Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Tate waited for me at the front desk, his hawkish gaze trained on the door I came out of.
He joined me silently, giving me the space I needed as we walked back to the car.
When Enzo and Filippo met us, he nudged them aside with his shoulder, edging them away.
“Take the day off,” he ordered. “I’ll watch over her.”
I was sick with longing.
It consumed me like cholera, spreading internally, taking over my body.
Outwardly, I was a symbol of success and indifference.
I worked. I exercised. I attended meetings. Counted tiles, precious gems, and solved equations, like usual.
But nothing was normal.
Gia was doing poorly. I could tell, even with my nonexistent ability to feel empathy.
She had not left her room in four days, save for a quick trip to the kitchen. Did not visit her mother at the hospital. Didn’t go into work.
She was wasting away. The catch was I had the emotional intelligence of a fucking Birkin bag. I couldn’t help her if I tried.
I paced outside her room like a caged panther, racking my brain, trying to figure out how to make her happy.
She was foolish, negligent, and a complete failure in honoring our contract. I wanted to sue her for breaking every single clause in it. This was my time with her, my fucking hard-earned prerogative, and she was wasting it away by being difficult and impossible.
Our marriage was by far the worst deal I’d ever struck in my entire career.
On day four, I called Calla and Dylan. They rushed to her side with cupcakes and sweet tea—fuck, refined carbs, I could’ve thought of that myself—and resurfaced after three hours holed up in her room.
“She’s grieving.” Calla wiped her pink, tear-stricken eyes, closing the door softly behind her. “You need to give her time.”
“I’ve run out of that certain ingredient, right along with my fucking patience.” I bared my teeth.
Once her mother died, Gia would leave. I had to find more leverage over her.
No, you have to stop extorting people into bending to your will.
Easier said than done. Force was the only weapon I knew how to use in a relationship, any relationship.
“Hmm.” Calla tapped her lips. “That certainly seems like a you problem.”
“It’s Gia’s problem more than anything. I’ll bury her legally for breaking our contract if she doesn’t turn a corner.”
“Okay, first of all? That’s a great way to win a woman over.” Dylan mimicked a gun with her fingers, pointing at me with a wink. “Keep doing that. You’re in the right direction, Romeo.”
How did Rhyland marry this woman? I knew warts more lovable than her.
“I’m not trying to make her fall.”
Dylan pulled a worried face. “I wonder if you believe your own words. You let her buy a private jet and a whole-ass island.”
“She did it without my knowledge.”
“Yeah,” Dylan snorted. “And your punishment for her was two orgasms.”
For Pete’s sake, women talked about everything. I was never going to accept the double standard of men not being able to talk about their sex lives.
“What is she saying?” I stirred Dylan back to the topic. It felt like herding cats.
“Not much.” Dylan scrunched her nose. “I think she needs some cheering up, though.”
“No fucking shit, Sherlock.”
“There’s that charm again.” Dylan smiled big, resting her cheek over her hands and batting her lashes dreamingly. “Tone it down a notch, or Gia will have some real competition. We’ll all be vying for your affection.”
“How does Rhyland cheer you up?”
Dylan squinted to the distance, giving it some thought. “Usually? Anal.”
Not very helpful, considering I hadn’t even fucked my wife yet.
“What about you?” I turned to Calla.
She pinched her lower lip. “Honey-glazed chicken nuggets. But I think Gia is a seafood kinda girlie.”
I shook my head. They were utterly useless. “Get out.”
As much as I wanted to berate my former PA for screwing me over, this was one of those times when I’d probably catch more bees with honey. She needed something to lift her spirits. I’d lost my parents long before I knew what it felt like to have them in the first place, so her pain was foreign to me.
I searched the internet. Some seriously idiotic suggestions popped up, but a few sparked an idea in me.
At three in the morning, I found myself driving to a storage unit on the outskirts of the city where Gia had stored her mother’s belongings. I sorted through boxes full of impractical junk the majority of the night until I found what I was looking for.
At ten thirty in the morning, my work was done. I knocked on Gia’s door. There was no answer.
“Gia.” I braced an elbow against the doorframe, fighting the urge to kick it down. “There’s something I need you to see.”
“I saw it already.” She whimpered, hiccupping on the other end. “And I heard what Dylan said. But you, sir, won’t be getting any backdoor action with that size of yours.”