Mirabella's Pov
Twenty four hours.
Forty eight hours.
Seventy two hours.
I should be named as an accurate time keeper by now.
Fuck!
I heave out a sigh of distress as I pace back and forth in my room.
Nerve racking.
That is the only description I have for how the last few days has been. Seventy two hours since Matteo walked out the front door and he's not walked back in.
There's no explanation to how I'm feeling but I'm feeling it. Every form of discomfort and worry, like a lump caught up in my throat, like my heart is unable to beat at its normal rhythm. Like a strong conviction that something has gone terribly wrong.
Thinking about it, what business meeting takes this long to conclude?
It’s stupid. I’m stupid. But somehow, I’m worried sick for my husband and I’ve cursed myself
