Page 83 of King

I’m heated with fierce confrontational anger. He can see the frustration in my eyes. I’m so fucking tired of having to defend myself.

I so fucking angry that I dared to believe I could let those defenses down and actually be happy with him.

Who was I kidding? Thinking I was allowed to be happy?

Giovanni is staring at me in disbelief. The accusation is still dark in his eyes.

“Nothing?” I snap. “You found nothing. Because there isn’t any horrible secret in my past to find. But why don’t you just waste your time and money and keep looking. Let me know when you’re satisfied enough to trust me again.”

I spin on my heels and storm from the office.

At least this answers my questions - this explains why he’s been acting so weird since the wedding. He reverted. He has regrets. He’s questioning his decisions.

And knowing all of that doesn’t make me feel any better. In fact - it tears me apart inside.

My king doesn’t trust me.

Everything I thought we were building is a lie.

How can he love me if he doesn’t trust me? The two go hand in hand.

Needing something to take the edge off my anger I go into the living room, to the bar, and pour myself a straight whisky.

Lifting the glass I throw back the shot and close my eyes, letting it burn slowly down my throat, reading through my chest like fire.

I pour another, this time a double, and carry the glass out to the patio, standing on the top step I let my eyes wander over the garden.

Beautiful and serene it is not aligned with how I feel inside.

There is chaos, burning through me like acid. I want to scream and shout and force him to believe me.

My fingers twitch and my jaw clenches tightly.

I can’t hold it in. I can’t hold this back.

Throwing my arm back, I fling the glass forward, it hurtles through the air into the stone wall on the side of the patio.

Glittering shards of shattered glass explode outwards, raining over the tiles. My heart races, somewhat calmer after the outburst. The sound of glass breaking was a release of whatever was locked inside me.

I let out a sharp breath and walk to the edge of the pool.

Without taking my dress off I step onto the top step, then the next, then the next. Kicking off I drift weightlessly into the water and my dress floats around me like the flowers of a petal.

I close my eyes and blow out all the air in my lungs, letting myself sink beneath the surface of the cool, clear water.

For a moment I’m suspended, away from all the stress and worry and frustration.

But the moment can’t last forever, and when my lungs start screaming for air I stand up, wiping water out of my eyes.

Giovanni is on the balcony of our bedroom staring down at me.

There won’t be a show today, husband.

I glare back at him, angry, heartbroken and refusing to back down.

That night I stand under the hot shower and my heart is aching more than I want to admit. Am I making a mistake by being angry with him? Should I rather approach this with more patience? If I tried again to explain to him or reassure him - I might get through to him.

I wish he believed me.

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