All Grown Up (23 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three
Infidelity
Chloe

We took a month long honeymoon in Europe, traveling throughout Italy, Greece, Paris and Germany. It was the most traveling I had ever done. While discussing the honeymoon, I felt like a month was a bit ridiculous, but Dom was adamant that we travel to places I had never been.

Once we returned
, I had a lot of course work to catch up on, things I couldn’t do while overseas. Dom had convinced me to quit my job so that I could concentrate on school. I was reluctant, but figured that I could pick up extra classes in hopes of finishing earlier than planned.

Dom
’s work schedule kept him working late, allowing me time for myself; school, working on computers, reading. It was nice for a while, but then it got lonely in the large house. He traveled a lot and, with school, I couldn’t go with him, much to his disappointment and frustration.

Once things seemed to slow down and we established more of a routine
, we started to enjoy time together. He truly worshipped me every day, always sending gifts to me; flowers, jewelry, notes, singing messengers. It was cute, but after a while I had grown tired of all the lavish things. When I would try to approach the subject he would shut it down by saying that he wanted me to think of him when he couldn’t be with me. I wanted to argue, but it seemed that I just couldn’t get it through to him. Needless to say, I gave up that battle.

Dom
had recently discussed having children and I told him that I would prefer to wait until after I had completed college and started a career for myself. He disagreed, stating that I could finish school and start a career. We could easily afford a nanny. I had scoffed at the idea of someone else raising our children. In fact, I was pissed off that he suggested such a thing. He said that it was just an idea and not something that had to be done. Then he went on to say that perhaps we could just stop being ‘safe’ when we were together and let nature decide if we would conceive. I again stated that I wanted to wait. He ended the conversation by saying that he wanted me to stop taking the pill and just let things happen and that it would probably take a few months or longer before anything would happen anyways. I huffed, but he only wrapped me up in his arms and kissed my head.

To be honest, we never fought
. Ever. I would oppose things and he would either agree or disagree with me. Nothing ever escalated. I’m not saying I wish we would have a huge fight, but I felt like things were never really resolved. Simply, approved or disapproved. It grew tiring and frustrating. Wasn’t this the guy that had told me how he loved that I spoke what was on my mind when we first started dating?

At the end of my semester,
Dom flew over to Italy for family business. I couldn’t go due to finals. Once he was gone, I decided to surprise him the way he had surprised me with so many different things. I completed all of my finals and got a flight to Italy.

Getting into his room was easy, being that I am his wife, now I just had to wait for him to return.
I slipped into a lacy nightgown he had delivered to me a few weeks ago and laid across his bed, hopeful that it would take long for him to enter the bedroom.

T
he click of the door woke me to a dimly lit room.  I couldn’t believe I had fallen asleep. I glanced to the side of the bed, searching for the time since I didn’t remember falling asleep. The clock shone it’s angry, red numbers at me.
Four in the morning? Where the hell had he been all night?

Somewhat groggy, a lot pissed off, I s
lipped from the bed, crossed my arms across my chest and waited for him to enter. When he finally enters, he looks exhausted. His tie is hanging loosely around his neck, his dress shirt unbuttoned to the center of his chest and the expensive leather belt in his hand jingles as the clasp rocks with his movements. Suspicion flares within me quickly and I can’t help my accusing tone.

"Where the hell were you all night?"

He freezes just inside the doorway, his shoulders going rigid. The tension taking hold of his body ignites my distrust, making my scalp and fingers tingle with red, hot anger.

"
Chloe?"

Dom
’s eyes widen as I stalk toward him, the smell of alcohol on his breath wafting over my face.

"
Where were you, Gio?"

He composes himself quickly, making me doubt my
indirect accusations.

"Where was I?" He tosses the belt on a lush chair next to the bedroom door. "I was out
, taking care of clients all damn night. Men who want to be wined, dined and showed a good time."

Taking long
, angry strides toward the dark wood dresser, he yanks the tie from around his neck before turning back to look at me.

The look on his face, anger and something like
disappointment causes me to drop my arms and slacken my rigid stance.

"I've been up all night trying to secure the next big pop star to come out of this country!" He plucks open his dress shirt until it hangs loose. "Then
, I get to my room, to finally get some sleep, and you stand here making accusations."  He snorts, tugging off his shirt and suit jacket at the same time.

"I just…I thought…
you look like—"

"Like a man who is working hard to stay on top in this industry
?" He growled.

He
roughly sat down on the bed, pulling off his pants and boxers before slipping under the covers.

Since when does he sleep naked?
Mentally, I slap the crazy suspicions from my head.
What the hell is wrong with me?  Since when am I so insecure?

"I'm sorry." I sag onto the edge of the bed.

"Chloe, I don't mean to snap.  I'm simply exhausted."  He sighs loudly.

"I'm sorry." Tears well in my eyes
and my nose starts to tingle.

"Come, lay with me." H
e wraps his hand around my right arm, tugging me to lie next to him.

By the afternoon, we are up, dressed, and almost normal. Gio still seems a bit off, but I chalk it up to his late night and this morning's confrontation. He takes me around, introducing me to the sights of Italy and the tastes of local cuisines.

During our romantic dinner
he received a call that he needed to take. Since I was feeling silly about how I reacted, I didn't put up an argument. Even when that call kept him away for almost forty minutes. I was just trying to make up for my blind accusations.

After two bottles of wine, we
decide to retire to our suite in the hotel. Once showered, shaved, and in bed, I reach out for my husband, sliding my hand over his stomach and heading south. He grabs my wrist right under his belly button, stopping me.

"I'm sorry. I just really need some sleep."

Bringing my hand to his chest, he rolls to his side.  This action pulls me flush against his back with my arm around him.

Feeling unusually rejected, the suspicions
start to grow again. If there was one thing he never said no to, it was me initiating sex. Burying the hurt and rejection, I drift off to sleep.

The familiar ringtone
whaling throughout the room wakes me. I grab my phone, pulling it towards me when I see a dark screen.
Must be his phone.
Sitting up, I look down at Gio, surprised he is sleeping through it.  Guilt flips in my stomach. I was, once again, worrying over nothing. He really was exhausted.

I reach over him and grab his phone
just as it stops ringing. With an annoyed huff, I go to place it on the nightstand next to me.  It begins to ring again. Pressing the silence button, I notice the name of the caller.
Bella Donna
.

The name isn't familiar. I look at the
clock on the nightstand.  3 A.M.

Wh
o calls at this time?

Just as I get the nerve to answer, the
phone stops ringing.

My curiosity is peaked and suspicion starts to rear its ugly head again.
Hands trembling, I begin to snoop through his phone, starting with text messages. Nothing unusual.

Christ, what's wrong with me?
Just as I'm about to set the phone down for good and quit acting like some crazy woman, the phone vibrates and a small, red number one appears next to an app – CoverMe - I'm not familiar with it.

Tapping the application, I'm greeted to Bella Donna and my stomach rolls in disgust.

             
When will you visit me again?

I don't believe it's over. We are too hot together. No matter what you say.

I drop the phone in my lap, cover my mouth, and try to stifle the sob threatening to break free.

A glutton for punishment, my curiosity won't
allow me to stop reading the messages. Turns out, he was securing a future pop star. There were enough group messages between this Bella Donna, a man who seemed to be her manager, and Gio, to confirm she is the future pop star he spoke about. Too bad those messages were from months and weeks ago. The newest messages were between just the two of them; innocent at first, until the other night.

The bed shifted and
Gio's arm slid over my lap. My seated position must have struck him as odd.

"Hey, what are you..?"

I didn't have to look to know he saw exactly what I was doing.

"Chloe—"

"Liar," I rasped through unshed tears.

"Please, it's not—"

He quickly sat up in the bed, on his knees, facing the side of my body.

"Don't!" I screamed
, unable to look at him. Or take my eyes from the last message he sent to her.

It was a mistake and shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry, but it can never happen again.

"Please, it didn't mean—"

The phone flew from my hands before I even realized I'd thrown it at him.

"Fuck," he groaned, holding his left eye.

"Yeah, I'd say that's about the most honest thing you've said since I got here!"

Hurrying from the bed, I ran to my suitcase.

"Chloe…it’s not what
—"

"It’s not what I think? Are you seriously going to try that shit?"
Turning on my bare heels, I zipped up my bag and began to walk out of the bedroom.

He jumped in front of me.

"Don’t leave, please? Let me explain!" He pleaded.

"There is nothing to explain
! I’ve seen the messages, on top of her waking me up by blowing your phone up at three in the morning. That’s enough of an explanation," I spat the words at him, walking around to get to the door.

"Chloe,
it was a mistake!" He yelled, following me out of the hotel room and to the elevator.

Turning on him, I glared,
my hand pressing the button over and over, like it would make it reach the floor quicker. He got about two feet away from me before I shouted,

"Do not co
me any closer to me!" He halted in his steps. "You are a liar and a cheat!" I couldn’t stop the tears from escaping my eyes. "At least, now, I see what goes on when you travel, don’t I?" The elevator pinged, the doors opened, and I stepped inside.

"Chloe
, please?" He put his arm in front of the door. "I have never…this was the first time. I am so, so sorry! I don’t know what I was thinking. I just let things go too far. It won't ever happen again.  You had to see that on the phone as well. Please?"

"Remove your arm!"

He stared, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I love you."

"Now
," I screamed.

He
finally moved his arm and the door shut.

In the elevator, I slipped jeans on under my nightgown and a t-shirt over.
Given my ragged appearance, I garnered many strange looks. I just wanted to leave this country, this nightmare. Even airport security pulled me aside to question me. Three words spoken from my mouth had them off my back almost instantly, "My. Husband. Cheated."

After getting back from Italy, I spent a week alone in a Seattle hotel. I didn't want anyone to know what happened, not yet. I finally decided to stop ignoring my cell phone. There were forty missed calls and sixty text messages. I started scrolling; Domenico, delete, Domenico, delete. The few messages I did read were ‘I’m sorry’, ‘I was a fool’, ‘I am a fool’, ‘Please talk to me’, ‘At least tell me where you are’. After about thirty, I simply hit the delete all button. I didn’t want to see anymore.

I got up,
took a shower, and slowly dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. I went back to my phone and started going through the missed calls. Deleting the call history, I simply went straight to listening to voicemails. Thirty voicemail messages! I started going through them one by one, trying to get through them without hearing too much of his crying, sobbing, pleading. No longer able to bear his raw voice and stuttered sobs, I just decided to delete all the messages. One message, however, wasn’t Domenico. I received it yesterday from Judith, she was crying.