Page 15 of The Wrong Husband

"Keep your place; but you'll move into my apartment. The media will fucking tear us apart if we're not living together."

Damian lived on the thirty-fourth floor of the Four Seasons. I'd been to his place once for a party he'd thrown, and miraculously, I'd been invited.

Bianca had made sure I left within fifteen minutes by complaining incessantly about what I had worn. It hadn't been that bad, just a simple LBD but Bianca had been right, I didn't fit in.

"I don't understand any of this." I wanted to beat my forehead on the desk, several times, until my head exploded.

"It's quite simple, Emilia. We stay married until the hoopla dies down, then we get a quiet divorce or annulment and…that's that."

"How long will that take?" I asked.

"Give or take six months."

"So, you don't want to give this marriage a chance? You just want us to ride out the media stuff?" He was confusing the hell out of me.

"I do…I…don't know. Look Emilia, it's what it is. Let's make the best of it."

Make the best of what?

I could hear him, but it sounded garbled like in the Peanuts' cartoons when the adults spoke. He was speaking in English, but I struggled to understand what he really meant. Was I supposed to read between the lines?

"I don't get it, Damian. I'm telling you that you were drunk and—"

"Whatever the reasons may be. We are married and the fucking media knows."

"Damian, please. My parents and Bianca will hate me."

"Bianca and I are not getting back together," he firmly said. "I don't understand your problem. Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"Obviously not, because you were a goddamn virgin," he raged.

"Speaking of obvious, you and Bianca always get back together after a fight. She was just here," I cried out. "She still thinks of you as her boyfriend. She told me you're getting engaged. You even bought a ring."

She didn't tell me, she told Mama—I just overheard.

"Speaking of rings." He growled. "We need rings." He rummaged through his drawers and came out with three small blue boxes.

"What's that?" I folded my arms, afraid that if I touched the box, it would explode like a bomb.

He pushed one box toward me.

"Open it, Emilia."

"No." I couldn't take my eyes off the offending jewelry box.

He came to my side of the desk and opened the box. He pulled the ring out. I didn't see it, didn't want to. He tugged at my hand, and I resisted. That was the ring he got for Bianca. I didn't want it. I wanted my own ring. I deserved my own ring. And my own husband. Not Bianca's.

"Emilia, don't be stubborn."

"No." I held myself tightly.

"Emilia, it's time to face the music, alright. We're married. And you owe me."

I frowned folding my fingers into a fist. "Owe you?"

"You manipulated me into marrying you—the least you can do is make this work as I request, before I lose my reputation."