Chapter 5: Faded Smiles And Broken Promises

Wilhemina-

The moment I stepped through the glass doors of R&S Holdings, I became someone else.

Not Emilio Saldini’s unwanted wife. Not Alfredo Rucci’s obedient daughter. And definitely not the woman who had spent the better part of the morning thinking about a masked stranger.

Here, I was in control.

“Good morning, Mrs. Saldini.”

“Morning.”

Clara fell into step beside me before I reached the elevators, tablet already in hand.

“Your nine-thirty conference was moved to ten. Legal sent the revised contracts for the development site, Finance needs your approval on the fourth-quarter projections, and the board meeting is still scheduled for two-thirty.”

“Festival?”

“Nearly eighty percent of the sponsorship packages are filled.”

“Nearly?”

Clara sighed.

“I knew you were going to say that.”

I smiled as the elevator doors opened.

“Then you know what to do.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

By the time I entered my office, thoughts of Emilio, Yazmin, and my mysterious Angel had been shoved somewhere into the back of my mind.

For the next several hours, I worked. Contracts signed, phone calls made, financial reports revised. The usual. Got into a thirty-minute argument with one of our regional directors who apparently thought being sixty-three and male meant he understood international expansion better than I did.

He learned otherwise.

By lunch, I had approved two development proposals, rejected one ridiculous acquisition, reviewed the preliminary entertainment schedule for next month’s music fundraiser, and changed three aspects of the festival layout.

The festival was mine.

It had started two years ago as a relatively small fundraiser for music and arts programs throughout Central-Bay. Now it was one of our foundation’s largest annual events.

And every year had a different theme. The first year had been Music Through the Ages. Last year, A Symphony Beneath the Stars.

This year? I hadn’t told anyone. Which apparently had half of social media losing its mind. At precisely two-thirty, I entered the boardroom. Eight people were already waiting.

“Mrs. Saldini.”

I took my seat.

“Everyone.”

The meeting began with the international development project before eventually moving toward the fundraiser. Then Mr. Calloway leaned forward.

“There is one additional matter.”

I glanced at him.

“A potential investor.” My interest sharpened. “How potential?”

“Very.”

Another board member slid a folder toward me.

“He’s been looking into several corporations throughout Central-Bay. From what we've been told, we're at the top of his list.”

I opened the folder. No name. Interesting.

“Who is he?”

“We haven't been given that information.”

My brow lifted. “You're asking me to impress a man whose name you don't know?”

A few uncomfortable smiles appeared. Mr. Calloway cleared his throat.

“His representatives have been extremely discreet. What we do know is that he's interested in the foundation's international expansion, particularly the arts initiatives.”

“And?”

“And he'll be attending next month's music festival.”

I leaned back. Of course he would.

“He intends to make his final decision afterward,” another board member added. “If everything goes well, we could be looking at one of the largest private investments this corporation has ever received.”

“How large?”

A figure was mentioned. My eyebrows rose. Oh...that large.

“And,” Mr. Calloway continued, “his charitable contribution could potentially become the largest single donation the foundation has received.”

The room suddenly felt heavier.

“So,” I murmured, closing the folder, “a lot is riding on this festival.”

“Yes.”

Silence. Everyone looked at me. I almost laughed.

“No pressure, then.”

A few chuckles broke the tension. I stood, gathering the folder.

“Whoever this mystery investor is, he'll see exactly why this foundation has grown as quickly as it has. The festival will be successful.”

Mr. Calloway smiled.

“We know it will.”

I nodded.

“Not to worry, I won't give him a reason to walk away.”

The meeting ended with everyone in high spirits, anxious for what was to come.

 It was after six when I finally leaned back in my chair.

“God.”

I stretched until something popped in my back. Most of the building had emptied nearly an hour ago. Even Clara had finally gone home after I practically threatened to lock her out of her own office if she didn't leave.

My gaze landed on the folder. Mystery investor. I couldn't deny my curiosity. Someone with enough money to make our board nervous wasn't exactly common.

Who the hell were—

Buzz.

I reached for my phone...Emilio. My expression immediately flattened.

Emilio: I'll be home tonight. We need to talk.

Well...there went my evening.

“Mrs. Saldini.” George took my coat the moment I entered the house. “Mr. Saldini is home.”

“I gathered.”

“He's in the grand room.”

I paused.

“He's actually home and sitting still?”

George's mouth twitched.

“Remarkable, isn't it?” I almost smiled. “He's reading an article about your upcoming festival.”

That surprised me more than Emilio being home. I walked toward the grand room and found my husband sitting on one of the sofas, a tablet in his hand.

He didn't look up when I entered. Of course he didn't. I stood there silently. Five seconds. Ten. Finally, he placed the tablet on the table.

“Looks like everyone is excited to find out what theme your festival will have this year.”

“Apparently.” I walked toward the bar. “Clara said social media has been going insane trying to guess. Next month's turnout should be excellent.”

He nodded. Then his lips curled slightly.

“Good job, Wilhemina.”

I paused.

“You've done extremely well with the businesses. The foundation too.” He leaned back. “And maintaining our public image.”

There it was. Our image. I stared at him.

“Well, you know me, Emilio.” My voice was flat. “Always good at keeping lies alive.”

His smile disappeared.

“Wilhemina—”

“Oh.”

I reached into my work bag and removed the bottle of wine someone from the office had given me.

“This is from the company.”

His brows furrowed.

“Our anniversary present.” I placed it on the table between us. “Everyone hopes we had a marvelous time celebrating.”

His eyes darkened.

“Wilhemina...about that—”

“Save it.”

“Mina—”

“It doesn't matter anymore.”

Confusion flashed across his face. Perhaps he expected screaming. Crying. Asking questions. Demanding answers. But I didn't have any of that energy left.

“I imagine you came home because you wanted something.”

His jaw tightened.

“It's about Friday.”

“What about it?”

“One of the Capos from the Cappelli family is getting married. We've been invited.”

I stared at him.

“And you want us to attend.”

“Of course. We were invited. We have to go.”

“Fine.”

“It's in Aurora.”

I stopped.

“The entire wedding is a three-day event.”

My eyes widened slightly.

“I see.” I gave a humorless laugh. “So we have to pretend to be husband and wife for an entire weekend.”

“Goddamnit, Wilhemina!” Emilio stood. “Who's pretending? We are husband and wife.”

Something inside me snapped.

“Well, tell that to your whore and every other fucking person you invited the day you decided to host a wedding ceremony for her on our fucking anniversary!”

Silence. Complete silence. Emilio stared at me and for the first time, I saw it. The guilt. My eyes burned. I hated that. I hated that after everything, he could still make me cry.

“Wilh—”

“No! Don't you fucking dare.”

The first tear escaped. I wiped it away angrily.

“Emilio, I accepted that you and I would probably never have a loving marriage. I accepted that you loved her. I accepted the separate bedrooms. The nights you never came home. I accepted being your wife in public while she got everything real.”

Another tear fell.

“But I never expected you to have such little regard for our marriage that you would marry your mistress on our wedding day.”

His jaw tightened.

“Yazmin was going through—”

“Do you hear yourself?”

He stopped. Our third anniversary. I'd already known he wouldn't come home. Every year around this time, Yazmin supposedly became depressed because our anniversary reminded her that Emilio had married me instead of her.

So I'd expected him to be with her. What I hadn't expected was waking up to anonymous messages. Photographs. Videos. Of an entire fucking wedding. Flowers. Guests. Champagne. People we both knew in the underworld smiling while my husband exchanged vows with another woman on the anniversary of the day he'd exchanged vows with me.

That was the night something inside me had finally broken. And that night...I'd walked into The Angel's Den.

Emilio exhaled.

“Look, I—Yazmin was having a difficult time...she just wanted—”

“Save it.”

“Wilhemina.”

“I'll go to the wedding.”

He stopped.

“I'll smile. I'll hold your hand. I'll wear whatever expensive dress makes everyone believe we're disgustingly in love.” I swallowed. “I'll play the dutiful wife like I always do.”

His expression shifted.

“Is that all?”

For several seconds, he said nothing. Then he nodded.

“Fine.”

I turned.

“Wilhemina.”

I stopped.

“What?”

There was hesitation in his expression.

“Where did you go that night?”

My heart skipped.

“What?”

“The night of our anniversary.”

Every muscle in my body went still.

“I sent those chocolate-covered strawberries you like. You didn't answer when I called, so I called the house.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “One of the maids said you were out.”

For one reckless second, I wanted to tell him. I wanted to turn around and say: I fucked someone else. I wanted to see his face. Would he care? Would his pride be wounded? Would he finally understand what it felt like knowing someone else had touched what supposedly belonged to you?

Instead, I smiled faintly.

“My friend decided I needed cheering up.”

Emilio studied me. Then he nodded.

“I see.”

I waited.

“Tell Deena thank you for keeping you company.”

I nearly scoffed.

“Sure.”

I turned before he could see the amusement threatening my face. Oh, I would thank Deena. Just not for the reasons he thought. My heels clicked softly against the marble as I headed toward the staircase. And despite everything that had just happened, my mind betrayed me again. Dark eyes behind a black-and-gold mask. A dangerous smile.

Goodnight, kitten.

My steps slowed. My Angel. The man whose name I didn't know. The man I wasn't supposed to see again. And sitting inside the glove compartment of my car was a black card with a single gold number.

One call. That was all it would take.

I continued upstairs.

But this time...I didn't tell myself I would never make it.