Romanced by the Mafia: The Don's Wife

Chapter 2.

I had wine, and music playing, as I took down pictures. Play pretend at a happy life. Something to look good when people came over. Wedding photos, pictures from trips to Ireland, Italy, a dozen other places. Only one of us was ever smiling, and it wasn't him.

I took each one out of their frames, replacing them with stock photos of happy families. It would give the same effect.

I took down the garish wedding canvas in the main bedroom, throwing it in the trash. Anything that was personal to me, went into a box at the back of the closet. I wouldn't take off my wedding ring. Not yet. I'd give that to Nana in the morning.

My phone lit up on the table, Kieran again. I almost let it go to voicemail. Almost. I picked up on the last ring after pausing my music. “Hello?”

“Inara, why does grandmother want a meeting with both of us in the morning?” His tone was deceptively calm, but his accent was stronger. He was pissed. “Did you go tattle that I had Selene at dinner?”

I took a breath. Best to go ahead and bite the bullet. “I asked her to let me divorce you. I suppose that's what the meeting is for.”

A beat of silence, charged even through the phone. “You what?”

“You heard me, Kieran. This isn't working, and there's no point pretending. With Selene back, you'll no doubt be ready to marry again as soon as the divorce is final–”

“I'll be there shortly.” The phone went dead again, and I slammed it on the table. He shouldn't be angry. If anything, he should be thanking me for stepping aside. He could finally have his cake and eat it too.

I went upstairs, putting on real clothes instead of my pajamas. His temper was legendary, and if I ended up outside the house, I wasn't going in my pajamas.

The sound of tires on asphalt a second later. His heavy footsteps on the stairs to the porch. I sipped my wine, ignoring the heavy feeling in my stomach. Then he was inside, and I was maintaining my cool, acting like nothing at all was wrong.

Inside, I was shaking. I had loved this man before we were married. I had decided to take my vows, and actually mean them. I don't know why, I had simply done it.

Now, as he trudged up the stairs and made himself known by slamming the front door, I couldn't even bring myself to look at him. I hurt in ways I would never try to make him understand.

I had hoped that, over the last year, my gentle care of him would make a difference. I made dinner on nights he was meant to be home. I spoke to him softly, and cared for him when he was sick. In my heart, I had believed these gestures would make him see me. See into my heart and understand that I wanted this to be more than a mere contract.

His footsteps stopped at the door to the living room, and I sipped my wine. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of looking at him, or even acknowledging him. Not when he had hurt me as he had. Intentional or not, he had done it.

Bringing his childhood sweetheart, who even now was posting pictures on her i********: of his hand on the table beside her own.