CHASING THE UNWANTED WIFE

“I love Theron, even if he doesn’t love me.” “I love Theron, even when he looks at me coldly.” “I love Theron… even if he’s in love with someone else.” Callista Rosetti loved Theron De Santis. The Rosettis and the De Santis had been family friends for generations, a bond that stretched back to the time of their great-grandfathers. Callista and Theron, since the day they were born, their marriage had already been arranged. Once they both reached legal age, they would marry. And she was okay with it. She was so in love with him—with all the sincerity a devoted heart could hold. But he didn’t feel the same way about her. Callista didn’t care. She knew he would be hers someday. If she showed him how warm and dedicated she could be, he would fall for her, too. He would. There was no way he wouldn’t. There was simply no other ending—only a happily-ever-after with him. When she was eight years old, she gave Theron a small, round brass bell no bigger than the palm of her hand. A red ribbon was tied through the loop at the top. On its surface was a crooked little heart. She had scratched it herself—tirelessly—pressing the tip of a pair of scissors against the metal again and again until her tiny hands hurt. It was ugly, but the meaning behind it was sincere. “Whenever you hear the sound of the bell, you’ll think of me,” was what she told Theron with a bright smile on her face. “And if you ever ring it one day,” she continued proudly, “…I will always come running to you.” The little Theron didn’t want to accept the bell. He was frowning. “I don’t want it.” Before he could hand it back, Callista shoved the bell into his hands. “Whether you want it or not, it’s yours now. You can’t throw it away anymore.” She giggled, and ran away. At sixteen, she forced her way into his room after hearing he was bedridden with the flu. When she saw him lying in bed, clutching the blanket tightly against his body and shivering from the cold, her chest tightened. “Don’t be afraid, I’m here now. I’ll take good care of you.” Looking around his room, she saw the tiny bell she had given him. It sat forgotten on the corner of a shelf. Untouched. Covered in dust. She sighed. Instead of feeling sad, a smile found its way to her lips. At least… He hadn’t thrown it away. She walked over to the shelf, picked up the bell carefully, and wiped the dust away with her hand. Then, she gave it a gentle shake. The moment the sound of the bell filled the room, Theron’s eyes flew open—and irritation immediately flashed across his face. There was no warmth in his eyes when he looked at her, only coldness and indifference. “What the hell are you doing here, Callista? Go away!” The hostility in his voice did not make her freeze, but his face did. Why did he have to be so unfairly handsome? His almond-brown hair was tousled from lying in bed, soft strands falling over his forehead. Beneath the heavy lids were eyes the deepest shade of warm brown, still dulled by exhaustion. Fever had made his complexion pale, making his tall, straight nose and the natural redness of his lips even more striking. For one ridiculous moment, Callista forgot why she had come. “Callista!” he barked. “Get out!” “But you rang the bell,” she said once she finally snapped out of the spell that had held her mesmerized for a few seconds. “I did not,” Theron growled. “You did.” She rang the bell in her hand—a second time. “I heard this sound. And I told you before that if you ring the bell, I will always, always come running to you.” “You were the one who rang that stupid bell!” He was so pissed off that the veins in his neck stood out. “Then pretend it was you.” “No f*cking way.” “Yes way.” “Get the hell out. Right now!” Breathing long and hard, she ignored his hostility toward her. "The bell rang because you need me. Now I'm here." She took the medicine from his bedside table, popped the little tablet out of its foil, and sat down beside him on the bed. “Take your medicine, Theron.” “No. Get out.” “I am not going anywhere until you take it.” With an irritated groan, he sat up and shot her a sharp, piercing look. “I said, I don’t want to—” She shoved the pill into his mouth, clamped her hand over his lips, and held them shut until he was forced to swallow. When she saw his throat bob, she felt satisfied. With a triumphant smile on her face, she handed him the glass of water. Still glaring at her, Theron snatched the glass and drank the water in one long gulp. “You are annoying. I hate you.” “The medicine is good for you. How are you supposed to recover if you refuse to take it?” “That is none of your godd*mn business! Leave! Now!” She grinned at him, completely unapologetic. “Everything about you is my business because you’re mine, Theron De Santis.” She stood up and walked toward the door. Before turning the doorknob, she glanced back at him. Theron’s face was still red from the fever and his frustration with her. “Maybe you don’t like me now.” “It’s obvious, I don’t.” “But maybe you do.” “I don’t,” he repeated, sharper, firmer. “You just don’t know it yet.” “I don’t like you,” he bit out with blunt finality. “Even just a little bit?” “Not even the littlest bit.” “Liar.” She smiled widely at him, sweet and beautiful. “If you really don’t like me now, you will still like me in the future. You will not only like me, but you will love me, too, Theron—hopelessly, obsessively, and madly so.” “That will never happen.”