Page 16 of The Sicilian Billionaire’s Neglected Wife (A Painful Kind of Love #14)

I KEEP WAITING FOR him to get tired of waiting.

Because it has to happen, right? One day he’ll finally accept it’s over and go back to his first love...racing. In the ten years we’ve been married, this is the longest he’s been away from his beloved work, and surely...surely he’s about to give up anytime soon.

Right?

Recently, he’s started doing this daily vigil of asking permission to see me, and waiting the whole day in case I change my mind.

I don’t.

Not because I’ve stopped loving him (I haven’t) or I want to punish him (I don’t).

But...it’s because Shayla was right.

God’s telling me to wait.

But what exactly I’m waiting for, I have no idea.

All I know is that I’ve been waiting since that first night I stayed with the Kontides.

And even though it killed me to hear that he deliberately hired his ex to be his divorce lawyer, even then I was still waiting.

And when that same woman spoke as if something’s happened between them while we were apart—

I never stopped waiting.

Never stopped praying.

Because I know, even though everything right now is painfully unclear...

I’ve started reading my Bible every day, and so I know I can place my hope in the Spirit. He’ll pray for me, and they’ll be the prayers that my mortal heart can’t find the right words for.

From my childhood bedroom window, I can see him through the lace curtains Nonna crocheted forty years ago. Today he’s wearing jeans.

Imagine that, the great Aivan Cannizzaro, who used to think of fashion simply in terms of sponsorship and how much it could contribute to his racing foundation...

Aivan in a faded pair of jeans, his white shirt damp with rain, is not just a portrait of atonement, and with unpredictable Sicilian weather representing God’s wrath.

I wish I could unsee what my heart sees, but I can’t.

Every little peek that I steal of him outside our house—it points out to an Aivan who’s changed.

An Aivan who no longer puts racing above all else, even his wife.

So why, God?

Why does it feel like You’re asking me to wait for something else?

Please help me understand.

****

M ORE TIME PASSES, AND I start hearing about Aivan being more involved in our local community. He’s helping out wherever he can, giving talks for free whenever invited (he used to say that he’d only do PR for a hundred thousand euros, minimum!), and attending church every Sunday.

We’d have long bumped into each other a lot earlier if not for Papa making sure we go to church at a different time, and honestly...

Aivan’s father is the other big reason I’ve yet to talk to him.

Even though he’s never spoken to Shayla about it, Miguel Cannizzaro has basically asked for the same thing as well.

The first day I arrived, he and Serena were in the living room, waiting for me, along with my mother.

While I cried in Lynette’s arms, my in-laws gravely apologized on Aivan’s behalf, and after that, they asked quite humbly if I would allow them to give their son. ..a nudge.

That was all they were willing to say. They wanted to nudge Aivan into realizing certain things, but their plan would require time, patience, and trust.

And I said yes.

I agreed to go along with whatever my in-laws had planned, and while I’m sure they—my mother included—all think it’s because I’ve always been the obedient type, it’s not that at all. As painful and shameful as this is to admit...

There’s this part of me that’s waiting for something else.

It’s the smallest and darkest part of me that’s completely separated from the rest of my soul by a sea of despair and hopelessness.

This part of me completely given up on having my marriage to Aivan restored, and it’s also this part of me that I’ve been desperately praying for.

It’s like having this unseen demon inside of me, lurking and prowling around, just waiting for the right moment to pounce and convince me to take a shortcut instead of having to live through the pain.

Why bother trying when it’s so much easier to simply. ..give up?

****

I ’VE DELIBERATELY AND consciously stopped myself from counting the days ever since I came here.

And so I’m not quite sure if it’s just been weeks or months when the rest of the world started paying serious attention to Aivan’s continued absence in the world he used to dominate.

Maybe he still did, but not for long, if the rumors are anything to go by.

“Sources close to the F1 paddock suggest Royal Contini Motors is ‘reassessing their options’ given Cannizzaro’s extended absence...”

“Companies endorsing Cannizzaro have been giving hints that they’d ‘welcome conversations’ with any available champion-caliber drivers...”

“How long can even friendship protect a three-hundred-million-euro investment?”

The headlines alone break my heart, but the comments that go along with them are what breaks my heart.

..because photos of him and Myca have suddenly resurfaced (leaked?), and now everyone thinks he’s out on a secret honeymoon after rekindling his romance with his ex.

Everyone thinks they look good together, and that Myca is a much better wife for him because she has all the correct boxes ticked.

I wish I could say I disagree, but...I can’t.

She comes from the same world that he does.

She was born with wealth and power, while I was born to serve people like them.

I know I should stop reading all these comments, stop torturing myself by staring at their photos and mentally listing all the things she’s his pefect fit.

I know this is not what God’s asking me to do while He wants me to wait.

I know all of these things, but it’s just so, so hard to tune it all out.

Please, God.

Please.

Help me.

And one day, He finally answers, with Miguel asking me to meet Toby Knowles, a lawyer who specializes in legal separation for married couples.

****

I T’S MY THIRD TIME to meet with Toby, and I’m not quite sure what to think when this time, we end up meeting at Flavier’s.

Even though I still don’t know him pretty well, he’s too detail-oriented not to realize that this is the same restaurant that Aivan and I had our first date.

Or at least that’s how I used to think of it. But after everything that’s happened...

I really need Your help, God.

Because with each day that passes, I can feel the broken pieces of my heart hardening, and I’m scared that they’d turn completely brittle and irreparable over time.

Flavier’s has only gotten more popular over the years, with tourists mixing with locals, plus the usual afternoon crowd of old men playing cards and gossiping about everyone’s business.

I chose a corner table, hoping to be invisible, but I can feel curious glances.

Everyone knows who I am, and worse, everyone also seems to know who Toby is.

“ Signora Cannizaro, thank you for meeting with me.”

Toby is not how I pictured a lawyer for famiglie would look like.

I did imagine him to be dignified, and that touch of silver hair certainly does the trick.

But other than that? His aura is more reassuring than intimidating, his looks more.

..introspective than smoldering. I did wonder how he ended up working with a man like my father-in-law, and the first time we met, Toby had immediately picked up on my curiosity.

“It is because we are the same, signora,” he had explained with a slight smile.

That had only added to my confusion, and so Toby explained how he, too, had been born to a family that just happened to be employed by famiglia.

So, yes, he was like me. Not famiglia, but almost..

.and I guess that’s why Miguel chose him to handle the “legalities” of my marriage.

He knows what’s at stake, once a name is recognized as famiglia.

“I know your preference for cutting to the chase,” Toby begins soberly as he opens his briefcase. “So if you could take a look at this...”

My hands tremble as I take the document from his hand. It’s a draft of a contract, about a dozen pages that basically spell out what I can expect to receive...if Aivan and I choose to live separate lives.

“I don’t understand...” Does this mean Aivan was really serious about wanting a divorce? In my last phone call with Shayla, she told me she suspected that the divorce—especially since he had even hired Myca to handle it—was Aivan’s knee-jerk reaction to me not crawling back to him.

He had never been the vindictive type, despite being born famiglia, but if there was one thing I’ve learned from being his wife for a decade, then it’s how proud he was.

Aivan hated all kinds of failure, and so I could definitely understand how and why he would try to hurt me that way.

It was wrong in every level, but hurt people hurt.

That was just how it was in this broken world.

But then this...

I look at Toby. “Who asked you to draft this contract?”

“I’m sorry, signora. I know you think Aivan—”

No. No. No.

I only realize I’ve risen clumsily to my feet when I see Toby looking up to meet my gaze. “Signora—”

“I’m sorry, I just need...I need time to...”

Think? Cry? Pray?

Words have already failed me, and I quickly turn away to keep Toby’s prying gaze from catching the tears that have already started making my eyes sting.

Please help me understand, God.

I keep my head down as I walk. I’m not even sure where I’m going. Or what I want to do. All I know is that I...

Please, God, please.

“Sienah...”

Fingers cup my elbow from behind, stilling my movements before spinning around.

That voice...

I know the world may be expecting me to hate him, but the moment I hear that voice...

Finally, oh, finally.

That’s all I can think about even as every conversation dies down, and Flavier’s becomes as silent as a graveyard.

Finally.

That’s all I can feel even as all eyes turn to us like we’re the stars of tonight’s show.

I don’t care what anyone thinks. All I care is about what God has now made heartbreakingly clear, and it’s that finally, oh finally...

The wait is over.

I slowly raise my head, and my heart that’s already bruised and bleeding...just breaks all over again when my gaze finally collides with his, and I see Aivan—

A man who’s always appeared so fearless and strong and proud—

His hair is wild, his clothes wrinkled like he’s slept in them. But it’s his gaze that makes me cry in earnest. Because in those dark eyes, I see the same despair and hopelessness that I’ve been struggling not to drown in, ever since we were apart.

His gaze drifts to somewhere behind me, and when I follow his line of sight—

Toby.

I look back at Aivan, and he doesn’t even try hiding what he’s feeling. It’s all in his eyes, his heart on the altar for me to either stab or heal. Aivan is completely defenseless and distraught, and this also shows in his voice, when he finally speaks.

“You’re leaving me?”

Oh, Aivan.

That he’s asking this tells me everything, his question answering what I asked Toby earlier, and though a part of me wonders if perhaps I could’ve saved myself from heartbreak, if I’ve just let Toby explain fully—

There’s a time for everything.

But for now, it’s the man in front of me who matters most, and oh God...

Aivan is now on his knees.

“I know I don’t deserve you. I know I’ve been the worst husband, the most selfish man. I know I destroyed everything good between us with my coldness and my pride and my stupid, stupid fear of feeling anything real.”

A sob spirals out of my throat at the rawness of his voice, and I’m not the only one affected by the way everyone around us is either sniffing or acting like they have something in their eyes.

“I had to lose you to realize what you truly meant to me. How selfish I’ve become. How arrogant. It took losing you to make me get down on my knees and pray...that you’ll forgive me.”

I want to tell him this is all...unnecessary, but all I can do is cry harder as Aivan slowly reaches for my hands.

“I know Myca made it seem like something happened between us. But it wasn’t...I wasn’t...I never cheated on you.”

I barely manage a nod. This, I’ve always known, but to hear him say this...

It hits different.

“I love you, Sienah.”

Just like how hearing him finally, oh finally, say those three words...

“Ti amu assai. Ti vogghiu beni.”

It hits different, too.

“I know it’s ten years too late—”

And that’s why...

He stops mid-speech when I start tugging at his hands for him to get up, and as soon as he rises to his full height—

Aivan expels his breath while the entire café literally releases a simultaneous ‘aww’ when I throw myself in his arms.

“You’re w-wrong.”

Because he’s neither too early nor too late.

“This is exactly the perfect time...”

Because it’s His timing at work.

And so...

Another heartfelt ‘aww’ sweeps over Flavier’s as they watch me cup my husband’s gorgeous face with shaking hands.

“I love you,” I whisper brokenly. “Ti amo anchi’o— ”

I can’t say anything else, with my husband covering my mouth with his, and I end up clutching his broad shoulders as the kiss deepens, and the entire café erupts in applause and cheers.

I think they also started chanting his name.

Or maybe it’s our names? I’m not sure really, I’ll have to ask someone later on. Because right now, all I can hear is...

“I love you...”

This man who, not so long ago, would rather trample on my heart than even consider saying those words...

“I love you...”

It’s the same man who can’t seem to stop saying it this time.

“I love you...”

And I know it’s all because of Him.