Reclaiming the Harbor, Rewriting My Fate

When my asthma seized my lungs, Lorenzo Marchetti was in the center of the banquet floor, dancing cheek to cheek with his courier.

Even as I foamed at the mouth and slid into unconsciousness, he kept his arms around her, the two of them murmuring and laughing close enough to share breath.

On the drive back to the estate, I found a diamond ring in the glove compartment.

Before I could say a word, Lorenzo frowned, snatched it back, and said coldly,

"It's not for you."

I nodded, pointed at the bridal house up ahead at the intersection, and said evenly,

"Pull over for a second, please."

The custom gown we'd ordered for the blood-bound union. Thinking about it now, it was time to cancel it.

...

The moment I stepped inside the shop, Lorenzo got out of the car and came after me.

He threw a woman's coat in my face.

"Adriana Volpe, fix that filthy habit of yours, dropping things everywhere."

Lorenzo could not abide disorder. He never permitted a single thing of mine to be left behind in his car.

I glanced at the coat on the floor and said flatly,

"It's not mine."

At that, his face eased. He picked the coat up without the slightest disgust and folded it neatly.

I knew whose it was. Gianna Ricci's.

Every time Gianna left something behind on purpose, it set off a screaming fight between Lorenzo and me.

This time, I didn't say one word of complaint.

I just turned and gave the clerk my phone number.

The clerk smiled brightly.

"Perfect timing, you two. Your custom gown and suit are both finished. You can try them on."

Before I could refuse, the man who'd just taken his temper out on me had already walked into the fitting room, stone-faced.

Ten minutes later.

I stood in front of Lorenzo in the wedding dress.

He gave me a thin twist of his lips.

"Tacky beyond words."

I didn't argue. I just asked the clerk to take a photo of me.

Lorenzo's expression went impatient, and he moved to pull me in for a picture together.

That was when his phone rang.

Gianna's special ringtone.

The girl sobbed to him that her favorite coat had gone missing. If some kind soul found it and brought it back right away, she'd give herself to him, body and soul, for the rest of her life.

He hung up, didn't even change out of the suit, and walked out in long, hurried strides, his soldier falling into step behind him at the door.

Listening to the car fade into the distance, I picked up a pair of scissors and, without a moment's hesitation, cut the wedding dress to pieces. I set the scissors down on the counter when I was done, slow and certain, and let my fingers leave them.

One thirty in the morning.

I was packing up my personal things when a message came through.

It was from Lorenzo.

【Out drinking.】

Eight years bound to him by the arrangement, and the man rarely volunteered where he was.

I glanced at the cleaning gloves on my hands and didn't reply.

Once I'd finished bagging the trash, I took a hot shower, dropped into bed, and slept.

When Lorenzo came home the next day, I happened to be heading out with the garbage.

He looked at me strangely.

"Is your phone broken?"

I shook my head, and his brow knit on instinct.

I knew why he was asking.

Whenever he stayed out late, I used to message him over and over, call him without end.

But last night, his phone had stayed terrifyingly quiet.

Just as I reached the door, Lorenzo asked again.

"Adriana, where did the photo on the wall go?"

I looked down at the garbage bag, about to tell him the truth, when his phone buzzed.

He shouldered past me, thumbed the voice-message button, and walked inside as he talked.

"Don't worry, kiddo. The second it's ready I'll bring it over."

Hearing the shower start up, I went on downstairs to throw out the trash.

On the way back up, my blood sugar dropped.

I made it home in a cold sweat, picked up the eggs on toast from the table, and had barely taken a bite

when Lorenzo's voice came, thick with resentment.

"Adriana, were you starved to death in a past life?"

I watched him dump the toast I'd bitten into, plate and all, into the trash.

I stared at him, dazed.

"I cooked for you for eight years. My blood sugar crashes, and I'm not even worth one bite of the breakfast you made?"

His eyes were cold and hard.

"Ill-bred. Taking what isn't yours without asking is stealing."

He pulled on his suit jacket and slammed the door behind him.

Faced with this fresh round of his silent cruelty,

I picked up my phone without thinking and opened his chat.

He'd changed his wallpaper.

A photo of Gianna in cat ears, pulling a cute face.

I tapped a like, and while I was at it, I unpinned him from the top of my chats.