Chapter 44 Aftermath
ARYA’S POV
I stared at my own vomit splattered across the beautiful stone pathway and felt my stomach lurch again and when I looked up, everyone was staring at me.
Every single person at the event had stopped what they were doing to watch Giovanni De Santis's new wife make a complete fool of herself.
Their faces ranged from shock to disgust to poorly concealed amusement, and I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
At least I hadn't thrown up on anyone. That was something, right?
Giovanni appeared beside me, and I heard him cursing in rapid Italian. The sound made my chest ache, and my tears burned behind my eyes.
Before I could protest or apologize or do anything, he bent down and scooped me into his arms like I weighed nothing.
"What are you doing? Please. put me down," I mumbled weakly, but I didn't actually struggle.
"Silenzio," he muttered, still carrying me. "You've embarrassed yourself enough for one evening."
The words should have made me angry.. But all I felt was shame, spreading through my chest like poison.
As we moved through the crowd toward the exit, I caught sight of Paolo and Lucia standing near the entrance. Their faces were painted with concern and confusion, and the kindness in Lucia's eyes made everything so much worse.
I turned my face into Giovanni's chest, hiding, my body shaking with silent sobs I was desperately trying to contain.
His shirt smelled like his cologne mixed with wine and something uniquely him, and I hated that even now, I found comfort in it.
He placed me in the back seat of the car with surprising gentleness, then climbed in beside me.
"Drive," he commanded the driver, his voice sharp. "Now."
The car moved forward, and I immediately pressed my face against the cool glass of the window, closing my eyes against the wave of nausea that accompanied the movement.
I felt terrible. Not just physically, though that was bad enough, but terrible in my soul. It was like I had revealed some fundamental flaw in myself that I could never take back.
The drive back to the villa passed in silence. Giovanni didn't speak or even look at me.
When we finally pulled up to the villa, I fumbled with the door handle, desperate to get out and lock myself in my room and pretend this night had never happened.
"Wait," Giovanni said, already moving around the car to my side.
"I can walk," I said, my voice hoarse. "I don't need your help."
But he was already lifting me again, cradling me against his chest like I was something fragile that might shatter. Which, to be fair, wasn't far from the truth.
"Put me down," I protested weakly. "I'm not a child."
"You're drunk and sick," he said flatly. "And knowing you, you'd trip on those ridiculous heels and break your neck on the stairs."
"They're not ridiculous, they're-" I started to argue, but what was the point?
Everything about tonight was ridiculous. The dress, the shoes, the dancing with Antonio, the drinking, all of it.
My arms wrapped around his neck automatically, and I found myself staring up at his face as he carried me into the villa. The moonlight caught the straight line of his nose and the way his brow furrowed in concentration.
He was perfect. And I was... impulsive. A disaster in an emerald dress who couldn't even handle three glasses of champagne without making a scene.
We reached my door, and he set me down carefully, making sure I was steady before letting go completely.
"Shower," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Then drink water. I'll make you some soup so you don't wake up with a terrible hangover. There's ginger tea in the kitchen, I'll bring that too."
I nodded mutely, unable to meet his eyes.
"And Arya?" He waited until I looked up at him. "Next time you want to make me jealous, maybe don't poison yourself in the process."
The words should have been comforting but his tone was cold. Clinical.
He reached out, his hand moving toward my face, and for a moment I hoped that he would touch me again the way he had outside the courtyard.
But his hand stopped mid-air, hovered there for a heartbeat. Then dropped back to his side.
"Why do you keep doing that?" I asked, my voice breaking. "Why do you keep pulling away?"
Giovanni's expression closed completely. When he spoke, his voice was emotionless.
"Because the two of us can never work, Arya. Tonight was proof of that. This…" he gestured between us, “…whatever this is, it's not sustainable. You and I, we're too different. And I won't let this become something that destroys us both."
Then he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway, growing fainter and fainter until I heard his bedroom door close with a click.
I stood there in front of my own door, my hand on the knob, my body trembling.
My lips were trembling and my hands were shaking. Everything inside me felt like it was cracking apart, then the tears came.
I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor, my expensive dress pooling around me.
"Damn you," I whispered through my tears, the words barely audible. "Damn you, Giovanni."
Damn him for kidnapping me and for forcing me into this marriage. But mostly, damn him for kissing me like I mattered and then taking it all away.
I sat there on the floor outside my room, crying until my throat was raw and my chest ached and the villa was silent except for the distant sound of waves crashing against rocks.
Eventually, I dragged myself up, stumbled into my room, and did exactly what Giovanni had told me to do.
I showered, washing away the makeup and the perfume and the remnants of the worst evening of my life. I put on pajamas then I brushed my teeth and drank water from the bottle on my nightstand.
And when I heard a soft knock on my door an hour later, I opened it to find a tray of soup, ginger tea in a delicate cup, and crackers arranged on a small plate.
I brought it inside and ate slowly, tasting nothing, but my stomach was grateful for the reprieve.
When I was done, I climbed into bed, pulled the covers up to my chin, and stared at the ceiling until exhaustion finally pulled me under into a dreamless sleep.
My last conscious thought was a bitter one, Giovanni was right.
The two of us could never work but knowing that didn't make it hurt any less.