I shoved Giovanni away and he gave in, leaning back and sinking against the headboard. He looked as if he would have jumped right off the bed if he wasn’t scared of offending me. Scared to offend me, scared of my father. Always scared.
“What’s your problem? We’ve been dating for over two years and you still haven’t gotten anywhere near my panties.”
I couldn’t believe I was having this argument. I couldn’t believe I was practically begging my fiancé to get it on. Whenever my friends talked about how they manipulated their boyfriends with sex, I felt a pang because Giovanni would probably cry in relief if I stopped pestering him with having sex. I felt undesired. I didn’t even dare talk to my friends about this, and instead pretended I was the one who wanted to wait until marriage like the good, virtuous Capo daughter everyone wanted me to be.
“Marci—” Giovanni began in a tone that suggested I was a little girl in need of reprimanding. “You know how things are.”
Oh, I knew. This wasn’t about society. This was about his fear of Dad.
I was done with this, done being desired from afar. “I can’t do this anymore. Three people is one too many in a relationship.”
I grabbed my dress and dragged it angrily over my head, not caring when I heard it rip. It had cost a fortune but I could buy a new one. I could have anything money could buy and even things beyond that, if my father pulled the right strings. Everyone treated me like a princess. The spoiled princess of New York. I knew the nickname carried in nasty whispers through our circles. Good for nothing but shoe shopping and being pretty. I excelled at both of course, but I was also best in class and had goals in life that would never matter.
“I never—” Giovanni said, shocked, as he scrambled after me.
“Cheat, no, you didn’t.”
Part of me wished he had. Then I could drop him and pay him back, get revenge that could keep me busy but as it was, his confused expression made me feel guilty. “My father has always been and will always be a part of this relationship. He’ll cast his shadow over our marriage too. I’m sick of it. Do you want to marry him or me?”
Giovanni stared at me as if I’d grown a second head. It drove me crazy. This wasn’t his fault. It was mine for never being happy with what I had, for wanting a love that burned so bright, it would burst right through Dad’s shadow. Maybe that love didn’t exist, but I wasn’t ready to swallow that bitter pill of acceptance yet.
“Listen, Marci, calm down. You know I worship the ground you walk on. I adore you, honor you. I’ll be the best husband I can be for you.”
He worshipped me like an unattainable princess. Every kiss, every touch was drenched with care, with respect, with fear… fear of what my father would do if Giovanni displeased me or him. I hated it.
In the beginning, his gentleness and restraint had been endearing. He’d known he was my first kiss and it had taken him three months to kiss me. I had to force the kiss on him. Every other step in our physical relationship had been initiated by me as well, and there hadn’t been many to count. Sometimes I felt as if I was forcing myself on him. I, who had guys almost break their neck to check me out.
If I went somewhere nobody knew me, then I could have a new guy every night. But I didn’t want to run. I didn’t want to hide who I was, who my father was. I wanted someone who wanted me badly enough to risk my father’s wrath. Giovanni wasn’t that person. I’d realized it a long time ago but had clung to this relationship, had even said yes to his marriage proposal, when even back then I’d known he wasn’t going to give me what I wanted. Two years, three months, and four days. Another day wouldn’t be added to our relationship. Ten days after our engagement, everything was over. I could already see the uproar this news would cause.
“It’s over, Giovanni. I’m sorry. I just can’t do this anymore.”
I turned and hurried away but Giovanni followed me. “Marci, you don’t mean it! Your father will be furious.”
I whirled on him. “My father? What about you? What about me?” I shoved him away and stormed off.
Giovanni’s steps rang out behind me and he caught up with me on the staircase. His fingers closed around my wrist. “Marcella.” His voice was low, frantic. “You can’t do this. We’re supposed to marry once you graduate.”
In two years, I’ll have my marketing degree. The mere idea to continue our relationship in the same way for that long made my stomach churn. I couldn’t do it anymore.