Torture to Her Soul
Page 80

Ray doesn't bother offering me a drink. He knows I won't accept it. He slips into his chair behind his desk while I perch along the side of the room, surveying them. They talk about this and that… schemes and plots… while I stay quiet, Ray watching for my reaction to it all.
He's putting me under a fucking microscope.
Ten minutes pass… twenty… thirty… I frequently glance at my watch, wanting this to be over. Forty-five minutes later, and I've had about as much as I can take. I stand up, trying to slip out undetected, but Ray won't let me go without a fight.
"Somewhere you need to be, Vitale?"
"Just going to check on Karissa."
"She's fine," Ray says.
"I'm sure you're right, but still, I'd like to check."
He hesitates before waving dismissively.
I head out of the office, back into the den. The crowd is thinner as people scattered throughout the house. A quick glance around tells me Karissa isn't here. My chest tightens, and I excuse myself just as someone tries to speak to me, making my way through the house, looking for her. I head past the living room, my footsteps faltering when I glance inside, catching sight of the vibrant red dress.
I stall in the doorway. She's alone, the room quiet and dimly lit, as she gazes up at the mantle above the fireplace. I watch her for a moment before slowly strolling toward her. I don't even have to look. I know what it is she sees.
I know, because I see it every time I come to this place.
"Karissa."
She jumps at the sound of my voice, glancing my way, a panicked look on her face. "I, uh… I was just heading to the bathroom, and well…"
"I get it."
I pause right behind her as she turns back around, her gaze going right back to the picture frame on the mantle. The photo is nearly two decades old but well preserved in the glass, like it was just taken yesterday.
Yesterday… it feels like yesterday. Feels like yesterday I stood in front of that photographer, an arm around Maria, wearing that godforsaken tuxedo while she nearly drowned in that poufy white dress. It was pretentious, everything neither of us were, but it had been her dream to have a wedding just like her parents.
So I'd given it to her.
"You look so happy," Karissa whispers.
"I was happy," I confess, my chest tightening as I gaze at the old photograph. "Very happy."
"Are you…?" She pauses for a moment. "Are you happy now?"
I can feel her gaze on me. My eyes shift to meet hers. I drink in her apprehension as she once more bites on her cheek nervously.
I'm not sure how to answer that question. A part of me yearns to just say 'yes', to ease all of her worries because I think it's what she wants to hear. What she needs to hear. But another part of me just can't lie to her.
"Not like I was then," I say, watching as the trepidation morphs to dejection. "I was naïve, Karissa. I thought perfection existed, and I thought I'd found it. I thought I was untouchable, that nothing and nobody could ever take away what I had. I was happy, because I was a fool. I've learned a lesson since then, a hard lesson, and I can't be that person anymore. I can never be that happy again."
She ducks her head, averting her eyes. I reach out and cup her chin, pulling her face up so she'll look at me again. I don't want her to misconstrue this, or walk away thinking I'm saying something I'm not.
"I'm not naïve anymore," I tell her. "But that doesn't mean you don't make me happy, because you do… in your own way. What I have with you isn't blissfully ignorant. It's real, and it isn't always pretty, but when it's good, it's good. So yeah, I'm happy, Karissa. A different kind of happy. The kind of happy that says even if this all destroys me, and it might, it'll all be worth it."
She smiles, a small smile, as she slips into my arms, nuzzling into my chest. I press my cheek to the top of her head, rubbing her back, when a throat clears from the doorway. Glancing over, I meet a set of beady dark eyes that pierce through us.
Martina Angelo.
"Mrs. Angelo," I say politely. "Nice to see you."
She says nothing, turning from me to look at Karissa. She curves an eyebrow judgmentally, her eyes scanning her slowly, picking her apart with a gaze. After a moment, the woman looks at me again. "Dinner's ready. Ray was looking for you. Figured you were off with your…" She waves toward Karissa dismissively. "Her."
Martina walks away, leaving us alone again. Karissa looks up at me questioningly. "Ray's wife?"
"Yes."
She shakes her head. "I like Brandy so much better."
Their dining room table is massive, packed to the brim on both sides with chairs. The two closest to the head of the table adjacent to Ray remain empty. I pause as I give the room a glance, surveying the others, before leading Karissa to the empty chairs. I pull one out, whispering for her to take a seat.
She does so hesitantly.
I push it back in, offering Ray a polite nod as I sit down, taking my place between them.
Caught in the middle…
Dinner is strained. I can feel the tension all around me, wrapping its hands around my throat and squeezing. The others eat heartedly, laughing and drinking, happy to be here. A few months ago, I would've felt the same way.
But something changed.
I changed.
I'm not sure if it's in a good way.