Fight Me Little Pearl

Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

FRANCESCA

“ I miss home, but hubby and I will be in New York in a few days.”

Louisa gasps. “What? What did you just say?”

“I said we’ll be back home in a few days,” I say changing the TV channel while I hold the phone to my ear.

“No, not that part.”

“I miss you?”

“Not that part either,” she mutters. “Back to the part where you called Valentino your hubby.”

A blush creeps up my cheek, and I roll my eyes. “Oh my God, Louisa-”

“You’ve fallen for him, haven’t you?” She laughs. “I knew you would. That man is such a stud. If he wasn’t your husband…”

“Louisa.” I try to suppress this newfound jealousy eating at my brain of Valentino being with another woman. “He’s my husband, okay? So rein in that wild imagination of yours.”

“Fine.” She huffs. “But…er… didn’t you say I could have him at your wedding?”

When I gasp, she cackles like a hyena.

“Louisa,” I warn.

“Relax. I’m kidding, I’m kidding. There’s something I want to ask you, though.”

“What?”

“What about Thomas?”

Louisa is the closest person I have to a sister, so she’s one of the few people who knows about Thomas. I sigh. “The last time I saw him was at the wedding.”

“He was at your wedding?” Louisa screeches. “I didn’t know he was that stupid.”

“Valentino saw him and told him to scram.”

“As he should, hello! How dumb is this guy?” Louisa sneers.

“You’ve never liked him, have you?”

“Never. He’s pathetic and he’s definitely not right for you,” she says heartily. “You need a man like Valentino, and I’m glad you?—”

“He’s a killer?” I regret saying the words as soon as they slip out, but I can’t take them back. Truth is Valentino may be a killer, but he has a much bigger heart than I thought.

“Yes. He is a killer,” Louisa agrees decisively. “But whether you like it or not, you are a Barbieri. The Barbieri family may no longer be in its glory days, but there are still people out there looking to kill you. You don’t need a mama’s boy who will run at the first sound of a gunshot. You need a man like Valentino who will kill for you and drink the blood of your enemies.”

Louisa’s words chill me, but she is also right. With Valentino, I feel protected, and I can be sure my family is too. There’s a knock on my room door.

“Hang on,” I say into the phone and go to open it.

“Good afternoon, Signora,” a woman with a sunburned face, says in Italian. By her broad accent, I assume she works for the family, probably in the kitchen or garden. “There’s someone downstairs to see you-”

“Valentino is not here,” I tell her in my rusty Italian. “Tell them to return later.”

“It’s a woman,” she says. “And she’s asking for you.”

“For me?” I frown.

“Yes, Signora.”

It occurs to me that it could be Freya or any of the other wives of the family. They did promise to visit. “Ask her to wait in the living room and I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

The woman nods and leaves.

“I’ll call you back, Louisa. There’s someone here to see me.”

“Okay. Bye.”

With Louisa gone, I get out of the fluffy toweling robe, change quickly into a simple sundress, and head downstairs. As soon as I enter the living room door the scent of strong perfume hits me. The smell is vaguely familiar, but the woman standing in front of a glorious painting of an ancient Italian god is not. I pause for a second, my forehead creasing, trying to remember where I have encountered the fragrance before. When the memory will not come, I walk towards her curiously.

At the sound of my footsteps, she turns to face me. I’m blown away by how gorgeous and expensive she looks. She’s wearing a luxurious, beautifully cut designer dress. She smiles at me and I take an instant dislike to her. Something about her makes my skin crawl.

“Hello, Francesca.”

“Signora Barone to you. I don’t know who you are.”

“Signore Barone,” she repeats and laughs like I’ve just told a joke. “That does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to walk you out now,” I tell her.

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave soon.” She walks towards me. “There’s no need for bad blood between us. I’m only here to tell you that I’m in love with Valentino too.”

I recoil as if she has slapped me. “What?”

She shrugs elegantly, but her eyes glitter with malice and satisfaction. She knows she has hurt me. “I understand that he had to marry you for that cursed piece of land, but it’s not fair that you have the ring when you clearly do not know how to keep him satisfied. He has to fuck me for that.”

“I don’t believe you.” I shake my head, remembering Valentino saying he hadn’t slept with anyone since marrying me. “Valentino has been with me all this time. He doesn’t have time for desperate women like you.”

“All this time,” she mocks spitefully. “Except… maybe… on your wedding night, hmm?”

Suddenly, it clicks. The perfume. The reason I recognize it is because I’ve scented it before. On my husband. On our wedding night. This bitch in front of me may be a tramp, but she isn’t a liar.

“Get out of my house,” I screech.

“So sorry to hurt your feelings.” She slides her sunglasses back on and flips her glamorous hair back. “But if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave Valentino to me. Only I know how to make him purr. You haven’t heard that, have you? When he’s truly satisfied he purrs like a cat. It’s the most amazingly sweet sound.”

Then she walks out of the room, leaving me alone.

I stand frozen in the same position for many minutes, struggling not to cry. I’m not in love with Valentino. That’s clear. I love Thomas. So why does this hurt so much? Why does it feel like my heart is being ripped out of my chest and torn to bloody shreds?

I’d told him my fears about Vica this morning, and he’d assured me there was nothing to it. He lied and said he had not slept with another woman since I came into the picture, and like the fool, I believed it. I believed him. I actually believed him. I was ready to make this work. I’d managed to convince myself that he wasn’t like my father and that I was being too hard on him.

Turns out he’s a lying, cheating bastard!

Exactly like my father.

But what did I expect? I’d seen it happen before; why did I think it would be different with me? My father and Valentino are cut from the same cloth. Didn’t I once see my father bring one of his mistresses home to sleep with her on the same bed he shared with my mother? Men like that, like Valentino, have no loyalty. I felt so guilty, but I never told my mother because I didn’t want to hurt her. I just waited until she was gone then I changed the sheets so my mother wouldn’t have to sleep on the same sheets as the woman.

It was incredibly foolish of me to think Valentino would be loyal or faithful to me.

My body feels as heavy as stone as I slowly trudge up the stairs and return to our bedroom. As soon as I close the door, I lose the fight, and hot tears pour down my cheeks. I hate that I’m crying over Valentino, and the thought makes me sob harder. God, when did I let my guard down so low that Valentino could hurt me? The pain is unbearable.

I curl into a ball, feeling my heart beat like a wounded bird, and sob inconsolably. An hour later, when I’ve cried so many tears, my body is spent.

Nonna Fabiola’s words suddenly appear in my head. “Every moment is precious.”

No, this intolerable pain is not precious. I wipe my face with the toweling robe I had discarded earlier and run out of the room. Downstairs, I find one of the servants and tell her I want to be taken to Nonna Fabiola, but she tells me Nonna Fabiola has already returned to her home at the edge of Lake Garda.

My shoulders slump with disappointment. Where do I turn to? Who do I trust?

I leave the maid and walk outside. The sun is shining brightly. In the distance, I can see men working on the land. I take a deep breath and decide to go for a long, long walk. I’ll have to figure out how to go back to my uncaring old self. It’s high time I realize that this is a transactional marriage. Valentino married me because of the land he needed to complete his development, and now that he already has it, it must be such fun to have me eating out of his hand as well.

What a lovely game. A wife. A mistress. Oh no, no, not just one mistress. Any amount he wants.

I thought of Thomas. And this is why I would have been happier with a man like Thomas, a principled man who would never cheat on me. Even though he doesn’t give me butterflies or set my body on fire with a glance, at least he won’t hurt me.

At least, he can be trusted.