Chapitre 8: Chapter 7
MAGDALENA
When I woke up the next morning, warm sunlight filtered in through the window that I was facing. The pale curtains billowed gently and I sat up a little to see the windows open slightly. The breeze that came in was warm too.
The only sounds I could hear were the birds chirping happily and nature. There were no voices. No tourists milling the streets here. No Nonna running behind me with her duster, scolding me for sneaking out to the market early in the morning. I smiled to myself as I thought about Nonna. It felt odd waking up without hearing those things for the first time in my life.
Twisting around, I saw that the bed was empty beside me. The sheets were neat on his side. And then I was hit with the memory of Damien grabbing me last night before stalking off. I don't even know if he came back last night, but if he did, he wasn't here now.
Pushing the covers off myself, I climbed out of bed and headed into the bathroom first. If Damien wasn't around, then I might as well get ready and spend the day by myself.
I showered first in the glass shower, using an ocean-scented body wash from the selection of shower gels on the wall. Running my fingers through my hair, I untangled all the knots under the heavy cascade of hot water. My feet were still extremely sore from yesterday. That was enough dancing to last me a lifetime.
When I was done, I shut the jets off and found a large fluffy, white towel folded inside of a wooden cabinet.
I patted my body dry, before wrapping myself in the warm cotton towel and stepping back out into the room.
The panel beside the closet was just a simple, plain silver square, so I pressed my palm against it and the closet doors slid open.
Damien's clothes were either black or grey. He clearly didn't like any colour in his life. My end of the closet on the other hand was bursting with life. Oranges, pinks, reds. I even owned several of the same tops, just in different shades.
Today was warm, so I pulled out a sunflower-yellow sundress which I had to tie at both my shoulders. I left my hair down in its dark waves, slipped on my white stilettos and added a few touches of make-up. I kept my look very minimal. A fruity pink lipstick that made my bee-stung lips look very kissable and some highlighter to my cheekbones, nose bridge and collarbones.
One way or another, Damien was going to have to accept me as I was and he was going to love me. Why did he want to marry me at all if he didn't feel anything? Or was it really all just an arrangement to him in his head?
Either way, no one could dampen my mood. Not even my sullen husband. Nonna always said I made people smile and that I was the sunshine people needed in their lives. I promised myself that would make Damien smile too. He was cool and callous on the outside, but no one could just have darkness in them. I'm sure there was some part of him that was good.
I left our room and searched for Damien, but he was nowhere to be seen. His car was parked outside last night and now it was gone. He probably left. That's if he was even at home last night.
I found one of the maids working in the kitchen. It had a rustic feel to it, with its wood detail. The dark wood-stained countertops and the wooden island in the middle had matching barstools. A ceramic bowl of apricots sat in the middle of the island.
The maid, Isabella, was in her late forties. Her light brown curls were tucked underneath a red scarf and she had chubby, honey-golden cheeks. It was a shock that Damien had someone so gentle-looking working in his home. Isabella was sweet and even made me a fresh cup of piping hot coffee and when I asked her for an old basket, she retrieved one for me from the pantry. It was an empty woven basket. Perfect. It was exactly what I needed.
Sipping the coffee, I rubbed my temples with light circles. It was fun having all those drinking games last night, but not as fun waking up with a hangover the next morning. Never again. I'm never drinking again.
When I was done with my coffee, I took my basket and left the house. The weather was beautiful outside. I would come back later and explore the entire place, but right now I wanted to go to the market. I let Isabella know where I was going and set off on my journey.
I did this ritual every day after I woke up. Nonna told me it's something my mother used to do to feel included in the community.
The market was quite a walk from Damien's home, but I didn't mind it. The sun was out and as I got closer to the market, the briny smell from the ocean near got stronger.
There were so many things I loved about open-air markets. You'd think only tourists get excited about seeing rows and rows of food and drinks, but locals enjoyed it just as much.
I stopped at several stalls, tasting the juicy sundried tomatoes that tasted like summer bursting with flavour in my mouth, with just the right amount of salt. The olives were bitter and perfect.
In the distance, I saw the children. Most of them were poor and didn't get enough to eat. Local kids. My heart broke at watching them beg tourists for anything they had to offer. They even shared the scraps of food people wouldn't finish from the little cafes.
They're the reason I did this every day. I stopped at a few stalls, buying the freshest bread, and some Parmigiano and then I got some dried meats and fresh strawberries.
Just as I was about to make my way over to the group of kids I'd spotted, a hand clamps around my arm and I turn around swiftly to see a grey-haired man, with dark sunglasses on and his bow lips pulled into a hard line.
"Excuse me-" I jerked my arm away from him and stuck my chin out defiantly. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Mr. Cartia wanted me to keep an eye on you," he said.
My mouth dropped open in suprise and then I snapped it shut as the anger bubbled in my veins. "How long have you been following me?"
"Since you left the house. With all due respect, Mr. Cartia is my boss and I only answer to him."
Not if I had anything to say about this. I cant believe Damien. We've barely been married for a few hours and he's already laying down rules and making his asshole Capo's follow me around. He couldn't just talk to me in anyway he felt, have me followed and still expect me to play the role of a pretty dumb wife.
He had something else coming if he thought he could bend me to his will and make me just like every other mafia boss's wife.
"Don't touch me again," I snapped at the Capo. "Do it and I'll cut your fingers off one by one. Now if you don't mind, I have kids to hand these out to."
I held up the basket and turned around, moving towards the kids with a new kind of resolve. Sure, Damien was a feared crime lord, but he had no idea who I was. If he wanted to start this game of control and war, then he was in for one hell of a show.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone