Page 28 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream (Dark Hearts #3)

S erafina

I wake to the sound of someone moving around in the main suite. I don’t need a moment to remember where I am. How could I possibly forget? These black walls and this wretched bed have been the focus of my nightmares the last six hours.

Damp hair clings to my forehead and my limbs feel exhausted from the stress.

I pray to God Andreas doesn’t breathe a word of this to my family.

They will be devastated. After Mama died, we all faced such devastating sadness and lived through our grief in very different ways.

Trilby hid hers behind a physical wall; Tess exorcized her demons through dancing; Bambi attached herself to Papa; and I released heavy shadows by cutting open my skin.

Every grievous thought I have, every heavy emotion I feel, every ounce of guilt I take on is locked up inside my body, and I carry so much . It has to come out somehow.

Just because my coping mechanism isn’t to everyone’s taste doesn’t make it any less valid. I don’t care what anyone says—self-harming has kept me afloat.

But now that someone else knows my secret, I am bereft. I can barely hold my head above the shame. I’m drowning in it. And of all the people to discover my truth, it has to be the man I’m beholden to for the rest of my life.

I curl my knees into my chest again, trying to make myself small enough that maybe I could just disappear.

But a knock at the door sends a wrecking ball into my gut.

“Just a minute!” I call out with a croaky voice.

Stone cold dread makes me jump off the bed and run to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Nausea floods my throat and I kneel over the toilet, bringing back up the small amount I ate at the wedding.

I sink to the floor, shaking.

I can’t face him. I just can’t. I’ve never felt so ashamed, and I can’t bear to see the disappointment embedded in his darkly beautiful features.

Ten or so minutes later, my bare bottom on the tile is freezing, so I clamber to my feet and splash some water on my face.

There’s a luxurious white cotton robe hanging by the shower and I slip my arms inside it.

Amazingly, it fits. Usually, the standard issue hotel robes are made for model-thin women, but this one is the perfect size for me.

My limbs shake as I walk across the bedroom.

I take a deep breath and open the door. The suite is larger and lighter than I remember it, instantly narrowing my eyes against the streaming sunlight.

I blink, taking a few seconds to acclimate, then the sound of a woman’s voice sends my heart up my throat.

“Good morning, signora.”

I spin around to see a short, sturdy woman dressed in a black skirt and white blouse, her salt and pepper hair wrapped into a wide bun on the top of her head. Her thick-rimmed glasses narrow to a pointed flick making me think of an efficient secretary, but her expression is more kind than strict.

She’s holding a tablet and looks as though I’ve caught her midway through some admin, as she glances at it, snaps the cover shut, then turns to give me her full attention.

“Who are you?” I ask in a trembling voice. “How did you get in here?”

She holds the tablet to her stomach and wraps her arms around it, regarding me gently.

“My name is Viola. I’m Signor Corioni’s housekeeper. He sent for me in the night.”

I shift from one foot to the other. “Oh. Right. Um, where is he?”

“Your husband returned to Boston early. He has business to attend to.”

Blood starts to creep up my neck sending a glow into my face. “But, I… I thought we were going to travel to Boston together.”

She smiles kindly. “There was a change of plan.”

My heart jackknifes, tipping my world on its side.

He’s discarded me already.

All it took was one look at the real me, the raw, unguarded, vulnerable me, and he’s dropped me like a hot coal.

I knew rejection likely felt miserable but not like this . Not like someone has actually reached inside my chest, ripped out my heart and reversed a forty ton semi-truck over it.

And I don’t even love my husband, so what must rejection feel like when true love is part of the equation?

“Why don’t you take a bath or shower, get yourself dressed and meet me back out here for some breakfast, then we’ll get on our way? There’s no rush—take your time.”

I go to turn around but everything aches. My bones feel like they’re pulsing angrily out of my skin. Numbness begins to course down my spine, freezing all my emotions in place.

I take a heavy step then collapse to the floor. Viola rushes over and puts a hand to my forehead. “Are you feeling alright, signora? Should I call a doctor?”

I shake my head, unable to find the words. What words are there to explain this bottomless depth of grief?

It’s like Mama has died all over again. No one wants me.

No one is really here for me. All it took was one ask and Papa gave me away.

The last I saw of my family was Trilby and Tess smiling radiantly, oblivious to the darkness tinging the edges of our world, and Allegra holding Bambi close because that’s what she’s always done.

My family has always relied on me to be the sensible one, the unflappable one, the only one with the ambition to leave the fold and build a career of her own. I’ve never asked for, or needed, anyone’s shoulder to lean on, and now, when I do need it, I’m completely alone.

Silent tears roll down my cheeks and I slump even deeper into the soft carpet. Shadows descend over my awareness, shutting everything out to protect whatever fragility I have left.

And I cry so hard I can’t breathe.

“Shhh, now. It’s okay, signora. Everything is going to be okay.”

I come around minutes later to a hollow sensation in my chest and the sound of a strange housekeeper’s words in my ears. She has her arms wrapped around my shoulders and her blouse is soaked through from my tears.

I jerk out of her hold and frantically wipe my eyes. What is happening to me?

“You’ll feel better after a shower, signora,” she says, looking me firmly in the eye.

I nod once, but hiccups take away my ability to speak. I get to my feet and walk numbly back into the bedroom, then I just do as she says. I take a shower.

The housekeeper was right. A shower has made me feel a little better, but I suppose it doesn’t take much once you’ve hit rock bottom. One can only really go up from there.

A fresh outfit—one that Allegra must have packed—has been laid out across the bed. I pull the maxi dress over my head and slip on the sandals, then I pleat my hair over one shoulder. I don’t bother with makeup because there is literally no one I can impress anymore.

I belong to someone now, and that someone has thrown me to the dogs.

I wake up from a broken sleep just as we’re crossing the border into Massachusetts. I glance across at Viola and she’s still tapping away on the tablet.

I lick my dry lips and clear my throat. “Where will I be staying?”

She looks up briefly, then returns to tapping.

“Oh, the main house. It was completed last week.” She shakes her head and smiles.

“It will be a beautiful home—a real family home. Signor Corioni chose well. But, then, he always knows what he wants, and—” she looks sideways at me, “he always gets what he wants.”

My brow dips at the word ‘family.’ I can’t imagine after the way he just abandoned me on our wedding night and left me with a total stranger, Andreas could still see himself having a family with me .

I turn away to look out of the window. The scenery is stunning. Winchester is already a world away from New York and the Hamptons.

“There will be one familiar face in Boston at least,” Viola continues. “Chef Alessandro. He’ll be joining us at the house. I understand you are already a fan of his food.”

I turn back to see her lips curled in a reassuring smile. Mine flick up slightly at the corners, but it’s brief. I hardly saw Chef Alessandro. He came to the house, he cooked, Allegra summoned me to the dining room, and I ate. We probably exchanged pleasantries once or twice, nothing more.

“You can take the next few days to rest and then you will have your first appointment with Doctor Barbara Nowak.”

I was about to gaze out the window but this information makes my head spin and eyebrows reach into my hairline. “I’m sorry, what?”

“She’s brilliant, and very nice.” Viola avoids my glare by continuing to tap at the screen of her tablet. “Signor Corioni still sees her occasionally. He had a lot of history to make sense of, as I’m sure you know.”

My mouth opens and closes again like a fish. I know nothing of my new husband’s past, but that’s not why I’m stunned.

“What is Doctor Nowak’s specialism?”

“Psychology,” Viola replies, lightly. “She works mainly with childhood traumas, bereavement, depression…”

“I’m not depressed,” I snap. “And my mother’s death is my business, not that of some stranger with a psychology major.”

Viola places the tablet on her knees and turns to fix her gaze on me, patiently. “No one is diagnosing you, signora. But Signor Corioni believes she can help you.”

My face screws up in disbelief. “Why does he care?”

Viola just stares at me, her eyes moving side to side over mine like she can’t figure me out.

Leaving my question unanswered, she continues. “Twice a week you will be visited by the best spa therapists in the entire state.”

I open my mouth to object but she beats me to it. “Non-negotiable.”

I roll my lips inwards, annoyed that I have no say in any of this, although the idea of having regular spa treatments does sound pretty nice.

“You will have a personal trainer three times a week.”

Anger infuses me. “I don’t want to lose weight. It’s my body. He can’t tell me how to l?—”

“Weight loss is not the objective,” Viola replies, patience simply oozing from her. “Signor was very clear about that. A trainer will help you improve your cardiovascular health and your muscular strength. It will boost your overall wellness and self-esteem. ”