Chapter 13: Second Wife

I don't see Antonio for the rest of the day, and I should be thankful for that fact. I don't think I can face him after the way he found Salvatore and me, much less the way Salvatore spoke to him.

It is past five when I decide to gather my things and leave for the villa; I need to prepare for dinner tonight. I don't know what this dinner might bring, especially with Salvatore. Well, it’s not like I worry about him; I know he can defend himself and won't let anyone make him uncomfortable. I’d bet it will be the opposite, and more than one person will feel awkward around him.

I park in the garage and enter the house, only to find a scandal. Evelina's outraged screams can be heard all the way to the lobby. I walk up the stairs cautiously and head toward my room. The closer I get, the better I can distinguish what the conversation is about.

“You didn't have to enter my room like that, Mother.” Salvatore.

“But you intend to defend that damned woman!” she screams.

“Mom is right, I say we should report this situation,” I hear Martina. “Let’s call the police.”

“Can you two calm down,” Gianluca growls.

I approach the room next to mine, and the scene makes my eyes widen. Salvatore only wears a towel around his waist, and his hair is damp, meaning he just got out of the shower. You don't have to be a genius to know what the issue is. They have seen the marks on Salvatore's neck. Now everyone knows that his ruthless wife tried to kill him.

I can’t help a smile pulling at my lips. Damn it! Is it wrong to feel proud of that fact?

“Good afternoon,” I announce, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

Five pairs of eyes land on me before Evelina steps forward. “You are a criminal! How dare you lay a hand on my son?”

I look at Salvatore with an arched eyebrow, and he curses under his breath.

“Of course, but what can one expect from you people, who are a bunch of murderers,” she continues in a poisonous tone.

“Listen to me, that’s enough, madam,” I cut her off abruptly. “I will not allow you to offend us simply because you feel like it.”

“Shut up!” screams Martina, who approaches with a clear intention, but Renzo stops her, taking her by the waist and effortlessly pulling her aside.

“That’s enough, everyone get out of here,” Salvatore demands in a serious tone that leaves no room for protest.

“It’s a marital problem,” Renzo seconds. “You can leave them alone; they will resolve it.”

“I agree with Renzo,” Gianluca snaps coldly.

“You expect me to allow this woman to assault my son? My God, Gianluca, she tried to kill him!” And the Oscar goes to...

I snort before speaking. “Your son tried it first; so, fair is fair.” I blurt out and see her contempt. Well, it’s not like that’s unusual for any of them.

“Come on, let's get out of here,” Gianluca demands, and against all odds, both women leave, but not without giving me an ugly look. The last to leave is Renzo, who chuckles under his breath. “I admit, you're not as stupid as I thought.” With that, he leaves, closing the door behind him, leaving us alone. Should I take that as an insult or a compliment? I'm not sure.

“You couldn't resist playing the victim, could you?”

“Go to hell, I am not the damn victim of a brat like you.”

Instead of getting angry, I smile, and that makes him angrier. “If you say so,” I gesture with my hand to dismiss it. I approach him and ignore his bare chest, and the fact that he is only wearing a precarious towel. “I think you’re exaggerating; it doesn’t look that bad. It will be fine in a couple of days. I was benevolent, Di Sante, don’t forget it.”

We hold each other's gaze for a few seconds before I walk away. I head to the door and am halfway there when I hear his voice. “Helena.”

I turn around, and he throws the towel in my face. I catch it by reflex, tossing it aside before seeing his smug smile, while I remain in shock for a few seconds looking at his naked body. Broad shoulders, defined abs, narrow hips, toned legs, and… I feel a flush rising up my face at the sight. I clear my throat and look him in the eyes, still feeling mortified, but not wanting to give him the satisfaction. I see him smile smugly.

“I told you it was better than soppressata.”

I don't respond; I have no words, so I rush out of the room like a furious Hydra, but not before hearing a husky laugh behind me.

I enter my room and sigh. “Come on, Helena. It was just a penis,” I smack my lips, “you’ve seen penises.” I tell myself. But of that magnitude? my conscience whispers while harshly examining its nails. “Shut up,” I whisper as if it were real and standing with me. I let out an exasperated moan. I hate him!

The drive to my parents' villa is silent. After the scene I witnessed in Salvatore's room, I don't think there's much to discuss, except that he's an imbecile. I keep my small purse on my lap and maintain a carefree posture, although it's just a facade. I glance at Salvatore. He is wearing a sweater, and I think that at least tonight he won't look so out of place, since the temperature has dropped a bit, so it's acceptable.

For my part, I had decided to wear a printed dress, high on my thighs. The dress has slits on the sides of my waist, giving it a sexy touch. High sandals complete the look.

Salvatore drives up the steep street where the villa is and stops at the entrance where the security guards grant us access.

“This is the first time you’ve been here, right?” My gaze goes to his legs and ascends, but I shake my head when he gives me a quick look while driving up the path to the entrance of my parents' house.

“That’s right,” he replies in a serene tone. “The truth is, it’s nothing special,” he shrugs. “The family villa is bigger.” He’s right, they annexed land over the years, and they’ve made a beautiful home, but they still have a crap family.

Again, my gaze falls on his lap, and I find myself thinking about my experiences. I can definitely compare the situation to a fruit market where it's evident that I've been given small carrots, but never a good banana. Potassium is important, there’s that damned conscience again. Although it’s not crazy.

“No!” Someone clearing their throat snaps me out of my sexual fruit and vegetable market. I blink to find with horror that Salvatore has caught me red-handed looking at his crotch.

“Anything interesting you wish to share, Helena?”

I frown. “I was just thinking…” I blurt out, not wanting to give too many details.

He raises an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t understand.”

My tone is flustered, and I see he has parked next to other cars. Salvatore gets out of the car while I grab my purse and do the same.

“Why? I think it would be entertaining,” he snaps, as we walk to the house entrance.

“Forget it,” I snap through clenched teeth, angry at myself for being careless. “Well, here we go.” The resignation in my voice is evident, and he notices.

I open the door, and the conversations of the guests greet us. As I imagined, it’s a dinner for everyone to see that Mauricio Rossetti can seat a Di Sante at his table.

The first to notice us is my mother. “Darling! It's so good you're here,” she says, giving me a hug before studying my appearance while holding a cocktail in her hand. “Nice, but I think too youthful now that you are a married woman,” she shakes her head disapprovingly. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of that,” she winks, and I give her a forced smile.

She shifts her gaze to Salvatore. “It’s good to have you here.”

“Yes, sure,” Salvatore replies in a cold tone.

Mom looks at me questioningly, and I shrug. “Come on, let’s join the rest,” she walks to the living room, and we follow in silence. As expected, all eyes land on us when they see us at the entrance of the living room.

“But if it isn’t my son-in-law and my beautiful daughter!” Dad sings bombastically. Salvatore doesn't respond, much less give him a friendly look; he simply stares at him as if he were an insect. Dad tries to pretend he has a relationship with Salvatore when it’s evident they barely tolerate each other. The lickspittles among his friends play along while Salvatore is not very talkative.

When we move to the table, the uncomfortable questions begin.

“How are you adjusting to married life?” Mrs. Costa asks when we are in the middle of the main course.

“Interesting,” I reply briefly.

“You are also working with your father, aren’t you?” seconds her husband, a man in his sixties.

I nod, not wanting to talk much.

“Helena and Lorenzo are working together; soon they will take the lead on the project I plan to carry out with Salvatore.”

“Who would have thought you would unite after so much time of enmity?” This time it is Mr. Ricci who speaks, an old friend of Dad's youth. Why are they so nosy? Don't they have their own lives that they have to come and gossip about others?

Salvatore responds briefly or simply ignores them, so I intervene to salvage the conversation.

“Married life is not easy,” Mrs. Costa continues, looking at us. “Helena is a very young woman, and having a responsibility, like having a marriage, is complicated.”

“But Salvatore and Helena are working on their marriage.”

I look at my mother when she says those words, and I look at her with apprehension. Seriously? Is it necessary to be so communicative and deceitful? The man and I barely tolerate each other, and we tried to kill each other.

“Mrs. Rossetti, I think we are not an interesting topic at this table,” Salvatore says with a deadly glare that goes unnoticed by no one. “It is evident that Helena and I barely know each other, given our circumstances.”

I should feel bad, but instead, I feel relieved. Yes, I find it utterly stupid that they want to sell us as the perfect couple in front of everyone when we are not, when everyone at this table knows why we got married. I look at Salvatore, who continues as if he hadn't just left everyone speechless at the table.

“I have a question, is it easier to manage a marriage after having gone through one?” she looks at me. “Because I assume you know that you are his second wife?”

Mrs. Costa's words leave me in shock, and the glass stops halfway to my lips. The table falls silent, and I feel anger radiating from Salvatore’s body. Married? Was Salvatore married before? How did I not know that? Maybe because I was never interested in the Di Sante’s life. I had other plans, a life in London that I had to abandon for this.

Salvatore doesn't respond; he simply stands up and skillfully walks out of the dining room, regardless of what anyone thinks.