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홈 / Romance / Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi / some part of you still looked twice

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some part of you still looked twice

작가: Gemma Rykes
last update 게시일: 2026-07-10 17:14:56

Rafael blinked. “No,” he said. “Not with me.”

“Hmm.” Gabby folded her little arms across her chest. “Then I call you Rafa Lemon.”

There was a pause.

I waited for Rafael to take offense, or go cold. Or give her the look that used to make junior analysts in Milan consider a career in tomato farming.

Instead, he slipped his sunglasses into his shirt pocket and crouched down until he was closer to Gabby’s eye level.

Something shifted in my chest, like a chair being dragged across an empty room.

Gen
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  • Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi   one bad mood and a credit card

    I took plates from the cabinet. One. Two. Three. Four. Because Kendra lived here now, and if I didn’t feed her, the woman might run away to Oregon and join a community to grew kale while crying.“Al, dinosaurs do not need maple syrup spas. Gabby, a whale shark can be royal without a crown. There are many ways to have social status. Bank accounts, cheekbones, and the ability not to scream before eight in the morning, for example.”Gabby looked at me. “I have cheekbones?”“Not yet. You have marshmallow cheeks.”Al laughed.Gabby immediately opened her mouth.I raised the spatula without turning around. “The next scream will put your crown on probation.”Gabby’s mouth closed.“Crown probation sounds serious,” Kendra whispered.“Very,” I said. “There’s paperwork.”Al used the silence wisely. He leaned toward Gabby. “Marshmallow cheeks,” he whispered.Al smiled a little.“Take. That. Back,” Gabby growled.Al shook his head, his blue eyes shining like a small child who had already lit a mat

  • Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi   one sock short of a family crisis

    I woke up before my alarm.That was insulting enough.The clock on the nightstand read 6:12, the small blue digital numbers glowing with the confidence of someone who didn’t have children, didn’t run a company, and hadn’t just been subtly threatened by her amnesiac ex-husband at a foundation investor event with expensive champagne and lighting that was far too flattering.I lay on my back, staring at the spotless white ceiling, and for the first few seconds, my brain committed no crimes. There was only the distant sound of the waves, the soft hum of the AC, and the weight of the blanket across my waist.“You’re afraid I’ll remember.”I let out a long breath through my nose.Of course Rafael Vittorio Ricciardi had chosen the foundation’s investor night to start turning into a detective. Of course the man couldn’t experience amnesia politely, like a normal person. Forget an email password, forget a cousin’s name, or forget that he possessed the unique ability to turn my life into a lega

  • Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi   one inch was still too far

    I lifted my glass and drank the champagne so my mouth would have something to do besides admit something that would destroy its reputation. “Tragic,” I said. “Find a specialist.”“For what?”“A sudden improvement in taste could be a symptom of a tumor.”He watched me for several seconds.Then his hand left my waist because Lorenzo came over to tell us the official photo session was about to begin.The part of my body he had been touching immediately felt cold.We were led to a small area near a paneled wall that had been set up with lighting, one white floral arrangement, and the foundation logo in a size small enough to look old money.The photographer stood in front of the backdrop. “Mr. and Mrs. Ricciardi, please.”I walked to the mark, and Rafael stood beside me.The photographer checked his screen. “Closer.”“All photographers seem to have the same emotional needs,” I muttered.Rafael placed a hand at my waist.“A little closer, sir.”His hand pulled me an inch nearer until our h

  • Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi   my heart approved an unauthorized transaction

    At seven twenty-three that evening, the town car stopped in front of a hotel in Nob Hill.The press line was already set up behind a small barricade. Not many, maybe twenty photographers and several business reporters, but their flashes made the hotel entrance look like someone was trying to turn on the sun manually.I waited inside the car for three seconds because I only gave people enough time to hate their lives before I improved their evening.My dress was black, simple, and fell to mid-calf. No sequins. No lace. Nothing about it screamed bride. The neckline was clean, the shoulders bare, the waist fitted, and the slit in the skirt showed just enough leg to remind society that marriage did not stop blood circulation.My hair was pulled back into a sleek twist, paired with small emerald earrings, dark red lipstick, and black heels that gave absolutely no impression of bridal softness.I looked more like a wealthy widow who had arrived to make sure her husband was actually dead.Wh

  • Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi   the cameras caught me lying badly

    My marriage was announced to the world at nine o’clock Monday morning.Not by me.Of course not by me.If life had given me a choice, I would have announced it on a sticky note taped beneath someone’s desk, then moved to another country before there could be follow-up questions.The Ricciardi family chose a three-paragraph official statement, one altar photo edited until all the chaos from Saturday looked like an aesthetic decision, and black font against a white background that carried the energy of a law firm with access to weapons.The photo appeared first.Rafael and I stood beneath an arch of white flowers and olive branches. My face was tilted slightly toward him. His hand rested at my waist. His head was lowered close enough that, from that angle, we looked like two people who had married because we couldn’t bear to live apart, not because one bride had disappeared and the groom had threatened her replacement’s company with international litigation.The lighting was warm.My dr

  • Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi   may twenty-first

    At eleven twenty, I picked up the contract again and read it on the sofa while occasionally looking at the three people on the floor.Rafael answered every absurd ramble with the same calm he used when discussing security perimeters.No, the whale shark could not become a pilot without training.Yes, the princess could have a helicopter, but the helipad could not be built on top of the bedroom.No, the prison could not be placed beside the bakery because that was “bad energy.”When the Lego was almost finished, Gabby stood and announced, “Rafa Lemon eats lunch here.”I lifted my head. “Excuse me?”Gabby pointed at Rafael. “He helped.”“Contractors usually get paid and then leave.”“He can eat.”“This house still has an owner.”Gabby looked at me with an extremely patient expression. “Mami. Don’t be rude.”I stared at the child who had come out of my body four years ago and had been trying to seize control of my assets ever since.Rafael stood and reached for his bomber jacket. “I can

  • Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi   Glass Mansion, Soft Monsters

    Five Years Later.“AL, STOP PULLING MY HAIR, I’M A PRINCESS!”“UGLY PRINCESS!”Something small, warm, and heavy slammed into my waist. Then something else landed on my stomach. I didn’t wake up because of an alarm, but because two tiny bodies decided I was their personal playground.“Oh God,” I ras

  • Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi   Sunlight and Divorce Papers

    I woke up because the sun slapped me in the face. White-gold light speared through the thin curtains, landing directly on my eyelids that had never volunteered to become solar panels. I blinked slowly, trying to gather the pieces of my soul scattered across the sheets.The clock on the nightstand r

  • Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi   He Never Chose Me

    “Wow,” I said at last, closing the door behind me with a soft click. “I thought you were still busy having a reunion with your ex.”His gaze dropped for a second, traveling down my body. From the thin heels, to my bare legs, to where the dress cinched at my waist, to the neckline that was bold enou

  • Second Time, Mrs. Ricciardi   The Wife

    The small pan hissed softly as the oil heated, the sharp scent of roughly crushed garlic already filling the kitchen before I realized I was humming. Fuck.A Shakira song.Wildly off-brand for this morning’s mood, which had gone to hell at five twelve a.m. sharp, when Arsen, the technological basta

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