Keeping his bride

Luca

HE NEXT DAY, Benito walks into my office and stops dead in his tracks. “What in the hell is that?” he asks.

“A Zen Garden,” I muse. The gift is in the center of my desk. Hell, I even moved my laptop to the side so that I could have more room for it.

T

“Where the hell did you get it?”

“Verona bought it for me.” I never thought in a million years a Zen Garden would make me fucking happy or content, and yet here we are. I have been working on this thing for over two hours now. I started with unpacking the box. Included were several different styles of rakes and miniature Japanese ceramic figurines, along with rocks, moss, and cherry blossom trees.

I raked different patterns in the sand while I was on a phone call with one of my IT guys, and it helped to keep me calm when I learned that Constantine was planning on taking over some new territory on the west side of the city to help with his human trafficking ring. My IT guy was so surprised at my subdued reaction that he actually asked me if I was having a stroke since I had been quiet for so long.

After I was done raking, I set up the miniatures and arranged the trees, rocks and moss.

Benito walks up to my desk and studies the garden. “That’s actually kind of…nice,” he says. He picks up a rake and starts raking through the perfect pattern I had already created, messing it up.

I frown at him and snatch the rake from his hand. “I’ll get you one for Christmas,” I snap at him.

“So, Verona bought you this on her shopping trip yesterday?” he says, his lips tilting up in a grin.

“Yes. And that’s the only thing she bought.” I checked the credit card statement again this morning, and no other charges could be found to my dismay. I so wanted to be right about her, and once again she threw me for a fucking loop.

“Maybe she isn’t the spoiled princess you thought she was,” he suggests.

“I’m never wrong about people,” I tell him.

He nods in agreement. “This is true. But you’re never wrong about your enemies. Verona isn’t your enemy.” “Yes, she is,” I say pointedly.

“She may be the daughter of your enemy, but she did nothing wrong. She’s innocent in all of this, Luca,” Benito says. “Just like your mother was innocent.”

His words infuriate me. “Whose side are you on anyway?” I snap.

“Yours. Always yours. I’m just trying to open your eyes to new possibilities.”

“Verona isn’t special. She isn’t unique. I just have to figure out why she’s trying to play me for a fool.”

“Maybe she isn’t trying to play you at all,” Benito suggests.

“Just get the fuck out,” I tell him. I’m done listening to him for the day.

“You just want me to leave so you can get back to work on your Zen Garden,” he says with a chuckle.

“Leave!” I yell.

I can hear his big ass laughing the whole way down the hallway after he walks out of my office.

Luca

W

E ARE ALL gathered in the dining room for a familystyle dinner…even though I would call us anything but family. Maybe a mixture of misfits – Dante, Benito, Verona and me.

Greta comes bustling through the door, a pleased look on her face when she sees everyone already seated. She had insisted on this type of dinner after “all of her hard work in the kitchen”, as she put it earlier.

And even though I’d rather dine with a live, venomous python than be in the same room as Dante having a family meal, I’m willing to put my hatred for him aside for Greta’s sake. Just this once anyway.

Greta started working for me a few days ago, and I can already tell she’s extremely happy about having to cook for people again. She orders the servers around in Italian, and soon we all have in front of us a heaping serving of lasagna on our plates that just came out of the oven, homemade garlic bread and a caprese salad on the side with fresh mozzarella cheese.

“Everything looks delicious, Greta. Grazie,” I tell her, which earns me a beaming smile that she wears the whole way back to the kitchen.

Verona, who is seated to my right, hums in approval as she takes a bite of her salad.

“Do you like it?” I can’t help but ask.

“Yes, very much,” she says before forking another piece of lettuce into her mouth.

Leave it to Greta to finally get approval from the princess. I don’t think anything has been good enough for her since she arrived here.

Benito speaks up from my left. “So, Verona, what did you do after high school? College?”

I know he’s just making small talk, but it irritates me. I don’t want to hear about her posh lifestyle. I never had a chance to go to college, since running the family business always falls on the eldest son’s shoulders. And with me being the only child, everything was placed on mine.

Verona takes her time wiping her mouth with one of the linen napkins and taking a sip of water before she answers him.

This should be good, I can’t help but think. She probably went to one of the most expensive colleges in the country. The best daddy’s money could buy. I wonder what kind of degree she got. Probably one that she would never use. Or maybe she was undecided the whole time, just riding out the college life for a while and living it up on daddy’s dime.

“After boarding school, I went to live with a great aunt upstate,” she says, completely blowing my theory out of the water.

“Boarding school?” I blurt out without thinking.

She gives me a small nod. “Not long after my mother died, my father sent me away to an all-girls boarding school in Utah.”

“So this private school,” I start, but she doesn’t let me finish.

“Actually it was a boarding school for troubled girls, so it was kind of rough at times.” And then she quietly adds, “I was bullied quite a lot.”

Dante looks over at her with a sad, understanding smile, and I frown. Once again, Dante knows more than me, and it pisses me off to no end.

“And you were there for how long?” I question, curiosity seeping through my pores.

“Until I turned eighteen.” She picks up her fork and tries the lasagna. She chews slowly, closes her eyes and then rolls them to the heavens above. “Greta is an amazing cook. How did she not make you fat when you were a teenager?” she jokes, but I know it’s simply an attempt to change the subject.

I want to laugh, but I’m still in shock at the revelations laid out before me this evening. “I ran five miles every night after dinner,” I tell her in all seriousness. I leave out the part where that was part of my brutal regimen placed upon me by my father. Five miles first thing in the morning, another five miles at night, training in between. It was grueling and never-ending, but my father wanted to make sure I was ready for war.

“Ah,” Verona whispers before returning to her meal.

I glance at Benito, who raises a brow at me. He’s wondering what the fuck I’m getting on about, but I can’t even explain it to myself. All this time I was…wrong about Verona. And I’m never wrong. Right from the start I pegged her as a spoiled, rich, little princess. Nothing was ever good enough for her. When, in fact, she isn’t spoiled at all. Her father sent her away after her mother died. So for years, she suffered in a boarding school states away from the only fami y she had left. She was all alone. That explains the att chment to her mother’s dress. Hell, it explains a lot actually.

And once again, I feel like we have more in common than I ever thought we could. After my mother died, I felt like I had no one. Hell, Greta was the only one who acted like she gave a shit, and she was hired help. My father definitely wasn’t around to be a parent. He put all of his time and effort into the mob’s dealings and trying to bring down the Morettis.

Verona asks, “Is everything all right?”

I realize I’ve been staring at her and not speaking. “Your great aunt,” I say before clearing my throat. “She was rich?”

Verona narrows her eyes at my question. “Yes, she had money, I suppose. Not that I ever saw a dime of it. She could stretch a dollar farther than anyone with the amount of thrift shopping we did over the years I lived with her. I don’t think she ever stepped foot inside a store that didn’t have dollar or resale in the title.”

“I don’t think she ever paid full price for anything in her entire life,” Dante pipes up.

The puzzle pieces slowly start to click into place in mind. The suitcase full of “rags”, as I called them. They were her only possessions. Verona was never spoiled. No one ever treated her like a princess. No, she fought to survive, having been bullied most of her life and dealing with the death of her mother in secret.

When I think about the way I’ve continued to bully her… throwing her things away…treating her like shit, like she’s less than me…Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

Suddenly, I’ve lost my appetite. I pull my phone out of my pocket and glance at it before I lie to everyone and tell them, “I need to take this.” Then, I stand and walk quickly out of the roo .

Tucking the phone back in my pocket, I pace the hallway, listening to Verona’s melodic voice drifting out of the dining room. Greta has come back in, and Verona is praising her cooking.

Why didn’t I see this sweet, innocent side of my wife before now?

Because you didn’t want to see it.

I had made up my mind that she was a certain way, and I couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

Just hearing her voice makes me feel even worse, so I retreat into my office and lock myself away.

It’s a half an hour later when Benito comes in. “Something wrong?” he asks. “You didn’t finish dinner. Who was on the phone?”

“No one was on the phone,” I tell him with a sigh. “I faked the phone call to get the hell out of the room.”

Benito is quiet for a while as he tries to figure out why I’m acting so bizarre.

“She’s not spoiled,” I say, which causes him to look even more confused. I shake my head and tell him, “I thought Verona was some rich, spoiled, little princess. Nothing was ever good enough for her. She never had to run a dishwasher or lift a hand in the kitchen; hence, why she covered mine in bubbles.”

“Ah, you were wrong about her,” Benito concludes. “And you’re just now finding out about all of this. Why?”

“Because I had a predisposed idea of her in my head, and I was too fucking stubborn to let go of it,” I confess.

“Because I wanted to hate her,” I add. Benito nods. “So now you know the truth.” “And what the hell do I do with it?” I ask.

“Start over,” he suggests.

“Start over?” I ask, confused.

“Yeah. It’s ot too late. You can make amends with your wife.”

But is it too l te? Verona has told me before that she hates me. With good reason. I know that now. But I don’t know if I can just start over with her. How do I make amends?

“Buy her a gift,” Benito suggests. “Women love new things, like jewelry.”

I shake my head. “Verona isn’t like most women.” I smile at that realization. My wife isn’t into pretty, shiny toys. No, she’s into sentimental things. And I think I have the perfect idea. “Get out,” I tell him abruptly.

Benito doesn’t even question me. He simply walks out of my office, leaving me alone to my thoughts and the crazy plan swimming in my head.