Butterflies In My Tummy

Chapter 12

Butterflies In My Tummy

Lyla Atelo

I sat like a robot in the car, my airways constricted by the tightness of the corset. True, it accentuated my curves and hid the little belly rolls I had, but it was unbearable.

"You look really breathtaking, Lyla." Michael whispered to me from the driver's seat.

He wore a light purple tuxedo to match my purple gown.

"It surely is breath-taking, Michael." I responded dryly. I was almost losing my life and I couldn't wish but hope that we were closer to the venue. It had been one hour already.

Luckily for me, we arrived in front of a beautiful mansion at the outskirts of town.

"This is really big..." I couldn't keep my surprise under the wraps. This place was exquisite.

"I know." Michael murmured beside me. "This is how the wealthy love, Lyla. And I don't want to be just rich, but wealthy."

I held back my tongue from saying he had a long way to go. Once he had parked the car at his designated spot, he told me to come out of the car.

I frowned slightly. "Isn't this to keep up appearances? Wouldn't you open the door for me?"

He shook his head. "You're right. But I don't think there's any point in doing that. There are no cameras outside, the sky is getting darker so no one would notice if I did it or not. Just step out of the car, Lyla."

And just like that, I was reminded of the man that opened the door for me. I was reminded of Sage. The thought of him seemed to lessen the stress on my shoulders, it seemed to pull my breath back in despite how tight this dress was.

I took a deep breath and gave myself a pep talk. This was for my future, my marriage. I had to do my best for my husband to gain favour in the eyes of these elites in the business world. My heels clicked against the stucco floor as I rushed to cling to Michael's arms.

"Can we at least act like we're a happy couple since this means so much to you?" I was already getting frustrated at his behaviour.

He raised a brow in surprise. "We're not acting, Lyla. We are, indeed, a happy couple."

And that was the last statement he made to me for the evening. I was immediately thrust into the cold arms of the elite men and women of the state. Glasses clinked from all corners, laughter, discussions...

"Mr. Romano, how do you do, sir?" I felt Michael's strong grip against my elbows and I knew I was about to be pushed into a discussion, or most likely an introduction.

The man he called stared at him. The man didn't seem to recognize who my husband was. He looked confused.

"I'm Michael Atelo, and this is my wife." Michael introduced us to him, stretching out his hands for a handshake. "We met last year at the Winter festival when you came in with your family."

The man still tried hard to remember, but I could see from his face that he was drawing up some blanks. He didn't know who my husband was. Michael was fond of doing this. I couldn't help the shame that washed over my face.

I stepped forward and patted Michael's shoulders. "What are you saying, my love? The man we met last year wasn't Mr. Romano. He just looked a little like him. I tried telling you that, but you've been a really big fan of Mr. Romano that you didn't seem to believe me." I chuckled, placing one hand over my mouth while turning to the man. "I'm sorry for this, sir. But my husband has always admired you. It gets me really jealous that you take more of his attention than I do."

The man's face began to lighten up with a smile. That was rich people for you. If you knew how to stroke their ego, you could gain a few favours from them.

The conversation went smoothly until Mr. Romano excuses himself to talk to another guest which had just entered.

"Don't ever do that again, Lyla." Michael growled from beside me. "You made me look weak, as if my wife has the final say and I'm... You reversed the roles today, Lyla. Don't ever make me feel small compared to you!"

I wondered how he was able to keep a straight and pleasant face while spewing all those words. But as the night went on, he fumbled and I stepped in, and my dress seemed to be getting tighter and tighter.

"I need to step out for a bit, Michael. I need some air." I told him, carefully detangling myself from his arms.

He pushed me towards one corner of the room, backing all the cameras. He looked livid.

"Why do you want to embarrass us, Lyla? How many wives have you seen needing some air? Why must you be different? Why don't you—"

"Michael!" I gritted my teeth. "You're hurting me." His fingers had closed tightly against my wrists.

He let go of me, giving me one last look before turning away from me. I took that as my cue to leave the building. By the time the cold night air hit my face, I was gasping for breath. My head was spinning, and I wanted nothing more than to be out of this dress. I started by taking off the heels, welcoming the feeling of asphalt under my legs. My soles were sore, as were my toenails that had been squeezed together.

Raising my head, something caught my line of sight. A lit cigarette between the fingers of a stranger in the shadows. He was leaning lazily against one of the pillars of the mansion, looking straight at me. Every atom of my body responded at once. I hadn't seen his face yet, but that aura was unmistakable.

He seemed to see that I had noticed him before he threw the cigarette on the floor, crushing it under his shiny shoes.

"Who do we have here?" Even under the darkness here, I could tell he was smirking. "Lyla." His voice rumbled deep, my name rolling off his tongue like melted butter. There was something in the way he called my name made the butterflies in my tummy happy.