Nicole
I’m beginning to see what they mean about the honeymoon period. Of course, it certainly helps that this is also our literal honeymoon.
If there was ever a city to bask in the glow of new romance, it’s Venice. From the balcony of the Aman Canal Grande, I can watch the sun set with a glass of wine and bask in the twilight as Luciano coos right beside me.
The last rays of sun kiss my skin, and I watch as the canals sparkle like rivers of diamonds. The gondoliers smile up at me, and I can’t help myself as my face splits into a beaming grin right back. It takes everything I have not to wave.
How could anyone not love Venice?
I was so excited to come to Italy for spring break, and then when Ryan asked to marry me whilst we were in the city, it was a dream come true…
Almost too good to be true.
No, it was too good to be true.
I wonder now why I didn’t spot Ryan’s flaws sooner. Allison did. But I did what I always do, and I got lost in his eyes and his honeyed words, his sweet talk about living happily ever after.
I wanted to believe his promises. When Ryan said he could take me away from the world of beauty pageants, I was beside myself. He was going to give me the freedom to eat what I want, wear whatever I liked, allow me to be the girl I wanted to be, rather than the girl who was going to win the crown.
Or so I thought. Turns out, he just wanted to make me into the girl he wanted me to be. But he said he’d take care of me, and I wanted someone to rely on.
I guess he was only taking care of himself.
Now, I’m beside myself again. I’m in pieces because of what he did to me. And it’s so frustrating how torn up I am over him, how much my heart still aches at the thought of his face and how I want to cry every time I remember what he’s done.
Even with Dante right beside me, I’m on the verge of tears.
Everything in my mind tells me that Ryan was no good for me, that this betrayal was inevitable. That it was better I experienced it now rather than after I’d signed a pre-nup or something. But that doesn’t mean it’s any less confusing.
My mind’s a jumble of thoughts, like spaghetti on a plate.
Annoyingly, he tampered with my heart, and all I had from his was a place in the trophy cabinet.
I suppose it looks good to have a wife who was a beauty queen who retired from the pageant circuit whilst she was the top of her game, rather than her crown being snatched whilst she was still a competitor. Then he’d never have to worry about having someone prettier and younger coming along and publicly making me look bad.
If someone prettier and younger and perkier did come along, I suppose he’d just screw her, too, and if she were dumber than I was, he might actually succeed in marrying her.
And if they are dumber than me, Ryan’s next trophy girlfriend won’t mind when he tells them what to do.
Where to go. What to eat. What to wear.
How to act.
When I wear the clothes that Dante got me and I tie my hair back in something as simple as a ponytail, I feel more like myself than I have done in years.
When I get dressed in the morning, I’m not questioning in the back of my mind whether or not Dante will spend the whole day looking down my dress. Though he might be staring at my tits, he’s also staring at the rest of me, too.
He’s not just staring, he’s admiring, and he’s thinking about me. I’m a real person to Dante, not just a life-sized Barbie doll which he can show off to his friends. Outside of Ryan, I haven’t even met any of Dante’s friends.
But how did a guy like Dante ever end up being friends with Ryan?
Unless…
No. I don’t want to go down that line of thought.
I shouldn’t listen to that part of my mind—the voice in the back of my head which sounds suspiciously like Allison—that tells me that this is all going to end soon. That like Ryan, Dante is definitely too good to be true. That it’s only a matter of time before Dante shows me his true colours.
I don’t want to believe it, but I can already begin to see the similarities between the ex-groom and his best man. Dante is the one, after all, who decided what monuments we visit, what clubs we go to, and what costume shop to get my wedding dress from.
He controls all of our moments here in Italy and tells me not go out by myself.
Even Alison isn’t good enough company. It’s his way or no way…
Maybe next time the gondola tips, I’ll just drown as Dante rescues some other damsel in distress.
Because if a man can lie to you on your wedding day, who’s to say he won’t lie to you every other day of the year?
Dante let me believe that he was Ryan for the entire ceremony, and the whole night, too. I mean, I love Dante so much, but he didn’t give me the chance to say yes to him. I thought I was saying ‘I do’ to Ryan.
Nothing screams ‘controlling’ like not even having the option to say, ‘I don’t.’
Not that I would have said ‘no’ to Dante.
But it wasn’t fair. He tells me that he’s so different from Ryan—and I believe him, I really believe that he’s different. That he’s better.
He treats me like I’m a goddess, like I’m Venus, and he’s Mars, and sometimes, it really does feel like our love could inspire poets and artists for all eternity. But Mars was a god of conquest, and I made Dante conquer me in the gondola.
I wonder how long it’ll be until his next trophy does the same thing.
I wonder if we’ll even make it out of the honeymoon period.
What am I saying?
Of course, we will. Dante is different from Ryan.
Those vows were so heartfelt—Ryan could never even dream of being half as romantic as Dante. And when it came for me to read my vows, I realised that I couldn’t recite my speech, because none of it was really true—I wasn’t thinking about Ryan, I was thinking about the day with Dante.
Because Dante loves the real me. He loves the Nicole who smiles until her face aches, and laughs until her sides hurt, who’s excited to be in Venice, and who falls in love with poor little pigeons far too quickly. He wants to know about the Nicole who’s passionate and animated about whatever interests her.
Dante supports my sketching, and he might just be the first person who wants me to have a career as an artist.
If my drawing of him and Luciano hadn’t been blown away, I bet he’s the kind of guy who would’ve treasured that scrap of paper until the pencil began to fade and it resembled a stick man and his pet feathery splodge.
But the drawing flew away, and pencil fades, and usually, when something’s too good, it can never last.
I look over my shoulder to Dante as he reclines on the chaise lounge. For the brief seconds I stare at him, he doesn’t look up. He’s too lost in the book he’s reading, his mouth slightly agape as he flicks over the page.
It’s so cute, it reminds me of the way he looks at me when he thinks I can’t see him. The crisp paper cuts through the stillness of the evening air. He’s so peaceful, entranced with the novel in his hands and oblivious to my fears.
Maybe I should tell him?
No. I couldn’t.
I’d just scare him away. If I revealed all my insecurities, Dante would think I was no shallower than the legions of other women he’s dated in the past.
After Ryan, I feel the need to prove myself—to convince Dante that I’m not like anyone else that he might have dated in the past.
I’m going to enjoy this honeymoon period for as long as I can.
Even if it means they have to drag me by the ankles out of the newlywed suite. I’ll scream and kick and claw at whoever tries to take this happiness from me.
The sun finally falls low enough in the sky to dip behind the buildings. The orange glow sets the glittering canals alight, as the air finally turns colder.
I sigh into the evening and turn back into the room towards Dante.
Luciano half flies, half hops behind me. The sound of his claws scratching on the tile flooring rouses Dante’s attention, and he smiles as he sees me. I smile back and eagerly nestle into his arms as he continues to read his novel.
I’m still sore from the Gondola, but I wouldn’t mind if once Dante’s fingers finish flicking pages, he decides to use them on me instead.