by Adom Sample
Rage built up inside of me, and I wanted to burst into a sea of disclosure that would put an end to her marriage—to her suffering. She didn’t deserve this. Done wiping her eyes, she put on a fake smile and took a bite of the food.
“Well, that’s enough about me. Tell me more about you. Last night when I asked you about your personal life, you’d always divert the question. It seems like you know a lot more about me than I know about you. It’s time for you to tell me about yourself, Dante, no diversions. And don’t tell things that I can read in Forbes or the Financial Times,” she said, laughing. Even though I would like to laugh right now, I couldn’t. I saw the pain behind her smile, and the rage within me still had yet to subside. I tried to calm down and focus on her strength, hoping it would give me the comfort I needed to answer her questions.
“Last night you told me you were single. How long have you been single?”
“Four years,” I said shyly.
“Four years? An extremely wealthy man like you has been single for four years. You’re kidding, right?”
“Why would I be kidding? It’s been four years since I’ve been with anyone. That’s the truth.”
“That’s not counting one-night stands, is it?”
“As I said before, I don’t do one-night stands. It’s too much of a risk for someone like me. I like to establish a relationship before giving myself to someone. Seems old fashioned, I know.”
“That’s not old fashioned at all. It’s honorable and sincere. You strike me as a hopeless romantic.”
“Guess you could say that.” I chuckled.
“What about your last relationship? What happened with that?”
I looked down and started to give more attention to my food than her. That was the question I was hoping to avoid. I thought I had buried that skeleton of heartache and pain so deep that no one would ask about it ever again, and if anyone did, I could brush it off. She was staring at me with those sweet, innocent eyes, waiting for me to reply.
“Well?” she asked. I gathered up my courage to tell her about the emotional ride of horror that was my last relationship.
“We were together for two years. She cheated on me with a photographer, a musician, an intern at one of my companies, and my pool cleaner. She got pregnant by the intern, tried to say the child was mine; we broke up—the end,” I said swiftly. Her eyes were wide in disbelief.
“Are you serious?”
“Very.” I gave her a stern look. I wanted her to know that I wouldn’t joke about things like that.
“I’m so sorry, Dante. Is that why you’ve been single for four years? Are you afraid of getting your heart broken again?”
“A broken heart can’t begin to describe the emotional train wreck I became after that mess of a relationship. I lived in denial for a long time. I didn’t want to believe the stories people were telling me. If you looked up the word idiocy online, you’d see my photo as the top search result when it came to that relationship.
If it weren’t for Gaspard, I don’t know what would have become of me.” I could see concern on her face, the expression of someone who was going through the same thing I had. She took a sip of her water, looked down, and then back up at me.
“Dante, if you don’t mind if I ask, and please don’t take offense, how do you know the child wasn’t yours?”
“I was on a three-month business trip to England. When I got back, she was two weeks pregnant. The math just didn’t add up, you know. Besides, she broke down and told me everything after I ended our relationship. She was remorseless in her confession and threatened to go to the tabloids if I didn’t give her money for a house and car.”
“Did you ever cheat on her?”
“No, Isabella, I could never cheat on someone I love. If you truly love someone, cheating would be as foreign to you as commitment is to a womanizer. I thought I was in love with that woman, yet she took my heart, put it in a shredder, stomped on it, took a giant dump on it, and then put it on a spacecraft bound for the surface of the sun to be incinerated.”
She chuckled a little. “I know how you feel, Dante.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. I feel that way every day of my life. I guess my private life has turned me into a workaholic. It’s a way for me to avoid the troubles that wait for me at home.”
“Do you think he’s cheating on you?”
“I keep telling myself he isn’t, but the way he acts, his secretive behavior, and Maya’s constant suspicions give me doubts at times.”
“Do you truly love your husband?” She stopped and looked at me curiously, just as she had last night. Had I let my language slip again?
“Dante. Could you please write my name down again? Only this time, I would like for you to use your right hand,” she requested.
“W-why?”
“I want to verify something.”
“I would, but my hand is kind of sore from, ummm . . .”
“Sore from what? Are you okay?”
“Grip exercises. I was doing some crush-grip exercises last night when I went back to my room,” I said in a panic, hoping she would buy it.
“Why were you doing grip exercises?”
“I do that when I’m nervous.”
“Did I make you nervous when I asked you to stay last night?”
“Sort of.”
“I admit that was a little out of the ordinary, but I was drunk. I’m glad you’re such a gentleman.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“However, you never answered a critical question I asked you last night. Do you think you could answer it now?”
“Sure.”
“Do you want me?” she asked innocently yet passionately.
My heart shot into my throat, causing my eyes to widen. How was I supposed to answer that? She knew the answer . . . She just wanted to hear it from my lips. The smile on her face became much more intense as she grabbed her chopsticks and placed a piece of lettuce in her mouth, awaiting my answer.
“Isabella . . . I—” I stuttered. Must I confess my feelings for her now, despite everything I’d promised myself?
Yes, Isabella, I do want you. More than anything in this world and beyond. I would sacrifice my soul if it meant I could hold you forever the same way I held you last night. You are my everything, my air—all that sustains me is what you are.
“You can tell me, Dante,” she pressed.
“I don’t know how to answer that,” I said. I’d hoped to buy some time to figure out how I should tell her without becoming flustered.
“It’s easy. Do you want me or not?”
“How about I just say this . . . I can’t have you and that kills me inside.”
“And what if I told you I could fall in love with someone like you?”
I sat there speechless. No words could express the shock of what she just said. Was she serious or was she toying with me?
“How could you be so sure?” I asked.
“Well, Dante. Since we’ve met, I’ve realized you are nothing like what I was expecting. Things I read about you in the Wall Street Journal and Fortune Magazine would have me think you’re a ruthless businessman who takes whatever he wants whenever he wants, without compromise. Now that I’ve gotten to know you, I see you are a kind, romantic gentleman with an even-tempered and soft-spoken personality. I wonder how someone so nice could have become so wealthy.”
“I’ll tell you this, Isabella. One doesn’t have to be ruthless and mean-spirited to become successful. You just have to be a lot smarter than your competition. My father had me doing game theory, financial analytics, and strategic planning in business by the time I was twelve.
Hell, I’m sure I could have mastered all three levels of the Chartered Financial Analyst curriculum by the time I was sixteen. We didn’t have much growing up, and that helped me to be humble. My mother played an important part in my upbringing, and she taught me to treat everyone I encountered with respect, be it a janitor or a CEO.”
“I’m surprised your last relationship didn’t tarnish your personality. It would be hard for someone to believe in love after what you went through.”
“And those are qualities that could capture your heart?”
“Yes, they are.”
All right, that was it. I was just going to say it. “Isabella . . . I have something to tell you. I’ve held this in for far too long,” I began.
“Yes, Dante. What is it?” We gazed into each other’s eyes, and I reached for her hands.
“You two are still here eating? It’s been three hours,” said Maya, who’d popped up out of nowhere with Gaspard. We looked up at them, surprised and a little annoyed. I turned my attention to my watch to see the time. Maya was right. Time seemed to breeze on by when I was with her.
“Maya, you are the queen of bad timing,” growled Isabella.
“Did I interrupt something?” she asked.
“Dante, I’m sorry to intrude, but we have to go to England right away. The venture capital firm, First Leverage Fund, is looking to purchase the software company we were planning to bid on next week. If you still want that company, then we have to see to it personally. I got the call while we were eating. Their board would like to speak with you before moving forward,” said Gaspard.
“Wait a second, so you’re going to leave us here in Korea?” asked Maya.
“No. The jet will take you back as planned. Dante and I have another jet prepared to take us to London,” Gaspard clarified. I looked at Isabella, and a sad, disappointed expression overcame her face. I didn’t want to leave her. Every second I spent away from her seemed like torture . . . Everlasting torture.
“Please, Dante. We have to go now. It’s going to take us a little over eleven hours to get there. If we leave now, we can make it,” said Gaspard.
“We can’t do a video conference or something?” I asked, annoyed.
“Naturally, that was the first thing I suggested. However, they stressed the importance of you being there in person.” I stared at Isabella, unsure of what I should do. I wasn’t going to have an opportunity like this again for a long time. I felt like a teenage boy rife with indecision.
“Dante,” Isabella said softly.
“I-I’m sorry, Isabella. I’ll see you when we’re back in the US,” I said with a heavy heart.
“When? For how long?” she asked impatiently.
“In about two weeks,” said Gaspard.
“Two weeks?” Isabella and I said in unison.
“Yes, two weeks. That’s the timeline given to us by their board. You can speak to them on the way there, Dante.” I gritted my teeth. I hadn’t thought the deal with that software company would derail my time with her. Our meeting with them wasn’t supposed to have happened for another three weeks. The partners at First Leverage Fund would rue the day they tried to undercut me.
“Dante, you go and take care of business. We have to get back and brief Oliver on our meeting anyway. We’ll catch up later,” said Isabella, excusing herself from the table. Maya followed suit while I, in extreme frustration, followed Gaspard to our transportation to the airstrip. The perfect moment . . . lost.
Chapter 22
Isabella
It sure felt good to be home. The ocean breeze and warm weather relaxed me. I still couldn’t believe I’d told Dante that I could fall in love with someone like him. What was I thinking? We couldn’t go down that route. We both knew it. I’m married, so there could be no future for us. After talking with him, there was no doubt in my mind that he had feelings for me.
He said he wanted me, but he couldn’t have me. And he was right. As long as I was with Nathan, I belonged to no other man. I had to realize that before I began to fall in love with Dante. It just couldn’t happen.
Speaking of my husband, I wasn’t too sure I even wanted to see him at the moment. I was upset with him. He’d ignored my calls, texts, and emails the entire time I was away. He’d better have a good explanation because he didn’t even answer my texts when I told him I was at the airport. I’d wanted him to pick me up. He had better have been in the hospital or incapacitated or something.
I walked up to the front door and there he was, looking out the window, no hello, no how are you, no anything. He opened the door but didn’t come out to help me with my bags or anything—he just retreated into the house. If I had known he was going to be such a prick, I would have told my staff to stay for the evening so I could get some help with this luggage.
“Hurry up!” he shouted at me. What the hell was his problem? I struggled my way through the door as he watched, sitting on the couch with a bottle of vodka beside him.
“Are you going to help me or just sit there?”
“I think I’ll just sit here,” he said. I threw my handbag at him, left the rest of my bags at the door, and marched upstairs to change my clothes.
“When you’ve stopped acting like a child, we need to talk about something,” he scoffed. This was the last thing I needed after that fourteen-hour-long flight. Maybe I should have just gone to England with Dante and Gaspard, or better yet checked into a hotel so I would be spared his moody attitude.
“Woman! Come down here—we need to talk!” he screamed.
Calm down, Isabella. Don’t do anything you might regret. He’s just in one of his moods. Just breathe in and breathe out. Close your eyes and go to your happy place.
“Get down here now!” he shouted again.
“Stop screaming at me! I just got off a fourteen-hour flight with no sleep!” I yelled back.
“Once again, it’s all about you. You—you—you! When is it going to be about me?”
I had no idea why he was acting like this, but it was the last thing I wanted to come home to. I went downstairs in my pajamas and confronted him as he sat there in his underwear.
“What is it, Nathan? What is so important that you have to treat me like crap the second I step into this house?” He sat up on the couch and leaned forward. He looked as if he hadn’t bathed in days, nor had he groomed himself. He allowed his beard to grow out wildly, and his hair looked greasy and messy. I drew closer to him, and he smelled like garbage. I didn’t know if he was drunk or losing his mind, but I hoped I was able to talk some sense into him without going crazy.
“Listen, woman. All you do is neglect me! Everything is always about you.”
I was stunned by his constant accusations that I was somehow selfish when I worked myself to death while he enjoyed the life of luxury I provided. Every time I came home from a business trip, he acted this way. “Are you listening to me, Isabella?”
“You’re not going to flip this on me this time, Nathan. Why the hell didn’t you answer my calls when I was gone? Not a single word from you the entire time I was in Korea. What were you doing here, besides being lazy?” He didn’t answer. He just sat back and drank his vodka straight from the bottle. This was getting tiresome, and his attitude was working my last nerve.
“I didn’t call you or answer your calls because I don’t need you, just like you don’t need me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I tried to hold back my rage.
“You go off on your little trips while continuing to neglect me.”
“How am I neglecting you, Nathan? How? Tell me. This is my job, my business—it’s how I put food on the table, and it’s how we can afford this nice house and all the expensive wine you drink.”
Still, he sat there undeterred, as if my words weren’t even getting through his thick skull.
“Why don’t you just get rid of your business then?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I said why don’t you give up your business? We’ve made enough money. Just sell all your shares in the company, or better yet find an investor to take it off your hands.”
Did he get a lobotomy while I was gone? “Are you insane? Is that what you are?”
“If you loved me, then you would retire and spend more time with me.”
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br /> I couldn’t believe the words coming out of his drunken mouth. What he proposed was utter insanity. Retire? Was he nuts? I couldn’t take a word of what he was saying seriously right now, not until he was sober. I dismissed his ramblings and headed back upstairs, leaving him basking in his filth.
“Where the hell are you going, Isabella?” he shouted.
“I’m going to bed. I don’t have the energy for your nonsense right now.”
“Did I say you can leave? Did I!” He ran up to me and grabbed hold of my arm.
“Nathan, let go of me.”
“Shut up!” He threw me to the ground. “You leave when I tell you to leave! You will sell all the shares in your company. You’ve neglected me for far too long.” He took off his underwear and started to rip away my clothes like a savage.
“Nathan, you’re drunk! Stop it!” I shouted, but still, he was steadfast. He took off all my clothes and lay on top of me. “No, Nathan! Stop!” I screamed, but he didn’t stop. He licked my face and squeezed my breast, leaving bruises around my nipple, biting and scratching. “Get the hell off of me, Nathan! I said no!” I began hitting him on his head with the sides of my fists. He pinned both of my hands down, smiled, then slapped and punched me in the chest and face, cutting the corner of my lip. He dragged me up by my hair and slammed my head into the floor repeatedly. He was trying to kill me.
I pleaded for him to stop, kicking and shouting before he jumped off me, laughing.
“You might be ready for the pain room.” He had a sadistic grin on his face.
“Pain room? Have you gone completely psychotic?”
“You are my wife, and when I want to fuck, that means we are going to fuck—got it?”
“I’m out of here. You’re fucking insane!” I shouted, running up to my room and locking the door behind me. He didn’t pursue me. I heard him smash the bottle of vodka up against my door, however. I had never seen him act like this. I called my driver to meet me out front once I had packed a bag for the night. He’d done many things, but he’d never hit me before. That was the last straw. I wasn’t about to become a battered wife. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. I married a fucking monster. Maya was right. Everyone was right. My life had become a dramatized soap opera.