CHAPTER FIVE: Duty, Not Desire

Ava:

It’s been three weeks since the wedding.

I wasn’t pleased to admit the number of times I had blankly stared at the note Dante left, as if hoping there could be more words that I must have missed while reading it before.

Unfortunately, every time I read it, it was the exact same thing, again and again.

Just eight plain words. I’d read it so many times the paper had gone soft at the creases, oiled with grease.

I’d spent the first week convincing myself that Dante would drop a call. There was some explanation for suddenly disappearing the morning after our wedding, or there could have been some emergency that made sense of why he’d leave me like that.

The second week, I’d tried calling every number I could find associated with Rossi Industries. Each one led to an assistant who promised to pass along my message. None of them ever called back. I’d shown up at his office building twice. Security wouldn’t let me past the lobby. Apparently just saying “I’m his wife” and showing my wedding ring wasn’t enough without an appointment.

By the third week, I’d stopped trying to make sense of it.

I stood outside the Rossi family estate, staring at the gates.

I’d been here once before, or twice. I barely remembered it.

Funny how I had almost been convinced that his promise to me at the altar wouldn’t come so fast. And that it would have been a situation where I was reminded daily for the rest of our lives.

Surprisingly, he didn’t need to actively ruin my life by being present in it. Abandoning me had done the job just fine.

I pressed the intercom button before I could talk myself out of it.

Static crackled, drawing my gaze back to the intercom as a woman’s voice asked from the other end. “Kindly state your business, and you’ll be directed in immediately.”

Biting down on my bottom lip, the words crawled their way out: “I'm Ava Rossi.” The name still felt wrong in my mouth. It felt as if I were wearing borrowed shoes that didn't fit properly. “I need to speak with someone about my husband.”

“Your husband?” The voice dipped into something similar to mockery.

I almost took back the words but instead muttered a low, “Yes.”

The silence after was long enough that I thought she’d disconnected.

Then finally: “One moment.”

One moment turned into five minutes. Then ten. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, wrapping my arms around myself even though it wasn't particularly cold. I just really needed something to do with my hands. Anything to stop them from shaking and nervously reaching for the intercom again.

“This is stupid.” I took a step back and mumbled to myself. Maybe I should just go back to the penthouse and wait, like Dante's note had told me not to. Except I’d been waiting for three weeks, and I was starting to forget what I was waiting for.

The gate finally buzzed open, and I looked up, took a deep breath, and then stepped inside.

I walked up the driveway, my flats making soft scraping sounds against the smooth stone. Everything about this place screamed money. Old money. The kind that came with expectations and standards and an entire world of rules I knew about and had been taught to conform to my whole life.

The gardens were immaculate. Not a leaf out of place. The fountain in the center courtyard looked like something out of a European palace.

Every step I took forward reminded me that I'd married into this world. Somehow that felt less real than the pregnancy test I’d taken this morning.

No. I wasn’t thinking about that yet. One crisis at a time.

Shaking my head, I focused on the woman standing right outside the entrance door and waiting for me.

She was dressed in a black uniform and wore a brooding expression. She looked me over once—in a dismissive and quick way—and I saw the exact moment she categorized me.

“Welcome,” she said dryly. “Mrs. Rossi is in the sitting room.” She tried hard to keep her tone carefully neutral, but somehow it still sounded condescending. “Follow me.”

We walked through hallways, and it felt like ages before we finally stepped into a grand, massive door that led to what I assumed to be the living room.

The living room was all cream, with furniture that looked brand new. Everything was too perfect, and I felt out of place.

I didn’t exactly come from a poor background, but my father’s wealth couldn’t scrub the surface of the Rossi family’s wealth. And well, due to his gambling addiction, I was almost certain his wealth wouldn’t stretch to his next generation. At this rate, he’ll end up squandering all he had in less than three years.

A woman stood by the window, her back to me. Even from behind, I could tell she was elegant. The kind of elegance that couldn’t be bought or even learned.

She turned when I entered, and I understood immediately where Dante had gotten his eyes. They were the same shade as hers.

“Mrs. Rossi,” I said, my voice coming out smaller than I'd intended. “Thank you for seeing me.”

She shrugged. “I wasn't aware I had a choice.” She gave me a half-dry smile before stretching tall to her height, which towered over me. “You are married to my son, after all. It would be inappropriate to turn you away at the gates.”

The way she said ‘inappropriate’ made it clear she’d wanted to do exactly that.

She moved to one of the cream chairs and sat with grace, crossing a leg over the other. She didn’t invite me to sit, so I stood there instead.

There was absolutely no need to beat around the bush, so I cut to the chase. “I'm looking for Dante,” I said, forcing myself to stand straighter and to pretend I belonged here even though we both knew I didn’t. “I haven’t been able to reach him, and I thought maybe you might—”

“My son is handling business matters.” She picked up a teacup from the side table.

I tried hard to keep a straight expression. “Business that he told me nothing about? I’m not trying to meddle in his affairs or work, but I believe I at least deserve to know where my husband is and…”

I stammered, unable to complete my sentence as she cut a glare at me. “Surely you understand that a man in his position has responsibilities that extend far beyond domestic concerns.”

Domestic concerns. Like I was asking him to remember to take out the trash.

“It's been three weeks,” I said, and I hated how desperate I sounded. How small and insignificant this family made me. “ He left a note saying he had a meeting in L.A., but that was weeks ago, and I haven't heard anything since. I just need to know—”

“And?” She took a sip of tea, like she had all the time in the world and I was wasting it. “Did you expect daily updates? A schedule of his movements, perhaps? Maybe I could ring him for you and tell him to leave his duties and work and come running over to his wife?”

I shook my head. “That’s not what I’m saying…” My brows curved slightly, and I quickly backtracked as her words settled in. “He answers your calls?”

She looked at me like I had asked a stupid question. “He’s my son.”

That was all the answer she gave, and all the answer I needed.

“I’m just trying to reach out to him. It’s been three weeks,” I added helplessly.

Mrs. Rossi scoffed, “My son will contact you when he deems it necessary.” She set the teacup down with a click that felt somehow like a dismissal. “You’ve been married less than a month, Miss Pierce. I suggest you adjust your expectations accordingly.”

Miss Pierce. Not Mrs. Rossi. The correction was too clear and intentional. She didn't recognize me as Dante’s wife and didn't accept me. The marriage certificate and wedding didn’t mean anything to her.

“I just need to know how to reach him,” I said again, lower this time. What was the point? She wasn't going to help me. Subconsciously, I brushed my palm over my belly. “Please.”

Mrs. Rossi stood up from the couch like she was already done with this conversation. “My son will reach out when he's ready. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have appointments to keep.”

She walked toward the door, and for a long moment I stood there, frozen, watching her leave.

Having to watch my last hope walk away while I could do nothing about it.

She paused at the doorway, glancing back at me. “A word of advice, Ava,” she said, her voice softer but no less cold. “Don’t make yourself a nuisance. My son married you out of duty, not desire. He never wanted you.”

A long, deep sigh followed before she continued, “The sooner you accept that, the easier this arrangement will be for everyone involved.”