Ruthless Monarch

It’s nice to have him here. Although normally when I come here, I have Julia in tow.

She knows just how much I love the library. She’s the only person who knows how badly I love to get lost in a story.

She and I are connected in that.

Neither one of us had the childhood we deserved.

Hers, however, was not her fault…

Mine.

Nope. Not going there.

I always would sit in my tree house and wish I could escape into my own world.

Now, I want to give that dream to other children. I survived by losing myself in the classics, but how amazing would it be if I could find a fantastic fantasy and bring it into the world for others to enjoy.

That dream faded a long time ago.

When my father so pointedly told me that my only place was beside my future husband as a prop.

I’m happy to have the dream again. Even if it never comes to be, I’m happy to just dream.

No matter what happens with my father or what he makes me do, this will happen.

I’m surprised when we spend an hour at the library. I assumed we would walk in, and after five minutes, Matteo would get bored and want to leave. But instead, he let me look around, sit down, and read.

Another thing that surprised me was I assumed he would play on his phone the whole time. Obviously not speak on his phone, but I expected him to text. Instead, he spent the whole time watching me.

At first, it was a bit unnerving. Then despite what I thought, I found that I liked it. I liked the way he watched me. His green eyes, usually cold and distant, had a different look to them. This time his pupils were large. They were dilated as he watched me.

But it was the way he watched. He watched me like a predator. He watched me like he wanted to jump across the table, throw me down, and have his way with me. I’d like to pretend that I had no reaction to this. But as I read each word, all I see above the book is him tracking my movements, ready to pounce.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask.

“Don’t feel rushed by me. I’m enjoying myself.”

“All you’ve been doing is staring at me.”

“Case in point. This is why I’ve been enjoying myself.”

“Well, I’m ready.”

“We still have a lot of time before we go to Rockefeller Center. Is there something you want to do beforehand?”

“I was wondering . . .” I bite my lower lip.

“You can talk to me. What were you wondering, Viviana?”

“I was wondering if I could see my friend Julia.”

“The same Julia you wanted to invite to the wedding?”

“The very same.”

He mulls over my words, not giving away what he thinks he’s going to do. I wonder if he’ll say yes. Or maybe he’ll say no. Maybe this whole last week of him being nice has just been an illusion in my mind. I sit and wait for him to answer. I close the cover of the book I was reading and stare up at him.

On instinct, I bite my lip harder, a small exhale bursting from my mouth when I nip too hard. I follow the movement of his eyes and can’t be one hundred percent sure but, if I had to harbor a guess on what he is staring at, I would have to say my mouth.

When he still doesn’t answer, I start to fidget uncomfortably in my chair. The silence of the library is deafening right now. He leans forward. His elbows resting on the surface of the table. I lean forward as well, our faces are closer, so he doesn’t have to raise his voice.

“You can see your friend, Viviana. Tell her to meet us for coffee.”

“Shh.” I hear from a patron sitting farther up the table from us.

A laugh wants to escape my mouth. But I hold back from making a sound. Instead, I mouth to Matteo that we should go.

He gives me a nod and stands. I’m putting the book in a pile before I noticed that he’s walked up to me. With one hand, he grabs my pile, and with the other, he takes me.

We return the books back to where we found them and then we walk back out the foyer of the library. Once we’re back in the busy New York streets, I let out the laugh I was holding.

“We almost got in trouble.”

“If you think that’s trouble, then you’ve never seen trouble.”

“Probably not.”

“Don’t worry, spend enough time with me and you certainly will.”

“Where should I tell her we’re going?”

He prattles off an address, and for some reason, I’m pretty sure that like the pizza restaurant we went to, the owner will be someone he knows. I’m okay with that. Every time he introduces me to someone, I find out a little more about my mysterious husband.