Page 92 of Rosetti Family New York
I find my way downstairs, the echo of my footsteps swallowed by the long hallways. Dom is already seated at the head of the massive dining table. There’s a newspaper folded by his plate and his phone in his hand. Cold marble stretches between us, stark and uninviting.
“Morning,” he says, eyes not leaving his screen. We’ve been married several days, and apart from the wild intimacy the night I sneaked out and got drunk in Brooklyn, he’s been distant. Distracted.
“Good morning.” I sit and reach for the coffee. My fingers brush against his for a second before he moves away, tapping something out with his thumb. “Busy day?”
“Aren’t they always?” His smile is quick and tight.
After three days of marriage, I still feel like a stranger in his house. I let silence take root between us, sip my coffee, and studyhis face. He looks as if he hasn’t slept, with shadows under his eyes, and lines of worry on his forehead.
I think of the note I found about a meeting with a chemist. I have to know more, have to figure out what he’s keeping from me. Maybe I can learn something without him realizing I’m curious.
“I need a few things from the drugstore. Did you know, in England they call pharmacists chemists? Isn’t that interesting?”
I watch as Dom’s mouth tightens, his unhappiness forming a crack along his jawline. I pour cream into my cup and watch the blackness lighten.
“Not really,” he says.
His disinterest is cold, pointed.
I push on. “Well, it’s just I saw some note about a meeting with a chemist, and I wondered if they might have the things I need. So I don’t have to go to the drugstore.” I pause, trying to sound as casual as possible. “Perhaps I could come with you and ask? Instead of traipsing about town by myself.”
His eyes are on me now, sharp and suspicious. He’s trying to read me, to figure out what my angle is.
“What note?” he asks.
I stir sugar into my coffee and keep my tone light.
“Oh, just some note I saw on a side table upstairs,” I say, shrugging as if it’s unimportant. It’s hard to suppress the urge to press him, to demand answers. “So, is the meeting today? Because I really can’t wait until tomorrow.”
There’s a pause before he answers, a stretch of tense silence that feels like a standoff.
“The meeting is today, but you’re not coming.”
The words hang in the air. I feign disinterest.
“Okay, no problem. I’ll head to the drugstore instead.” I set down my cup. My appetite has vanished, and the tension inthe room has stripped my patience. “Well, I’ll be off. Shopping calls.”
“Don’t buy out the city, Besiana,” he says with a ghost of a smirk, then he’s back to his phone.
I walk toward the door, but Dom's words follow me, pulling me to a stop in the massive hallway. I turn back, catching his gaze with a steady look.
“What’s my limit?” I ask, careful to keep my voice casual, unbothered.
I don’t want to annoy him by over-spending or snag his attention by under-spending, I need to keep him content and looking elsewhere. But for that, I need to understand his expectations.
“What limit?”
Dom’s brow lifts, a mixture of amusement and seriousness on his face.
“On the black Amex you gave me.” I watch him, waiting for a reaction.
He finally looks up, my question snagging his attention at last.
“It has no limit, Besiana. You should know that.”
I press him further, refusing to let him dismiss me so easily.
“I mean, what’s your limit on what I can spend?”
