Chapter 14: Married With Malice: Chapter 13

With Christmas now only a week away, the selection of store decorations has been entirely picked over. Options are limited.

My solution is to wheel a cart down the aisle and throw everything into the basket, no matter the color or style. Among the finds are lengthy pinecone-studded fake evergreen garlands, plaid tablecloths with mismatched napkins, a four-foot-tall pastel nutcracker, and throw pillows featuring a drunk Santa Claus.

All the big fake trees are gone but that’s fine. The small silver foil tree in a battered box is just as good as any other. A collection of ornaments shaped like fish heads will look spectacular dangling from the sparkly tree branches.

Dumping it all into the trunk of my car, the aesthetic effect has the look of a post-holiday landfill but my husband didn’t elaborate on what kind of festive decorations he wanted to see. Luca just said, ‘Decorate’ and that’s what I’m doing. I’m decorating.

Scattered flurries fall out of the grey sky as I squeeze the trunk closed and ferry all of my new holiday cheer home. I regret wearing a skirt today and resort to blasting the heater in order to warm my bare legs.

Naturally, Luca is gone, whereabouts unknown. It takes me five trips to the car to haul all this crap inside, where it gets dumped in the middle of the living room to sort out.

Except for the giant pink nutcracker. He gets to stand in a barren patch of frozen dirt in front of the kitchen window where his creepy plastic leer can radiate Christmas joy to the whole neighborhood.

Half an hour later, I’m draping purple tinsel garland on the fish-themed foil Christmas tree when the garage door rumbles open. Luca walks into the living room and stops short to stare at the madcap way I’ve decked the halls.

His face mutates into an eye-rolling ‘Can’t deal with this crazy bitch’ look. He retreats to his quiet office to escape the tinsel and snow globe horror show without making a comment.

Though I’ve festooned an impressive amount of territory, there’s still a large supply of clearance rack Christmas accessories lying on the living room floor. I could start carrying the shit upstairs to inflict the chaos on the bedrooms but I feel like I ought to cover all bases on the ground floor first.

Luca’s office seems like the next logical place to wreak holiday havoc. Located at the back of the house and overlooking the backyard, the room is neat and simply furnished. He doesn’t spend much time in there because his uncle keeps him running around the New York metro area doing gangster shit.

For a moment, I quit pawing through the mess of decorations and stare in the direction of his office. From here, I can’t see if the office door is open or closed.

Daisy called yesterday, which is nothing unusual. One way or another, I communicate with my sisters nearly every day. But this time she wanted to talk about Luca and that was odd.

Daisy isn’t the anxious type. My sister inhabits a happy-go-lucky neverland far above the fray where the rest of us ordinary mortals are stewing in our drama. That’s why it was strange to hear a worried note sneak in when she spoke his name.

Earlier in the week, she ran into him while he was hanging out with those two Castelli pricks. They had a short conversation.

“Luca looks different and he doesn’t laugh anymore, does he, Anni?”

The question bothered me. It still bothers me today.

The changes in Luca have been subtle, creeping up slowly. It’s only when I think back to our honeymoon, a mere two months ago, that I’m startled by the contrast between the handsome, extroverted rascal who constantly flirted with witty banter and the brooding man down the hall with his scowls and calculated silences. Luca doesn’t shave for days at a stretch and looks seductively disheveled, like he’s perpetually recovering from a rough and wild night.

But that’s just what I see. Luca tells me nothing.

He caught me off guard the other day. I wasn’t expecting him to walk in through the kitchen door while I was watching hockey game highlights. There wasn’t anything furtive going on. I’d started out searching for old figure skating clips from my competition days. There weren’t many, and the app kept suggesting hockey videos.

Luca used to play hockey. Often our practice times would run into each other at the rink. This is what was on my mind when I idly clicked on a few hockey links. I wasn’t thinking about a certain hockey-playing ex at all.

So why did I feel the need to guiltily hide?

I have the right to look at whatever I want, whenever I want, whether Matthew Pentone happens to be on the screen or not. Besides, if I ever see that coward again I’d be more likely to flip him off than to say hello.

That was the day Luca asked if I wanted to go to the city for the evening.

And for a minute, my heart soared.

I adore the city at Christmas. I love the lights and the tree and the excited bustle. Aside from obligatory family dinners, Luca and I haven’t gone out anywhere together since the honeymoon. The idea of having a real date with my husband filled me with an instant happy glow.

Then Luca’s phone rang and he decided he had better things to do.

I’ve tried pretending this didn’t sting. I’m not very good at pretending.

Now, as I squat in the middle of a tangled pile of disordered decorations, I can’t think of a better place to impose my holiday makeover than Luca’s pristine office.

I’m not at all selective about collecting an armful of crap before marching down the hall. The door is halfway open. Luca sits behind his desk and looks like he’s plotting the quickest path to world domination. He glowers out the window while rolling a fountain pen through his fingers.

As I drop a big mess of brightly colored junk on his floor, he raises an eyebrow but says nothing. I pluck out a ceramic Santa clad in beachwear and add it to the bookcase beside Luca’s leather bound law volumes. A long strand of pinecones is strung across the top of the bookcase. After swift consideration, a pink tinsel garland is thrown on top of the pinecones. A bright green Grinch coffee mug is placed on his desk.

All the while, I feel his eyes watching every move, raking nonstop over my body. The steam factor in the room jumped a thousand percent the second I walked in. A telltale warmth tugs low in my belly and rapidly heats my skin.

No matter what else is going on between us, there’s always something sinfully primitive about the way we want each other.

In the midst of enhancing Luca’s office, I think of the pink stuffed pig dressed like an elf. It was one of my favorite and ugliest acquisitions. I must have left it in the living room.

The heels of my boots click rapidly on the floor as I trek to the living room, snatch the pink elf pig, and start back to Luca’s office. Halfway down the hall, I decide to part with my panties, rolling them down in haste and kicking them to a corner.

Luca is still behind his desk but now he’s also on the phone. He’s not saying much and his eyes follow me as I scour the area for the perfect home for the pig elf.

While I’m searching, the temperature in here begins to feel a little warm.

The best way to solve this problem is by removing my red cashmere sweater.

Since I’m quite aware just how fabulous my boobs look in the red and black lace bra underneath, the bra can stay.

Luca’s chair creaks. “I know. It’s been way too long since we talked.”

The chair creaks again as he stands. I can’t think of a better spot for the pig elf than on the floor right in front of his desk.

With my back to him, I bend at the waist, showing off both my impressive flexibility and the fact that I’m bare beneath my short black pleated skirt.

“That’s a great idea,” Luca says. “Tell me more.”

His conversation doesn’t sound like mafia business. Far too polite. Anyone might be on the other end. He could be talking to the King of England for all I care.

Still bent at the waist, I take my time posing the pig elf on the floor and listen to Luca prowling around to this side of the desk. He stops when he’s directly behind me. Only the pig elf gets to witness my smile of victory.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Luca says into the phone and brushes up against my ass.

Moving inch by inch, I straighten up. His arm circles my waist from behind, molding our bodies together. With a roll of his hips, he shows off his thick erection and slides his hand down the front of my skirt, cupping between my legs.

I arch my back to meet his touch. A soft sound of pleasure vibrates in my throat as his fingers explore. He’s teasing, stroking lightly through the pleated folds of the fabric, driving me crazy with the methodical torment.

It’s not enough. My breath sticks and my hips bend on an eager quest for more of him.

“That’s great to hear.” Luca’s voice remains casual, betraying no hint that I’m grinding into his stiff cock as he fingers me through my skirt.

The scent of the wintry outdoors clings to him; clean and woodsy and mixed with his cologne. The more I breathe him in, the higher my arousal spikes.

Another minute of getting rubbed this way and I’ll come. I don’t want to come yet.

He should need to work harder for it.

“What’s in store for you next?” Luca asks his mystery caller as his hand travels under my skirt.

Two of his strong fingers slide into me. His thumb presses to add more friction. Fireworks dance in front of my eyes. No matter what my mind commands, my body doesn’t agree to hold out for longer.

I’m sinking into the warmth of his broad chest, held up only by his hand as I ride out the oncoming blitz. A flashback to our first steamy encounter in Key West makes me wish for a mirror.

I want to see him. I want to see us.

The sound of Luca’s voice reaches my ears as if I’m listening from underwater. He’s still on the phone and asking about ‘the season’.

The season of what?

Doesn’t matter. I’m crumbling and I’m trembling as an internal fuse burns. My teeth sink into my lower lip to stifle any noise.

I’m still on the downslope of that high when Luca flips me around and bends me over the desk. My limbs, tingly and rubbery, have no problem cooperating.

Right in front of my nose there are stapled legal-sized papers full of dense paragraphs. Looks boring.

“Still a long way to go until the playoffs,” Luca says. “But the standings look damn good.”

I wish he’d shut up and put the fucking phone down.

But with the first fierce thrust of his cock, I forget about wishing for anything but more of this. Fresh off my last orgasm, a new one starts to build. I’m trying to lean on my elbows but they keep sliding across the shiny wood surface every time Luca drives himself deep.

A black mesh pen holder topples. Some pens go rolling off and hit the floor. I sweep the papers away because they annoy me. My hip bone bangs into the hard edge of the desk. Gritting my teeth, I push back and smile when I hear Luca’s sharp inhale. But his next words betray no clue that he’s buried inside me.

“Sure, I’ll go to a game. Let me know the next time you’re in New York. I’ll bring Annalisa. She’d enjoy watching you in action out on the ice.”

Wait a minute.

Just wait a big fat fucking minute!!!

An alarming new suspicion snakes its way through my mind but is quickly sidetracked as another round of ecstasy blooms deep and rapidly explodes. I’m captive to the sensations, getting rocked to the core. The earth moves. Or maybe that was just the desk. Everything is temporarily fuzzy as Luca’s voice penetrates through the noise of my moans.

“Well, it was nice catching up with you,” Luca says. “Six years is too long. I’ll give your regards to my wife.”

He throws the phone and it lands neatly in the seat of his black leather desk chair. There’s a metallic click, a pinch of pressure and my bra gets neatly sliced in two at the back. It felt like a knife. I didn’t even know he carried a knife. I guess if you’re already carrying a gun then a knife is no big deal. The straps of my bra slide away and my bare breasts touch the cold surface of his desk.

Luca’s hands seize my hips. His fingers dig into my skin as he takes what he wants. I wish I could hate the way it feels but even as my heart tries to shut him out, I’m open and willing and eager to have him.

He releases with a protracted groan. I close my eyes and picture his face. I love to see the way he looks when he loses himself inside of me. When we finally separate, a dreary sense of loss drains the air from my lungs.

My body still hums with the fizzing echoes of back-to-back orgasms.

But a mounting sense of outrage tightens my throat and steals all the words.

I’ve never felt so good and so terrible at the same time as I stagger away from the desk. My bra is in ruins. I toss it into a shallow wastebasket before snatching my sweater off the floor and hastily pulling it over my head.

“Thanks for the interruption,” Luca says amid the sound of zipping and buckling. “I needed a break.”

He takes no notice as I rub my arms, feeling a sudden powerful chill, and wander to the large window with a view of the backyard.

The world outside the window is ugly. All the greenery is gone and even the rich hues of autumn couldn’t survive the recent frost. The trees and bushes have been stripped and exposed down to the bones of their gnarly branches, which shiver in the wind.

Luca finally realizes that I haven’t spoken a word.

“Anni?” His tone shifts as my silence stretches. “What’s wrong?”

I can hear him approaching. There’s an acid taste in my mouth and a stinging burn behind my eyes. Tears will spill if I allow them to, but I won’t.

“That phone bullshit was inexcusable,” he says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take it that far. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.”

I wrap my arms more tightly around my body, hugging myself into an untouchable cocoon.

“Baby, what is it?” He’s really worried now, setting his hands on my shoulders and trying to pull me into the warm comfort of his chest. “Was I too rough? Please talk to me.”

Why does he have to pick this moment, when I need to close my heart to him, to try and hold me with tenderness for once?

Anyway, his concern is misplaced. The sex was excellent, as always. Exactly what I craved.

And I know that Luca wasn’t really talking to my ex-boyfriend. This was just a game, something he thought would mildly piss me off in our petty household war.

Instead, he scraped a healed wound and made it bleed again.

As for Matthew Pentone, I’ve felt nothing but vague disgust for him these last six years. But experiencing that pain once, that helpless heartbreak, wasn’t an experience I cared to ever recreate. I was young and I’d shared more of myself than I planned to. In the end, I got hurt. After that, I didn’t give anyone much of a chance to eventually make a fool out of me.

Luca has ended this streak. I never intended to get so attached to him.

I know that I’m not easy to love.

The only people in the world who have ever managed to love me are Daisy and Sabrina and maybe my mother. Whenever I hoped there might be glimmers of a deeper bond growing with Luca, I was only kidding myself.

To my husband, I’m still just a plaything he uses for perverse pleasure. This truth cuts far more deeply than the memory of some stupid college era breakup possible could.

And now I want to cut him back.

“You weren’t too rough,” I say. “You were fantastic. I’m pretty sure I’m ovulating right now so hopefully you got the job done.”

He freezes. His hands fall from my shoulders. “What are you talking about?”

With the threat of tears now banished, I turn and face him calmly. There’s confusion on his face, and some wariness. This is a new look for him. All the arrogant confidence is gone.

It takes a lot of effort to stretch my lips into a bitter smile. “I stopped taking birth control pills right after our honeymoon.”

He shakes his head. “No, you didn’t.”

“My father ordered me to produce an heir. I’m doing my job. You just keep doing yours and sooner or later it will take. Perhaps I’m pregnant right now.”

“Annalisa, what the fuck?” He’s never been so shocked and panicked. Nothing like the threat of unexpected fatherhood to shake the cockiness right out of a guy.

Naturally, I’m not telling the truth. Even if I’d been hoping to have Luca’s baby, I’d never ever be so deceitful and treacherous as to lie about birth control.

But Luca won’t realize this because Luca doesn’t know me well enough. He never bothered.

He’s pacing now, looking up every few seconds for some sign that I’m full of shit. All he receives in return is a placid stare.

I’m not sure how long I could keep the charade going. Maybe for days. Weeks. That would serve him right.

But I’m just not built that way.

“How does it feel?” I ask. “It’s no fun being on the receiving end, is it?”

Relief washes over his face as he realizes I was fucking with him just like he’d fucked with me. The relief quickly evaporates and he shakes his head in disgust.

“This is seriously fucked up. All of it.”

“No kidding. At this point I don’t know which of us is worse. Maybe we should just stop competing and agree that it’s a draw. We’re both the villains here. There is no happy ending.”

Our eyes meet. His are unrecognizable. All traces of charm and humor have been replaced with dark fury.

I wonder what he sees reflected back in mine.

Perhaps the same rage and mistrust. For once, our heads are in exactly the same place and it’s a place that’s both ugly and grim.

Luca keeps staring and I stare back at him.

There’s a particularly hideous vibe between us right now.

He decides there’s nothing else to say and grabs his keys. After shooting one final glare, he storms out of the room.

The door to the garage bangs shut. A moment later, he’s peeling out of the driveway and roaring down the street.

As the screaming of Luca’s tires fades, I feel a twinge of sorrow. Anger. And regret.

My first instinct is to call my sisters. But how do I explain the toxic state of my marriage to them? I know how it would sound. Daisy and Sabrina will only be worried and there’s nothing they can do to help.

Outside the window, a gale of wind picks up and rattles leafless tree branches.

I’m sure Luca is cursing my name right now.

I have no clue when he’ll be back, although I know he does need to come back, sooner or later.

He has no choice.

We have that in common.