Chapter 7

★ANGELITA★

Zavarelli drove me to his place immediately after the wedding. There wasn't even a reception, and I hadn't said a proper goodbye to Gerard and Celeste before leaving.

Now, we sat beside each other with a noticeable distance between us. I leaned my head and shoulder against the window, wondering how my life had taken such a turn. I had always dreamed of marrying the one I loved, yet here I was—with a man who wouldn't even spare me a glance, as if I were the plague.

I didn't want to cry. At least… not in front of Zavarelli.

The driver—whose name I had yet to learn—pulled in after the automatic gate slid open. He drove to the side and parked in the garage. It was modern, with a sleek door, but what caught my breath was the sight inside. Cars of different models lined the space—some I recognized, most I didn't.

Once he found a spot, Zavarelli stepped out first, extending his hand toward me. I placed mine in his, and he clasped it, helping me down.

"Thank you," I whispered. He didn't bother responding.

Instead, he led me toward the elevator, where men in black suits stood stationed. They bowed at our arrival.

"Mr. De Luca. Mrs. De Luca."

I gave them a small nod and a smile as we stepped into the elevator.

Zavarelli still held my hand, making it impossible to lean against the side of the car. Instead, I remained close to him.

A few moments later, the elevator doors opened to a pristine hall with cream-tiled floors and walls. Lined along both sides were six women, all standing in position.

"Welcome, Mrs. De Luca," they greeted in unison.

It was clear Zavarelli had prepared them for my arrival. I looked up at him, only to find him already watching me.

"Cleaners and cooks," he said before I could even ask.

I gave them a polite nod, then followed Zavarelli up the stairs.

"This is my room," he said, gesturing toward a door as we walked through the veranda. "And this is yours."

I swallowed hard. Our rooms were practically next to each other.

"I have a meeting. I'll see you at dinner."

With that, he turned on his heels and disappeared into his room without a second glance.

I sighed, opened the door to my own room, and stepped inside. It was spacious, with a queen-sized bed at the center, an oakwood wardrobe to the left, and a door to the right—likely leading to the bathroom.

Pulling the veil from my hair, I let my curls fall freely and moved to unzip my dress when a knock at the door halted me.

"Coming."

I hadn't locked it, but I could tell the person outside wouldn't enter unless I permitted them.

"Mrs. De Luca, we've come to help you."

Two young women stood at the doorway. One held the luggage I had packed earlier this morning. My father had told me to bring only necessities since Zavarelli would provide my clothing. I had believed him, and even if he didn't, I would. I wasn't broke.

"Thank you," I murmured, stepping aside to let them in. "What are your names?"

They looked to be around my age, maybe a year or two older.

"Jemma," said the one pulling my luggage, offering a small smile.

"Eunice," the other added. "Please sit, so we can help you with your dress."

I nodded and walked over to the vanity table, gazing at my reflection in the mirror. Jemma came up behind me while Eunice busied herself unpacking my belongings into the wardrobe.

"I love your curls, Mrs. De Luca," Jemma said, pushing my hair to the side as she unzipped my wedding dress.

I chuckled. "Thank you. And please, call me Angelita. We're about the same age."

Jemma shook her head. "I dare not, Mrs. De Luca. Mr. De Luca wouldn't like it."

I sighed. Rising slightly, I let the gown slide down my body, leaving me in just my chemise.

"Zavarelli wouldn't do anything to you," I reassured her. "It's fine if you call me by my first name. Honestly, I don't want to feel the pressure of being a 'Mrs.' If you know what I mean."

I raised a brow, and she laughed—Eunice, who I had assumed wasn't listening, chuckled as well.

"Mr. De Luca's fashion designer already arranged your wardrobe," Eunice said. "I hope you like it, Mrs.—Mrs. Angelita?"

I walked over as she stepped aside, revealing an expansive wardrobe filled with clothes of all colors and styles—tops, gowns, pants… everything.

"Could you find me a plain dress? If there's one," I asked.

I liked luxurious clothes, but I preferred simplicity. Zavarelli clearly hadn't considered that—I supposed he assumed I was like the women he had dated. If he had even dated at all.

"Of course," Eunice said, shuffling through the wardrobe. She pulled out a cotton-blue sundress with button details and a delicate bird pattern. She placed it on the bed at my request.

"This will do. Thank you."

I dismissed them, then walked over to my bed, slipped off my chemise, and donned the sundress. Gathering my curls into a loose ponytail, I left the room.

It was already evening. The wedding hadn't taken much time, but enough hours had passed.

Making my way down the grand staircase, I wandered into the massive kitchen—Zavarelli hadn't bothered showing me around—and found the women there.

They stopped what they were doing when they saw me, murmuring greetings.

"It's alright. You can continue," I said.

They nodded and resumed their tasks while I took a seat at one of the stools by the counter. I rested my hands on the marble surface and turned on my phone. A message from Celeste popped up.

The first was a picture of her and—presumably—William. Handsome as hell, by the way. The second was a text:

Celeste: Just moved in with him. Can't be happier.(Heart emoji X3)

I smiled as I reread the message, then replied:

Angelita: Your man is handsome, though. My little niece or nephew is going to be a piece of art.

Celeste's reply came almost immediately.

Celeste: (Laughing emoji X3) Don't be silly, Lita. How are you, though? I hope Zavarelli hasn't started anything yet.

I was about to respond when the sound of approaching footsteps—and a deep, booming voice—cut through the air.

"What are you doing here?"