Page 13 of Always Meant To Be
I groan, putting my lips against her neck, silently promising to make her fall for me so I can always be inside her.
Fuck, she's perfect.
Three
Elena – Four Years Later – Age Twenty-Three – Present Day
Beep,beep, beep.
Beep, beep, beep.
I squeeze my eyes tight, hoping to ignore the sound. I just want a few more minutes of sleep before it goes off again.
Sleep takes over again as the beeping stops and I sigh, snuggling deeper into the duvet.
Just five more minutes….
Beep, beep, beep.
Dammit. I groan, slowly turning to grab my phone and shut the noise off, before I turn again, wishing I had more time to sleep. Closing my eyes for a few more seconds, I run my left hand over the bed only to touch the cold sheets.
I sigh, turning my head. I slowly open my eyes to see the empty space.
Four years of marriage, and yet, he’s never here in the mornings. The only time I see Romeo is late in the evenings when I’ll wait for him with dinner made by my hands, not that heknows it, or when I’m forced to be his arm candy at events, and yes, forced, and even then, it’s only for the ten-minute car ride, and normally he’s on his phone.
I'm not too fond of the events, especially because my sister is always there, and she always has his attention, while I spend the night alone, showing everyone who he prefers.
Four years, and she’s all he can see, while I’m stuck in the shadows, struggling to breathe.
Swallowing hard, I get up, trying to ignore the disappointment. I make the bed, and head to the bathroom to do my morning routine before work.
Last year, I graduated with my bachelor’s, and then was hired at Mayfair Private School, ten minutes from where I live on Oyster Close. My class is with ten-year-olds, and I love it. It’s such a critical age to prepare them for the next stage.
Smiling a little at the thought of my class, I turn the shower on before putting my hair up, and climbing in, trying to ignore the hurt, knowing that when I go downstairs, my husband won’t be there—he never is.
Half an hour later, I’m walking downstairs, ready for my day, when there’s a knock at the door. I check the time and furrow my brows, seeing it’s only seven in the morning, when the door opens. My brother-in-law Antonio walks in, his blue/green eyes sparkling when he sees me.
“Well, isn’t it my favorite sister-in-law looking absolutely gorgeous this morning,” he states happily.
I snort and open my mouth to reply snarky, because I am his only sister-in-law, when a voice behind me growls, “Fratello, stop flirting with my wife.”
I freeze in shock, my eyes wide, causing Antonio to give me a funny look, but I ignore him and turn around, only to see my husband standing behind me with his arms crossed over his muscular chest.
His white button-down shirt stretches, hugging his arms, while his face looks serious.
Damn, why does he always look good enough to eat?
“You’re home…” I state the obvious in confusion.
Romeo smirks, his eyes coming my way. They make contact with mine before they move down my body, noticing my dark blue, wrap-around, long-sleeve dress, and my short, black, open-toe heels.
I want to fidget, not used to his attention in the mornings, when his eyes come back to mine full of heat, and he rasps, “It’s seven in the morning,farfalla; where else would I be?”
Surely he’s not serious?
Anger flares as I raise a brow and can’t help the snarky reply, “The office, where you normally are right about now.” At least that’s where I think he is in the mornings, but with the way he is with my sister, a part of me, a small part, thinks he’s with her.
Sometimes, when he puts his hands on me, his lips on my body, I cringe, and disgust overrides me, and my mind takes over. I wonder if he’s slept with her that morning. It’s hard, because if I say no to intimacy, he’ll spend an hour working my body up, teasing me, knowing I’d give in and, afterward, I’ll always feel dirty.