Armani

Brianna

“What?!?”

Daniel looks visibly stunned when he looks back at me, “You didn’t tell me you were married.”

“I’m not!”

Aliyah gives a low whistle from behind me.

Nico leans in, his voice taking a low drawl when he says, “Your five seconds is up, champ.”

Danny rises to his feet indignantly, his eyes trained on mine regardless of Nico’s scowl beside him. “Call me.”

Nico’s scowl deepens as he makes his exit, then his eyes rounds up on mine. “Call me? What the hell was that?! You out flirting with every dude now?”

I’m sure my features displays my confusion when I repeat his words. “What the hell was that?” I ask him, “your wife?”

“Did I stutter?”

“Did you forget something called a divorce? You know the thing that happened one year ago when you decided you wanted me gone from your life?”

He leans down and his hand closes tight around my arm, “Did you forget your fucking manners when speaking to—”

He cuts short, his eyes zeroing in on my body as he regards me like it is the first time he is seeing me.

“Why are you dressed like that?” he mutters.

“In a bikini?”

“I’ve never . . .” he trails off.

Suddenly aware of his acute gaze, I grab a beach robe and wrap it around my body, shooting to my feet in the process.

Nico straightens, clearing his throat and looking away from me with an expression I can't decipher on his face.

When he looks back at me it is not to complete the sentence he started. He takes in my wet, dirty blonde hair pooling at my waist, the tan on my usually pale skin, the waterproof makeup on my usually plain face.

“You’re different,” he deadpans, “I can't place my finger on it but . . .” he trails off, shaking his head, “you’re different.”

“And you’re here,” I snap, “crashing my vacation.”

Just like that the heated expression is back on his face. “Crashing your vacation? Well I wouldn’t have, if you didn’t just disappear off the face of the earth.”

I didn’t disappear off the face of the earth. No, it was more practical than that. I blocked him. That was probably why he couldn’t reach out to me even if he tried. Blocked him and deleted the memories of that one year of my life as much as I could.

“I had to hire some of my best private investigators, if I didn’t know better, I’d have thought you were running away from me.”

“You knew better,” I tell him, “I was running away from you. Why are you here Nico?”

He regards me like he can't believe I finally got some tongue. “We need to talk.”

“We are talking.”

“Alone,” his gaze shifts to Aliyah’s then back at me, “this is pretty important.”

“A girl knows when she isn’t wanted,” Aliyah singsongs, “I’m an earshot away,” she says, before leaving us to take a stroll on the beach.

“Well?” I shoot at my ex-husband.

He shoots daggers at me with his eyes because no one ever rushes Nico Armani.

“The divorce didn’t go through,” he deadpans.

My knees give way under me and I collapse on the lounging chair behind me. “What the hell do you mean the divorce didn’t go through?”

He occupies the chair Daniel just vacated minutes ago. “The judges didn’t grant it.”

“What on earth? It’s been a whole year!”

“I know,” Nico continues, “There were no grounds for it. Apparently a fulfillment of the duration of a contract wasn’t enough to grant a divorce.”

“But—” I search for the right words, “but you’re Nico Armani,” I mean this was the man that singlehandedly decided to go against one of the most powerful judges in the States and came out of that untouched, “Surely, you’ve got the power to outlaw whatever that law is.”

He sends me a pointed glare. “Trust me, I’ve tried. I don’t want to stay married to you any more than I want to get tied by fucking ropes. But the elections are at hand and I’m not going to jeopardize that by publicly fighting off a judge.”

Nico was vying for the position of a senate in New Jersey, as if being one of the most powerful business man wasn’t enough for the dude.

I flick wet hair off my face, “That’s not my problem anymore.”

“It is,” Nico declares, “especially since we are still a married couple and you are still my wife.”

“I told you, I’m not married to—”

“Six more months,” he cuts in, “the judges think that if we stay under the same roof for six months and we still feel the same way . . .” he shrugs.

“What do you mean under the same roof?” I pique.

“We’ve got to live in the same house.”

“What?!”

“Do you want the divorce or not? You refuse the offer, you’re stuck with my surname for the rest of your life.”

“I want neither of those things,” I shoot back, “but I’m not going to reduce myself to living under the same roof as your mistress.”

“Carla is not my mistress,” he warns.

“Then who is she?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“It is my business if you think I’ll be willing to co-exist with her.”

He runs a hand through his hair, “Fine,” he grits out, “something will be done about Carla.”

Carla or no Carla, I don’t want to go back to being the wife of a cold, domineering man much less living under the same roof with him and the woman who hated my guts just for the reason of being the wrong Page sister. Nico’s mother never liked me. It was evident in her absence at the small, arid court wedding, the way her eyes crossed whenever I walked into a room, the time she ‘mistakenly’ pushed me down the stairs that one time she visited my assigned mansion and claimed she was aiming for something else . . .

His sister didn’t like me either but unlike her mom, she was way better at hiding it, only ever showing it by leaving the room whenever I walked in and body shaming me behind my back. I can't say the same about the cousin that lived with them because I’ve never seen him and the rest of the occupants of that household just straight out ignored me.

Domestic staff included.

Going back to that family would mean the death of me. Literally and physically, and I can't risk that especially after how much time and energy I put in rebranding the new me.

All the gym and therapy sessions, all the nights of being awake and weeping as the truth looked me in the eye.

Nobody wanted me. Not my father who gave me off to a man who hated my guts, or said man who didn’t even want to look at my face, or any member of his household who either maltreated me or ignored me.

And I worked every hour of every day so I never had to feel that way again.

“I can’t risk it,” I tell him, “your family is filled with the most horrib—”

“You don’t get it, Brianna,” he snarls, “I’m not leaving here without you. I don’t care if I have to hurl you over my shoulders at this point but I’m getting that divorce.”

“You can't.”

“Try me.”

“What is in it for me?” I ask, because knowing Nico has taught me that he always gets what he wants and a plan is already forming in my head.

“What do you want?”

“The hotel in New York.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Nico. I want the hotel. Sign its ownership to my name.”

“Done.”

I blink. He was not supposed to agree to that. “What?”

“You want the hotel you get the hotel.”

Fine.

Nico Armani wants me back and he is going to get me back. But it will be different this time. Going back to the Armanis will be different this time.

The Armanis showed me what they are capable of, they showed me their worst parts and hid the best from me. They humiliated me and shone me and they watched me scurry off in the other direction like a squirrel with no place to turn to.

Not anymore. Not this time.

This time, the Armani’s will have no idea what hit them in the head when I strike. Oh, and I will strike, harder than they could ever reach.

This time, it will be on my own terms, on my own rules. The Armanis will not be allowed to hurt me anymore.

They don’t know it yet but the next six months will be the worst months of their lives.

The Armanis will wish they never met me.

Revenge, they say, is a cold dish.