Fight Me Little Pearl

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

FRANCESCA

I t’s day two of my honeymoon.

I turn on my stomach on my vast bed and my belly rumbles with discontent. I flip onto my back and stare at the splendid moldings on the ceiling. How can I be in one of the most beautiful cities in the world and be so freaking bored?

I want to return to New York so badly. I miss my family, especially Mama. And Louisa. I wish I hadn’t snapped at her. Not knowing any better, she was genuinely happy for me and simply complimenting my husband’s looks back at the wedding. There was no need to be as rude as I was to her. Now that the haze of despair is not so completely blinding, I can see and think more clearly.

I decide to call her later.

With a sigh, I get out of bed and ring room service for breakfast. It’s a few minutes past eight, and of course, my dear husband is nowhere to be found. He left the room at the crack of dawn, and I haven’t seen him since then. Even though he has most of his bases in Italy and America, he still finds a way to work and keep busy while we’re on honeymoon in Paris.

Yesterday, I went the entire day, only seeing Valentino once when I returned from Mass. He disappeared shortly after, and I didn’t see him again until past midnight.

Is he avoiding me? What does he actually do in the huge chunks of time he is away from me? Maybe he truly cannot stand to be in my presence.

This makes me happy. I mean, it should make me completely happy but I can’t ignore the slight twinge of disappointment settling in a corner of my heart. When he’s here, I hate him. When he’s not, I spend my time thinking about hating him. Regardless of his absence or presence, he’s always on my mind, and that annoys me. And I know why. All of this confusion and self-torture I attribute to that little bud between my thighs, throbbing with need whenever it even so much as catches a whiff of his presence.

As I pad on my bare feet to the bathroom, I wonder once again why we have to share a bedroom. He’s rich and there is no one around and so no reason for us to pretend to be a pair of cooing lovebirds. So why the hell is he torturing me? A part of me expected and dreaded the idea that he would force himself onto me, but he hasn’t so far so why can’t we just get our own rooms and sleep in peace? Why can’t he sleep in the master bedroom?

Maybe I should move in there…

Then I can think about Thomas instead of worrying about where Valentino is and what he is doing. I brush my teeth with extra vigor when I remember that I’ve hardly had a chance to think about Thomas anymore. I blame Valentino for that . He ruins everything. Horrid man. As I brush my hair, I allow my thoughts to dwell on Thomas.

Poor thing. He must be suffering in silence.

I leave the bathroom, go into the living room, and stop dead in my tracks. Valentino is at the dining table, fresh as a daisy and eating his breakfast without a care in the world. Sunlight is pouring in through the lofty windows and making him look gloriously grand and unapproachable.

How long has he been around?

I didn’t hear a thing. His stealthiness bothers me. I’ve noticed how silently he moves. One second, he’s not here, and the next, he is, all without making the smallest sounds. For a man that big, it’s a wonder how he moves so quietly. I’m barely over five feet and cannot climb down the bed without waking the whole hotel up.

Valentino looks up from his food and eyes me for a fleeting moment before returning his attention back to his meal.

He is definitely ignoring me.

My stomach rumbles again. To hell with him. There is enough food for two there. I walk confidently towards the table and take the chair across from him.

“Good morning,” I greet, because obviously my Mama taught me better than his did.

To my surprise he snubs me completely, not even bothering to look in my direction. He seems only interested in stuffing bacon and eggs into his mouth. Okay, that is a lie. He’s not stuffing it into his mouth, he’s eating it in a civilized way.

Quite an attractive way, actually.

But two can play at this game.

I reach for a warm croissant, cut it in half and butter it liberally. Then I spread a thick layer of peach jam on it and take a big bite. Oh wow! French croissant is nothing like the American version of a French croissant. It’s heavenly. As I chew, I reflect on the fact that Valentino is giving me the type of marriage I hoped he would. I told my mother that I wished he would not speak to me or touch me, but she laughed and told me how impossible that was.

‘Men will be men,’ she said. ‘They all want sex.’

But here we are, Valentino and I, and he is doing better than I could have hoped.

He doesn’t speak to me even when I speak to him. And better still, he hasn’t tried to have sex with me. I know that I told him he repulses me and I didn’t want to have sex with him. And it's not like I want to have sex with him, but freaking hell. He’s a man! All men want sex. And he’s known to be hot-blooded too. Obviously, I’ve heard the Subway sandwich rumors about him too.

I know I’m attractive. Men have tripped over themselves to tell me so. I’m his wife. I cannot stop him if he wants it, but he isn’t even trying. At least, try once. One attempt that I can fight off would be nice. Then I wouldn’t have to soul search like this.

I stuff the last half of my delicious croissant into my mouth and watch him dab his mouth with his napkin. I dump some bacon and scrambled eggs on my plate. He still hasn’t even glanced at me.

Bastard!

Is he seeing another woman? Probably the one whose scent was all over him on our first night here. The audacity of the man makes my stomach churn. I stab my bacon with a fork and suddenly struggle with a loss of appetite. Strange, my stomach was rumbling like crazy only minutes before.

As I take a deep breath, a tanned, perfectly manicured hand slides a black AmEx card along the white linen and stops it next to my plate. I look up to see Valentino looking at me, his gray eyes so cold my blood starts to freeze. Only a few hours ago, he stared at me like he wanted to rip the clothes off my body and eat me raw. Now, his eyes convey nothing but icy contempt.

“What is this for?”

“We’ll be flying to Italy this evening,” he says. “I’ll be gone until then. Use this to shop. Buy anything you want. I hear Paris has nice dresses for women.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” I snap.

Ignoring my jibe, he pushes his chair back and rises. “The three-digit code to verify your possession of the card is 904 and the pin for making payments is 1904. Ensure you’re packed and ready to leave by the time I return in the evening.”

I’m tempted to fight him right then and there, but I hold my tongue and keep my eyes on my plate until the door closes behind him. As soon as it does, I let out a loud yell and stomp my feet with frustration, dissatisfaction and fury.

Ensure you’re packed and ready to leave by the time I return in the evening.

His bossiness is beyond belief. How dare he treat me like one of his bimbo whores and drag me around Europe at his whim and fancy? I want out of this stupid marriage.

My gaze drops to the shiny card on the table, and I wonder just how much money Valentino had placed in my hands. Suddenly, an idea crosses my mind, and it brings a smile and my appetite back.

Buy anything you wan t.

I will take him at his word and spend so much money that he will be forced into a reaction. He’s been cold ever since I came back from Church, but when a million dollars suddenly disappears from his account he will storm back to the hotel and I’ll see the fire in his gunmetal gray eyes again. Maybe he’ll be angry enough to wrap his fingers around my neck again like he did the first night …

A horrified gasp falls out of my mouth. I’m even more mortified when I realize that I am literally flushing all over at the thought of Valentino wrapping his fingers around my neck while his eyes blaze with unbridled lust.

Oh God! I’m a whore!

I touch a finger to the wet heat between my legs, confirming that I am indeed thrilled at the thought of Valentino putting his filthy, bloody, monstrous hands on me.

Truly, I am my father’s daughter.

The doorbell rings, causing me to jump in fright. I walk toward the door and peek through the eyehole. It’s Vance, one of Valentino’s goons. I open the door, and to my shock, he bows as if he is meeting royalty.

“Good morning, La Signora Barone. I’ll be your driver today.”

He’s just doing his job so there’s no need to be disrespectful towards him like I am towards his boss. I move my muscles into a polite smile. “Please, come inside. I’ll be ready in an hour.”

Vance shakes his head. “I’ll wait out here.”

“What? Why?”

He shakes his head again and takes a step backwards as if I am diseased or something. I eye him with astonishment before slamming the door shut. I’m trapped in a crazy world.

Once I’m ready I leave the suite and Vance respectfully walks me to the elevator, ushers me through the reception and into the back seat of a black Mercedes. All this without a word being exchanged.

“Where to, La Signora Barone?”

I hate Valentino, but there’s a certain ring to La Signora Barone that I don’t mind the sound of.

“The Basilique du Sacre-Coeur de Montmartre.”

“Okay, ma’am.”

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted to go there. I have a feeling that if I pray in that Holy Church all my prayers will be answered. Before I go off to blow all of Valentino’s money, I have to commit myself to God’s hands first so Valentino will just have our marriage annulled and not kill me instead.