Good. Let him wonder.
I don't know why I'm pushing him. Don't know why I can't just nod and agree and make this easier for both of us.
Maybe it's because of the altar. The way he wheeled backward instead of forward. The way he refused to kiss me in front of everyone. The way he made me feel like something dirty. Something unwanted.
I've spent my whole life trying to understand people. Why they do what they do. What drives them. What breaks them.
My mother taught me that.Watch, Antonella. Listen. People tell you everything if you pay attention.
Bruno Sartori is a puzzle. And I've never been able to leave a puzzle unsolved.
"How am I supposed to live?" I ask.
"What?"
"From now on. In this house. In this marriage." I keep my voice steady. "What does my life look like?"
He's quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his tone is clipped. Business-like.
"I'll assign a man to be your guard. He'll accompany you when you leave the compound."
"A guard."
"For your protection."
"Mhm."
"You'll have access to my credit cards. If you need anything—clothes, personal items—you can use them."
"How generous."
He ignores the sarcasm. "When you want to go somewhere, you'll inform me. Where you're going. Who you're meeting. I'll decide if it's safe."
"You'll decide."
"Yes."
"And if you decide it's not safe?"
"Then you don't go."
I let the silence stretch. Let him think I'm considering his terms.
Then: "No."
"No?"
"This isn't happening."
His voice drops. "There's no other option."
"There is." I sit up straighter on the bed, even though he can't see me. "I'm going to live my life, Bruno. I'll inform you when I'm heading out. That's all you need to know."
"That's not how this works."
"It's how it's going to work."
"You're my wife." The words come out sharp. Hard. "You're under my protection. My responsibility. You don't get to?—"