Maybe he was speaking to his children or maybe he had commenced damage control. The story of Ettore Scala being shot at the altar by his unwilling bride would have circulated by now. My gut tensed with unease because I felt awful about it.

It was so cozy on the sofa that my eyes grew heavy and just when I began to nod off, I scrambled awake as the bedroom door swung open. Ettore stepped out appearing well dressed, well slept and irritated as hell. He was fiddling with his left cufflink, popping it into place. His confident gait faltered only when he noticed me and I could see why.

He was clean and showered and looking all kinds of sexy.

I, on the other hand, looked like warmed up shit served three ways.

I could see it aggravated him to ask, “Why are you still dressed in that?” He worked on the other cufflink and said, “After the shitshow you orchestrated yesterday, the least you can do is make it so that we’re on time for lunch at my dad’s. Go shower and change.”

Sometime during the night, the bruising around my neck had my voice turn hoarse. I swallowed through the pain and spoke quietly, “I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t? Where’s your bag?”

With each additional question, I shrunk deeper in on myself. I did not want to speak but when a man like Ettore asked you a question, you answered. “I… didn’t pack one,” was my reluctant response.

Things seemed somewhat lighter this morning. I was going to miss that when the ball dropped in a few seconds.

“Why didn’t you…?”

Three, two, one.

His face turned somber and he stilled.

There it goes.

The sigh that left him was bone tired. Then he nodded slowly, letting out a hostile laugh. “Because you never planned on making it past the ceremony. Why pack a bag? You don’t need fresh drawers when you’re dead, right?”

Ding, ding, ding. Get the man a prize.

“Right,” I said this so quietly it was barely a whisper.

“Jesus Christ,” was what he said before he bit his tongue, but it didn’t take a genius to finish his sentence. If I had to guess, I was sure it the rest of his statement went something like “You, Vittoria Vero, are an unimaginable asshole and you make me sick”.