear God, he’s reducing me to violence with the way he’s acting like nothing is wrong.
“Gnocchi it is,” I say under my breath, grabbing the paper bag that has the ingredients I need before I turn around, shutting the double-door fridge with my hip. A little over the top for one person, well, now two. I stay silent as I take him in, willing myself not to cry over the fact that our marriage could mean so little that he can’t see the issue before his eyes. It’s been weeks since he’s been home in the light of day. Surely, Nico isn’t that thick in the head. He’s in a classic suit and tie, and his hair looks like he just had it cut, beard trimmed to perfection. Nico looks like his normal everyday self, except for the dark circles beneath his eyes. I should be sympathetic to him, and I would be, if he’d let me in just a smidge. I’m not asking to know what’s going on every single moment of every single day.
“Journey.” I watch as he walks closer to me, my hand coming up to stop him.
“No, not right now. I can’t do this. For weeks, Nico, it’s been three weeks that I’ve been trying to talk to you. I’ve sat waiting up for you, attempting to wake up earlier to see you, and every time, you shut down. So, I’m going to make the fucking gnocchi because I am starving, then I’m going to take a bath and go to bed.” I take one last look at the man who completely owns me with every depth of my being. Right now, though, he’s not the man I’ve known, the man I married. He’s a ghost of that today. I know him; it’s only a matter of time until he’s done keeping his distance. How he’s doing so right now is a shock. I see the set in his jaw, almost as if he’s grinding his teeth against one another, hands fisting and then releasing. I’m not going to him, though. I turn my back and unload the bag.