“You booked this already?”
“Yes.”
“Without asking me?”
“It’s a gift.”
“No,” I said quietly. “A gift is something someone wants. This feels like you’re sending me away.”
His jaw tightened.
“Don’t start, Elena.”
“Start what?”
“Drama.”
That was Leonardo’s talent.
He could make me feel guilty for noticing the knife after he had already pushed it in.
I swallowed hard.
“Is there someone else?”
He laughed.
Not warmly.
Not like a husband hurt by the question.
Like a man amused by how easy I was to dismiss.
“Do you hear yourself? We’ve been married four days and you’re already inventing tragedies.”
My cheeks burned.
For one second, I hated myself for asking.
That was how good he was at turning my instincts into embarrassment.
The black SUV arrived an hour later.
Leonardo kissed my forehead in front of the driver and smiled like the perfect husband.
“Enjoy it, baby,” he said. “It’ll be good for you.”
As the car pulled down the winding coastal road, I looked back through the rear window.
Leonardo was already walking into the villa with his phone pressed to his ear.
The retreat was beautiful.
That made it worse.
My suite overlooked the hills.
The sheets smelled like lavender.
The staff smiled gently and offered cucumber water, herbal tea, and a schedule full of things meant to heal women who had chosen to be there.
But I had not chosen anything.
I felt like I had been exiled from my own honeymoon.
That night, I called Leonardo.
Voicemail.
I texted him.
No answer.
I sent a photo of the sunset from my balcony and wrote, Wish you were here.
He did not even react.
The next day at lunch, I sat alone near the garden fountain, moving salad around my plate, when a woman named Chiara started talking to me.
She was Italian, elegant, and kind in the effortless way some strangers are before they know they are about to ruin your life.
She told me she was staying at the same oceanfront villa resort where Leonardo and I had checked in.
“Oh,” I said, trying to smile. “My husband and I are there too.”
Chiara’s face lit up.
“Maybe I saw him yesterday. There was such a beautiful couple on one of the terraces. Newlyweds, I thought. He could not keep his hands off her.”
My fork slipped from my fingers.
The sound of it hitting the plate felt too loud.
Chiara kept talking, not realizing my heart had stopped.
“She wore a red dress. Very glamorous. Dark hair. Diamond earrings. I remember because they caught the sunset.”
My mouth went dry.
Diamond earrings.
I had packed diamond earrings.
My mother’s earrings.
The ones Leonardo had insisted I bring because, he said, “You deserve to feel expensive on our honeymoon.”
That night, I ordered a car back to Malibu.
I did not call him.
I did not text.
I did not give him a chance to hide the truth.
The villa looked different when I arrived.
Candles flickered along the terrace.
Soft jazz played through the open glass doors.
There were two champagne glasses on the table.
