Ruined Secrets (Perfectly Imperfect #4)

I laugh. Why am I not surprised?

“Isa said she’d watch a movie with me,” Rosa adds and leans back to look at my eyes. “I really like Isa, Dad.”

“You do?” I brush my thumb over her cheek, removing her tears.

“Yeah. I was working on some math problems we needed to finish during vacation yesterday and asked her to help me. She worked with me the whole morning. Isa is super smart.”

“Yes, she is.” I nod.

It’s the truth. My young wife is one exceptionally intelligent woman. I can’t help but admire the way she plays me, day after day, without backing down or faltering her stance. And with every passing day, it’s becoming harder to continue resisting. Sometimes, I find myself watching her, debating whether I should just say, “to hell with it,” grab her and crush my mouth to hers. I don’t remember a time I’ve been so crazy about a woman before. It’s like she’s slipped under my skin and made her home there, and it’s getting exponentially worse with every day that passes. Every stubborn look, every clever remark, every defiant tilt of her chin—it all contributes to her working her way even deeper into me.

I quickly shake my head and place a kiss at Rosa’s head. “I have to go to work but call me if you need me, and I’ll come right back. Okay, piccola?”

“Yeah.” she nods.

When I leave Rosa’s room, I find Isabella downstairs talking with one of the maids. She spots me coming, and her eyes instantly flick away before I can pin her with my gaze. As if my presence makes no difference to her one way or another, she continues her conversation without missing a beat.

“I’ll call Simona to reschedule her visit,” I say in passing.

“How nice. Does that mean it’s safe for me to roam the house this afternoon?”

I decide to ignore her snarky remark and head toward the front door. I’m not sure if Isabella would be able to stand up to Simona, especially if my ex is in one of her moods, and I won’t risk them meeting unless I’m there. Simona is a bitch and just the idea of her saying something that might hurt Isabella makes the rage boil in my stomach.

I close the book on world economy, one of the courses on my curriculum next semester, and put it into the desk drawer. Since I have nothing to do around here, I’ve decided to use the time to go over the main subjects and get myself prepared for when classes resume. I doubt my husband knows I’m attending college as an online student, and since he’s never actually asked what I do during the day, I’ve never offered the information.

My phone rings as I’m heading to the bathroom to shower and change before going over to Luca’s office. The display shows the number from the gate guard. Strange. I don’t remember inviting anyone over.

“Mrs. Rossi,” he says when I take the call. “I have Ms. Albano here. She’s insisting on being let inside.”

What the hell is Luca’s ex doing here? He said they’d rescheduled her visit.

“Did you call Luca?” I ask.

“Twice. He’s not answering.”

Typical. “Let her in, Tony,” I say, leave my room, and head downstairs.

As I pass the big mirror at the landing on the second floor, I glance at my reflection and groan. If I’d known Simona would be coming, I’d have put on something else, maybe jeans and a white blouse. And heels. As it is, I’ll be meeting my husband's first wife in pastel blue sweatpants and a matching T-shirt, with Hello Kitty face plastered all over my chest. Barefoot. How nice.

I’m halfway to the front door when I hear high-pitched yelling on the other side. The front door opens, and a tall blonde woman rushes inside, her heels clicking on the floor. Our security guard runs in after her.

“I told her to wait outside, Mrs. Rossi,” he says. “She wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s all right, Emilio.” I nod and return my gaze to Simona Albano,formerlyRossi.

I have seen her numerous times at different social gatherings. It was impossible to miss her. Each time, I felt this piercing pain in the middle of my stomach. I envied her so much. The last time I saw her was six months ago, and since then, her lips have doubled in size, her boobs are bigger, and she’s lost at least ten pounds. She looks like a clothes hanger for her expensive, beige-with-black-polka-dots dress.

Standing with her hand on her hip, she looks me up and down, pausing for a few seconds on the Hello Kitty image on my chest, and bursts out laughing.

“Dear God, I knew you were young, but I had no idea they made Luca marry a child.” She gives me a condescending smile.

“What do you want, Simona?”

“It’s Ms. Albano to you.”

“You came into my house uninvited,” I say. “I’m going to call you whatever the fuck I want.”

Simona blinks, looking a bit dumbfounded. She tries to sneer at me in the process, but all she ends up doing is cracking her Botox-infused lips. “I came to pick up Rosa.”