She’s My Queen

6. The morning after

6

THE MORNING AFTER

CRISTINA

I awake with a pounding headache and soreness below the base of my neck. Groaning, I turn on my right side and peel open my eyes. Under the thick blackout curtains, the sun’s rays leave a strip of yellow light. The weather channel said today’s heat wave will raise the temperature several degrees above normal, and I bet people will venture to the beach or swimming pool until nighttime, when the temperatures will return to what they normally are this time of year.

Wait a moment.

I sit up and look around. Soft beige interior. A round table for two in the right corner across from the bed. Natural caramel glazed hardwood floors. It takes me no time at all to recognize Villa Segreta’s master bedroom. Oh no. No, no, no.

What am I doing here?

My headache intensifies, seemingly wishing for my head to explode.

I plop back on the pillow, throw a forearm over my eyes, and expel a tired breath, even though I slept well under the influence of alcohol.

We didn’t…

Did we?

I don’t think so. I feel the same. Not that I think losing my virginity in a drunken state would make me feel different the next day, but still, I wonder, considering I woke up in Severio’s bed.

I recall last night. Nearing four in the morning, exhausted, I plopped onto the couch in the living room. Severio stood at the foot of the couch and took off my sandals. After that, I must’ve crashed, but I don’t remember walking to the bedroom.

Wait, my wedding dress.

I lift the light sheet and look down at my body. I’m wearing a V-neck T-shirt. The cotton is soft and definitely not mine. And is that cologne I smell? I sniff the neck of the shirt. Most definitely cologne, and it’s the same one Severio wore last night. I’d recognize the smell anywhere.

My headache-ridden brain slowly computes what must have occurred after I fell asleep.

Severio Mancini undressed me, put his T-shirt over me, and laid me down in his bed. I glance to his side of the bed and note his pillow is rumpled. Immediately, I start to self-soothe, telling myself we didn’t sleep together, even if it was only sleeping. Perhaps it’s even worse if all we did was sleep. Somehow, it’s more intimate than if we spent the night having sex.

I could’ve rumpled his pillow in my sleep. It means nothing. But there’s a way to be sure he didn’t sleep next to me. I bring his pillow to my nose and inhale his masculine scent and his cologne. Since this is the first night Severio spent in the resort, I’m sure we slept together.

Severio Mancini and I slept together.

We did it on the night the island people think I married his uncle.

I’m a virginal tramp. Ugh. I throw his pillow against the door of the closet near his nightstand and cover my eyes with my arms. My headache now pounds with fury, and if I don’t calm down, I’ll throw up. Also, I have to pee.

In the bathroom, after I finish my business, I splash water on my face and pause at the mirror. Long dark brown hair covers my large breasts, and my cheeks flush when I think about Severio undressing me, seeing all my curves.

I pull down his T-shirt and check the tattoo dressing, briefly wondering if I’ll summon the courage to remove it today and view the design I’ll wear for the rest of my life. Gordon said it was a serpent, so I’m imagining some badass snake tat I’d never think of getting myself. I never considered ink on my skin anyhow, but if I had, I’d prefer a butterfly or maybe a flower. Most definitely not a serpent.

I eye the shower, but think better not . I must get out of here, and I must do so unnoticed. With escape in mind, I turn away and am about to walk back into the bedroom when I notice a handwritten note on a piece of the fine stationery we provide for note-taking.

The masculine handwriting reads:

Cristina,

There are pain meds in my toiletry bag. Take two. The robe is in the closet. Slippers too. You will find me on the terrace when you’re ready.

S

I read it several times, wondering what he’ll do if I don’t follow his very specific directions, but once I open the closet in the bedroom, I see that Severio’s left me two wardrobe choices.

The off-white resort robe or another of his T-shirts. I wear the robe and smile at the emblem on the pocket. My daddy picked it out many years ago while I played with dolls on the carpet of his office. I recall Gio arguing with my dad over the color of the logo and my dad winning the debate with rock-paper-scissors. The burgundy logo with simple and elegant lines won over the blue one Gio wanted.

Thinking about Gio makes me nervous. I bite my lip, wondering what became of him last night. Did he make it off the island? I hope so. I wish him well, after all.

At the door, I inhale a deep breath before opening it and stepping outside. Empty space greets me. Living room, kitchenette with a bar, and the exit right beside it. On my right is the terrace. Since I hear voices coming from there, I exhale the pained breath I’ve been holding before I turn toward the sea.

Severio’s family surrounds the terrace table. They’re enjoying our brunch catering order. I can tell by the carts the staff set up around them. Thankfully, they must’ve rejected the service, so nobody I work with will see me here. Small mercies.

Paulina’s large beach hat is blocking the side of her face. Michela is feeding the baby under the kind of blanket that nursing moms often use for privacy. Severio stands at the railing the construction staff left when they installed the glass so that during nice weather, the glass can be pulled back and the space opened completely.

Gordon and the other guard who was at the door last night are speaking with him. Since they’re all busy, but would spot me if I made a dash for the exit, I contemplate returning to the bedroom and waiting for them all to leave. I’d also like some clothes. I didn’t think about that last night. I brought nothing. I make a terrible tramp. Didn’t even pack my trampy overnight bag.

As I slowly retreat into the bedroom, Corrado looks up from his plate. Gently, I close the door all the way. Maybe he’ll think me a false vision, a trick of light.

I sit on the bed and bite my lip, considering locking myself in the room until they all board the plane this afternoon. I check the clock on “his” side of the bed. Quarter past eleven, so not too long now. A few hours.

Or I can lie down and wait them all out, pretend I’m sleeping off a hangover for the remainder of the day.

I won’t have to hide long.

My phone rings.

It’s on the nightstand on “my” side of the bed. I hurry there and silence it. It’s my mom. I contemplate not answering, but think it’s probably best if I pick up, seeing as how I never came home last night and Severio prevented Gio from consummating the fake marriage.

“Hello,” I answer.

“Cristina,” my mother says, worry in her voice. I’m relieved to hear her, and I sit down on the bed.

“Thank God you’re okay,” she says.

“I’m fine. What’s up?”

“You didn’t come home last night.” She reminds me there’s another thing Severio messed up. Gio and I made another deal. Last week, Gio delivered on his end, but I haven’t. Now, I owe Gio a debt.

“I’m twenty-eight, Mom.”

“You could’ve called.”

“Sorry to worry you, but I was so tired that I crashed.” The mental strain of the non-wedding and the Order business, not to mention the anticipation of the claiming by the most dangerous man I’ve ever met, drained me. I simply fell over once my bottom hit the soft couch.

“Where did you spend the night?” she asks.

I swallow. “At the resort.”

“In his bed?”

“Couch. I fell asleep on the couch.” True.

“Like some throwaway, then?”

“Mom, please.”

She releases a set of juicy expletives directed at Severio. After the conversation with Severio last night, I’m peeved she’s not cursing Gio.

I wait until she’s calm again and ask, “Did you know the claiming isn’t about sex?”

“Clearly, it is.”

I don’t think this is a good time to tell her I have a new tattoo. “Did Gio?—”

“Come home, Cristina.” She cuts me off, probably because it’s too risky to talk about Gio right now. I heed my mom’s caution and don’t push.

“I’ll be there soon. Love you.” I hang up first and squint my eyes, trying to ward off the headache that won’t go away. Severio offered me pain pills from his toiletry bag. Rebelliously, I wouldn’t take them before, but now I need them because I want to function like a human and not a zombie.

My phone pings a text message from an unknown number. It reads: I know you’re awake. Join me.