THE ITALIAN HUSBAND'S LIE

Chapter 7:One Million

The house was too quiet.

I was still in my room. Still wearing that expensive Dubai dress that cost more than my mother's two years rent. My feet were hurting from the heels Marco made me wear for the couples shoot. I didn't take them off. I just sat on the edge of my bed and scrolled.

The notification kept popping up. Over and over. It would not stop.

_Marco Rossi and Ama Rossi just hit 1M followers!_

One million.

I watched the number tick with my own eyes. 999k... 999.5k... 1M. It jumped. My phone vibrated non-stop. The comments were exploding. Hearts. Fire emojis. White and black heart emojis.

_#couplegoals forever._

_You guys are literally perfect._

_Marco found a real queen._

_Ama you inspire me._

One million people thought we were in love.

Downstairs, Marco screamed like a madman.

"ONE MILLION! WE DID IT! ONE f*****g MILLION!"

I heard his bare feet running on the marble. He ran up the stairs two at a time, his shirt half open, his gold chains jumping on his chest, holding his phone so close to my face I could see his screen shaking.

"Look! Look, Ama! One million! In one night! That couple shoot worked! That fake laugh, that grapes, all of it worked! Brands are calling already! Prada wants a couple campaign! Dior wants couple! We are rich! We are famous!"

He was laughing. Pacing from wall to wall in my room. This was the happiest I had ever seen him. Not happy like a husband. Happy like a businessman who just closed a deal. He was calling Michael, shouting his name.

Michael woke up from his nap by the pool and came running with his big camera already in his hand, his hair messy.

"We're going out! Tonight! To celebrate! Dinner, club, everything on me! Real champagne, not that fake s**t! I'm calling the girls!" Marco shouted.

The other three girls — Sofia, Chiara, Bella — came screaming out of their rooms. In towels. In bonnets. In big t-shirts. They were happy too because when Marco was happy, money flowed. He threw black cards. He bought bottles. He let them post.

"We're going to Eko Atlantic! Get dressed! Sexiest dresses! Tonight we show Lagos we are ONE MILLION FAMILY!" Marco ordered them.

I stood up slowly.

Marco looked at me. His smile dropped a little. He scanned my face. My swollen eyes.

"You stay," he said, his voice flat again. "You need to rest. Your eyes are swollen from crying. You will ruin the aesthetic. One million face needs to be fresh tomorrow for the live. Tomorrow we do thank you live, you and me. 50k viewers minimum. Luca will watch the house."

Luca was standing at the top of the stairs. Quiet. In his black t-shirt. He just nodded. He didn't look at me.

"Michael, you stay too. You need to edit the one million thank you video tonight. No club for you," Marco added.

Michael groaned but didn't argue. He never argues.

In twenty minutes the house was empty.

Marco and the three girls left in two loud cars, music blasting so loud the windows shook, shouting, spraying perfume in the air. The big black gates opened automatically and then closed with that loud CLANG that always made my stomach drop.

It was just us now. Me, Luca, and Michael — but Michael went straight back to the pool house to sleep, his door closed, his loud music on in his headphones. He put his Do Not Disturb sign on. He always does when Marco leaves.

So it was really just me and Luca in the big cold house.

I found him in the kitchen, washing the glasses from the couples shoot earlier. His sleeves pushed up to his elbows. I could see the veins on his arms. The kitchen light was yellow and warm, different from the white cold light in the living room where Marco makes us shoot.

I walked up to him before I could stop myself. My heart was beating in my ears.

"Why did you kiss me?" I asked. My voice was shaking so bad I could barely hear myself.

He didn't look at me. He kept washing the same glass.

"Luca."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. That same apology he gave me at the airport. "I shouldn't have. It was a mistake."

"Don't say sorry again," I said, louder now. I was angry, I was scared, I was confused. "Just answer me. Why? Why did you do it?"

He turned off the tap. His hands were tight on the sink. So tight his knuckles went white.

Then he finally looked at me. Straight in my eyes. He said nothing at first. Just breathed hard.

"And the money," I said, my voice lower now, whispering because I was scared Michael would hear even though his pool house was far. "How did Marco know you were the one who gives me money to eat outside? In the kitchen that day he said 'who else would give you money in this house?' How did he know?"

That was what was killing me since that day. I couldn't sleep because of that sentence.

Luca was still staring at me. His eyes were red, like he had not slept since Dubai either.

"He doesn't know," he said. "He doesn't know anything about the kiss. He said that because... think, Ama. Who else would give you money in this house? Not Sofia. Not Chiara. Not Bella. They hate you. Not Michael. He only cares about his camera. Only me. He guessed. It was a guess. That's how Marco thinks."

"How am I supposed to trust that?" I whispered, tears coming now. "What if he knows? What if he saw us on camera? What if Michael showed him? We would both be dead. You know what your brother does to girls, Luca. You told me yourself."

"He knows nothing about today. I promise you, Ama. If he knew, we wouldn't be standing here talking. We would be —" He stopped. He didn't finish. He didn't need to finish.

We stared at each other. The yellow kitchen light humming.

"Okay then," I said, swallowing my tears hard. My chest was hurting. "Let's forget everything that happened today. At the airport, the kiss... let's just distance ourselves. From now on. No talking. No looking. Like before. It's safer for both of us. Please."

He nodded slowly. Pain all over his face. Like I slapped him.

"Okay," he said, his voice broken. "Like before."

We both agreed. We both lied.

Because we couldn't do it.

Hours passed. 9pm. 10pm. 11pm. No one came home. The gates stayed closed. The girls were posting i********: stories from the club in Eko Atlantic, dancing on tables in short dresses, holding bottles that cost more than my mother's house. Marco was posting videos throwing money, shouting "ONE MILLION!"

Michael was asleep. The pool house was dark. No light.

The main house was too quiet again. Too big. Too cold. The AC was blowing directly on my legs.

I was on the couch where we had shot the couple pictures. The same white couch where Marco kissed my forehead cold and said "smile more, love more." I was hugging my knees. He was in the kitchen, sitting on the stool, looking at his phone but not scrolling.

I looked at him. He looked at me at the exact same time.

And we both moved.

He was in front of me in three steps, I was standing, and we just crashed. No gentle, no slow like the airport kiss. Desperate. Scared. Both of us shaking like we were cold.

We kissed, and we didn't stop. His hands were in my hair, my hands fisted on his shirt, holding on like he was the only real thing in this fake house full of cameras and fake smiles and gold steak.

"Ama," he breathed against my mouth, trying to be the good one, "we shouldn't — he said —"

"I know," I whispered back, kissing him again, harder. Tears running into our kiss. "I know, I know, I know."

We stayed like that for a long time, holding each other in that dark living room where Marco makes us do fake couple content, listening to the big black gates, terrified they would open and the cars would drive in.

But they didn't.

They stayed closed.