Chapitre 10: Chapter 10
GISELLE
I didn't lay eyes on Nicholas for two days. When I asked the guards after the first twenty-four hours passed, they said he was busy with work.
I knew that was a lie. Nicholas was avoiding me because of what happened in the bedroom the night of the dinner party.
I had nothing to do, so I practiced the recipes the women gave me at the dinner. When I wasn't practicing, I was working out, watching movies in the theater room, doing laundry, anything that kept me busy enough.
On the third day, Matteo dropped by while I was in the kitchen.
"There's my favorite sister-in-law."
"Oh, hey, Matteo. How are you doing?" I asked with a smile.
"Great. What are you up to?"
"I've been trying to perfect the tiramisu recipe I got. This was day three of me trying, but I think I have a hang of it."
"Nicholas will be home today. He had some impromptu business to take care of."
Okay, so maybe the guards weren't lying.
"When will he be here?"
"He should be home by seven. Things were rough."
I knew from living with my parents while I was younger that no questions were meant to be asked. It was a crime-related business, and the wives didn't get involved in that.
"Any injuries."
"If you're asking if Nicholas got roughed up, he didn't. He's fine. He's probably just gonna be tired and hungry."
"Okay. Thank you for telling me that since my husband didn't have the time to."
The number he even used to call me before the wedding suddenly didn't exist.
Matteo grinned at me. "Any time."
Today was Sara's off day, so there wasn't any food around for him to eat. This seemed like the perfect time to get an opinion on my food from someone other than myself.
That, and it'd be a good way to extend an act of kindness to him after sticking up for me the other day, so I set to work, praying to whatever culinary god out there that the food was palatable.
***
I didn't realize I'd passed out in the kitchen waiting for Nicholas to come home until I heard glass shatter into a million pieces somewhere in the house.
I shot up from my seat. Did someone break into the house? No, that wasn't possible. Nicholas had his men guarding the house 24/7.
Maybe Nicholas was home. I followed the sound, ending up in a room Nicholas used as a makeshift bar.
My eyes traveled around the room, landing on Nicholas and the woman from the pool. He had her pressed up against the floor-to-ceiling window with her legs wrapped around his waist.
Her eyes met mine over his shoulder, and she grinned at me, amping up her moans as he kissed down her neck.
Unbelievable. I spent hours slaving over dinner for him, and he came home with another woman.
It shouldn't have bothered me because we were together, but that didn't stop my heart from shattering into a million pieces.
I exited the room quietly, going back to the kitchen to throw the entire food into the trash. If he was going to fuck other women, he could get them to feed him.
When I was done with that, I stormed into his bedroom and laid on my side of the bed.
Don't cry over a man who isn't even worth your smile, I scolded myself as a stray tear slid down the corner of my eyes.
I looked down at the diamond ring on my finger, the vast stone mocking me. I had to remind myself this was all a sham, not an actual marriage.
***
NICHOLAS
I stumbled into the house, drunk out of my mind. The last three days had been rough, and I was eager to get to bed, and at the same time, I didn't want to get into bed because of the woman who was sleeping on it.
Her face had sneaked into my head more times than I'd have liked these last three days. I didn't trust her not to torment me in my dreams if I slept next to her.
Instead of going to bed, I went straight to my minibar, pouring myself another shot of whiskey. I walked over to the window, pressing my head against the cool glass.
I felt arms wrap around my waist before the smell of blueberries filled the air.
Giselle.
What was she doing?
My vision was blurry as she came to stand between me and the window. I lowered my head next to hers, taking a whiff of her shampoo, but instead of the blueberries I was expecting, cinnamon filled my nose.
Did she change her shampoo while I was gone?
She trailed her hand up my face, running it through my mop of dark hair. The remaining self-control I had slipped from my hand just as my glass of whiskey hit the ground.
Her body felt odd yet familiar pressed up against mine as I grabbed her waist, hoisting her legs up around me.
I trailed kisses down her neck, sucking in a deep breath of blueberries. Yes. This was the smell that had haunted me for three days.
Giselle moaned as I sunk my teeth into her neck, digging her nails into my neck.
"Niko," she groaned.
I froze when I heard the voice. That wasn't Giselle's voice.
"What's wrong?" She asked.
Fuck. I registered the voice later than I'd have liked, and I pulled away from her, pushing my hair out of my face.
"Lenny?"
"Who did you think it was?" She asked, her lips curling up in a coy smile.
"Why are you wearing Giselle's perfume?" I tried to sound stern, but my voice came out more like a slur. I was drunk, after all.
"I was cleaning your room, and I thought it smelled nice."
"Don't ever do that. Ever. Go home."
"What? I thought you liked that..."
"I thought you were my wife," I corrected her.
Cazzo, saying it out loud made me question my sanity. Why would I want to kiss Giselle?
"I thought you didn't want her. Why else would you fuck me on your wedding night?"
"Careful," I hissed, harshly. "Remember your place, Lenny. Now, get the fuck out."
She huffed like a spoiled brat before stomping out of the room. Cristo, maybe it was time to send her on her way.
I walked into the kitchen to grab some water to wash down the alcohol in my system. I walked over to the trashcan to dispose of the bottle when I was done when my eyes caught the food at the bottom of the trash.
Did the food go bad, and Giselle had to throw it away? My head was slowly clearing up, and the next thing I saw were the pots, bowls, and pans in the sink.
Giselle cooked?
That wasn't like her. The Giselle I knew would never cook for me. Since when did she even know how to cook? I was gone for just three days.
I turned off the lights in the kitchen before climbing up the stairs to my bedroom. The door was wide open, and was on her side, facing the open doorway.
She turned on her other side when she saw me, dragging the covers up her body. What was that about?
I walked into the bathroom, taking a cold shower before changing into a pair of sweatpants. I sat on my side of the bed.
"You cooked dinner," I said.
"Yes."
"Why did you throw it away?"
"It looked like you had better things to do. I didn't want to bother you," she answered, her voice cold. "Did you have fun?"
She saw Lenny and me in the bar room. That was why she threw the food into the trash.
"I did," I lied, looking at her over my shoulder to see her reaction, and indeed, her entire body tensed under the sheets.
She turned to look at me. "Good for you. Looks like I didn't wait up for nothing."
She waited up for me? Why the fuck would she do that? And cooking for me? What was up with the sudden change in her attitude?
None of it sat well with me. This wasn't a relationship. I made myself clear from the start of our marriage. Why was she making this be more than it was by cooking for me and waiting up for me?
Fuck, sleeping in the same bed with her. This was a bad idea. Maybe it was time to send her packing out of my bedroom.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone