THE GALA
761 Words
Two weeks later.
Black envelope on my dresser. Gold lettering.
_Romano Annual Gala. Attendance Mandatory. +1_
I left it there.
Didn’t RSVP. Didn’t care.
At 6:45 PM Matteo knocked once and walked in.
Tux. Hair perfect. No tie.
He looked at the dress hanging in the closet. Black. Simple.
"Put it on."
"I’m not going."
"You’re my wife."
"For a contract."
"Then play your part."
He left. No help. No touch.
Driver took me separately.
The Romano Estate ballroom was full of New York’s worst people.
Senators. CEOs. Other families with guns under their suits.
Chandeliers. String quartet. Champagne towers.
I stood by the bar with water.
Alone.
"So you’re her."
Camila.
Red dress. Diamonds. Smile that could cut glass.
"Ex-girlfriend," I corrected before she could.
"For now," she said. "Matteo gets bored with charity cases."
I didn’t answer.
Across the room Matteo was talking to a senator.
He hadn’t looked at me once since I walked in.
Good. That’s what we agreed.
Then a hand closed around my wrist.
Drunk. Older. Senator from the toast earlier.
"Let’s dance, pretty girl. Be a shame to waste that dress."
I pulled back. "Let go."
His grip tightened. "Come on—"
"Let go of her."
Matteo’s voice.
Cold. Behind me.
The senator laughed. "Romano, relax. Just a dance."
Matteo stepped between us.
"She’s my wife."
No warmth. No softness. Just fact.
"Don’t touch her again."
The senator’s face went pale. "My apologies."
He walked away fast.
Matteo didn’t look at me.
"Stay close."
"That wasn’t in the contract."
"New amendment."
For the rest of the night he kept a 3-foot distance.
But when anyone came near, he moved.
Like a wall.
Camila watched from the corner. Her smile was gone.
At 11 PM we left. Separate cars again.
In the car home he stared out the window.
"Thank you," I said.
"Don’t. It’s about image."
"Right. Image."
He didn’t let go of the armrest the entire ride.
I didn’t either.
---
*Day 3. St. Mary’s. 8 AM.*
Memo: _New policy. No visitors without clearance. Effective immediately._
Signed: _M. Romano, Chairman._
My phone buzzed.
Unknown:
_He’s marking territory. Cute. Ask him about Room 4 again._
I deleted it.
Matteo’s office was now on the 4th floor.
Glass wall. Overlooking the ER.
Every time I looked up, he was there.
Working. Watching.
At 2 AM a code came in.
I ran. He was in the hallway 20 seconds later.
Sweatpants. No shirt. Bandage peeking out.
"Are you hurt?"
"I’m fine."
"Good."
He left before anyone could see him.
*Day 5. His Office. 10 PM.*
I knocked.
"Why are there guards in the break room?"
"Because someone is texting you threats."
"How do you know?"
"Because I have your phone."
"You don’t—"
"I do." He pulled it from his desk. "And I’m keeping it."
I grabbed for it. He held it above my head.
"Matteo—"
"Rule 6. I see everything that comes to you."
He was close again.
I could smell him. Soap and something dark.
My phone buzzed in his hand.
Unknown:
_She’s asking the right questions. Too bad you’ll never tell her the truth._
Matteo read it. Face blank.
"Who is it?"
"I don’t know."
"Liar."
"Then fire me."
He didn’t.
He handed the phone back.
"Go home, Mrs. Carter."
---
*Day 7. Gala Aftermath.*
Pictures were online.
_Romano’s New Bride. Mystery Nurse._
One photo: Matteo stepping between me and the senator.
Caption: _Protective._
Camila commented: _So sweet ❤️_
I threw my phone.
That night at home:
Matteo was in the kitchen. Drinking whiskey.
"You saw the photos."
"It’s not my problem."
"It is. Because now they know you’re important to me."
"I’m not—"
"You are. For one year."
He finished his drink.
"Go to bed."
"What about you?"
"Work."
In bed I stared at the ceiling.
The canyon between us was still there.
But it felt smaller.
At 3 AM my phone buzzed.
Unknown:
_Last chance. Leave St. Mary’s. Or I’ll make you._
I didn’t delete it this time.
I screenshot it.
In the morning I went to Matteo’s office.
Put the phone on his desk.
"There. Now you have proof."
He picked it up. Read it.
His jaw ticked.
"I’ll handle it."
"How?"
"By finding out who was in Room 4 with me."
My breath caught.
"You admit someone was?"
"I admit nothing." He stood. "But I’m done lying to you."
He walked out.
Leaving me with the first truth he’d given me.
Rule 1: Don’t lie to me.
Maybe we were both tryin.
- Writer
