Page 24 of Brutal Husband

I can’t tell Mia about someone as horrific as Shields. Not right now, so I force a smile. “Nero, um, he had to take care of some business. He’ll be back soon.”

Only he’s not back soon. For the next two hours, people approach me and ask where my husband is. I make excuse after excuse, trying to sound convincing and hiding the fact that I’m on the verge of tears. My extended family are painfully kind, giving me pats on the arm and sympathetic words. The other guests find Nero’s absence so strange that they start to leave, abandoning half-eaten desserts and glasses of wine. The ballroom empties out hours before the reception is due to end. The waitstaff stare at me, the bride who’s been abandoned at her wedding reception by her husband, and they whisper behind their hands to each other.

Mom breezes past me without a word, and there’s the hint of a nasty smile on her lips as she collects her coat and leaves the ballroom without saying goodbye.

I can’t take the stares, the pity, or the pretending any longer. I pick up my long, heavy skirt with both hands and run from the room like Cinderella when she hears the clock chiming midnight. Nero and I are staying in this hotel, so I don’t have far to run. The elevator takes me all the way up to the bridal suite, and I’m confronted by the sight of a huge bed strewn with rose petals.

The room is empty and silent. Nero should be here with me right now, kissing me and calling me his wife. Getting his hands beneath my dress, snapping the suspenders on my white lace bridal lingerie, and saying something filthy. Making me smile.

Making me love him even more.

I can’t help but feel it’s all my fault that Nero’s not here, but I had to do the right thing and get that vile man away from the children.

I haven’t touched any alcohol all night because I’m not old enough to drink at my own wedding, but right now, a drink seems like a great idea. I take a single serve bottle of white wine out of the minibar, screw the cap off, and drink it down in several long swallows without bothering to pour it into a glass. Warmth spreads through my belly. I don’t feel better, but I do feel different. I eye a second small bottle but decide against it. I don’t want to get drunk. I want my husband to come back and tell me everything is all right and our marriage isn’t cursed to fail.

I take off my wedding dress and unpin the daisy decorations from my hair. There’s a lump in my throat as I undress all on my own, and I keep swallowing the tears down. When I realize I left my daisy bouquet down in the ballroom instead of joyfully throwing it to the unmarried women or taking it with me as a keepsake, I can’t hold the tears in any longer. I give in to a few minutes of sobbing, and then I go into the bathroom and turn the shower on to blast my body and face with freezing cold water.

A short while later, I’m sitting on the edge of the bed wearing a bathrobe. Even with every light blazing, I feel terrifyingly alone. Everything about this feels wrong, like I’m trespassing in some other happy couple’s bridal suite, and at any moment, they’re going to burst in and be furious with me.

The clock on the wall ticks past midnight. Then one a.m.

Finally, at nearly two, the bedroom door opens. Nero enters the room, and for a second my heart flares with relief and happiness.

Then I see the blood and bruises on his face. His dark hair is in disarray. His tie is missing. Buttons have been ripped from his shirt, and it’s hanging open. His knuckles are bruised and bloody.

I gasp and hurry over to him, guilt flashing through me. I’ve been wallowing in self-pity because I’m alone on our weddingnight, and my husband has clearly been fighting for his life. “Nero, what happened? Was it that Shields man?”

I touch him, and my husband wrenches himself away from me and seethes, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Nero’s eyes are nearly black. There’s so much fury in his bloodied and bruised face that I flinch away from him.

“I’m—I’m sorry. Is your arm hurt? I’ll call a doctor.”

“You’ve done enough. Shut up and get away from me.”

The waves of anger rolling off him seem dangerous, and I take an involuntary step back. “Nero, please tell me what’s happened to you.”

My husband walks slowly up and down the room, fists clenching and unclenching, moving like a wild animal in a cage. Finally, he turns and glares at me.

“I’ve been thinking about us.” His eyes are flinty, and it’s plain to see that they’re not good thoughts he’s been having. “You’re not the woman I thought you were. I thought I could let it go, but I can’t.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask in a shaky voice.

“I can’t trust you,” he seethes.

My mouth falls open. “Not our first date again. Nero, that wasn’t a lie. I didn’t owe you a detailed breakdown of my movements that night. I had every right to go see my sister without running it past you first.”

He shakes his head. “Not that. What kind of woman sleeps with a man before she’s married?”

“You mean…you? You’re angry that I slept with you?” I fist my hands in my hair on either side of my head, despair and hopelessness slamming into me. What iswrongwith my husband? This is worse than most arguments I’ve had with Mom. At least with her, I knew when I’d broken one of her rules and why she was angry with me. Nero seems to be making up reasons to hate me.

“I know what kind of woman,” he accuses. “A woman with no self-control. A woman who has no dignity.”

His cruel words sting. “You wanted it too. We’re both responsible.”

He sneers coldly and heads for the bathroom. “Didn’t your mother teach you anything about men? You’re nothing but a lying slut, Rieta Lombardi. And to think I’ve given you my last name.”

The bathroom door slams behind him. The sound echoes in my heart, growing louder and louder until I’m drowning in it. I sink into the bed and fall onto my side, curling up in the fetal position. I don’t know what to do. I don’t even feel like crying.

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