Episode 16

Pov: Anna.

It's three in the morning, and I feel the door opening, yet no one enters, which strikes me as strange.

"Mrs. Anna, it's Dante. Can I come in? I have Mr. Nicolas with me," Dante says.

"Give me a second." I quickly get out of bed and put on a coat. "You can come in now."

I see Dante entering, with a clearly intoxicated Nicolas who appears more like a bundle than a human being.

"Where should I put him?" Dante asks.

"On the sofa," I quickly respond.

Nicolas, as best he can while leaning on Dante, lifts his head and confronts me.

"You see, she doesn't want me as a husband, but she takes over my bed," Dante shakes his head, and Nicolas continues. "Don't even dream about it, terrifying doll. This is a marital society, fifty percent of the bed is yours, and the other half is mine. Clear enough?"

"Forget it. You were the one who insisted I stay here, so deal with the consequences. Dante, leave him on the sofa," I say assertively.

"You see, my dear friend, you defend her and say it's destiny. Personally, I believe it's karma that crossed her path. Don't let her blonde and silky hair deceive you. Behind those inviting lips lies venom. And let's not even talk about those honey-colored eyes that are nothing but sharp daggers waiting to slit your throat at the slightest carelessness. Believe me, friend, she may seem like a princess, but between us, she's the witch in this tale," he whispers, and I look at him incredulously.

"Sir, it would be best if you keep your mouth shut and stay on the sofa."

"You win, Cruela," he looks at me with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. "Meanwhile, Dante guides him to the sofa, settles him down, and then walks towards the exit.

"Ma'am, if you don't want him to catch a cold, cover him with a blanket, unless you want to punish him. I would punish him if I were you," he says as he leaves and closes the door. I let out a long sigh, cross my arms, it's unbelievable.

I approach and, though hesitant, my conscience gets the better of me. I crouch down and remove his shoes, then search in the cabinet, take a blanket, return to the sofa, and cover him. I sigh once more and head to bed.

"I thought you liked me more when I'm drunk," he says, and as I contemplate a response, he begins a symphony of snores. I don't think I'll ever be able to fall asleep again.

...***...

Morning arrives, and I slowly open my eyes. Since I can't move, this time it doesn't surprise me. It seems to be becoming a habit, his body holding me captive. I try to escape his embrace, but he clings even tighter. The strong smell of perfume mixed with last night's alcohol reaches my nostrils, causing my stomach to react. So, I become more forceful in my attempt to get up, but it doesn't work.

"Let go of me!" I shout on the brink of desperation.

"What, what's wrong?" he says in a low voice, covering his ears with both hands. "Don't shout, my head hurts." I pay no attention to him and rush to the bathroom.

I've thrown up so much that I think even my soul ended up in the toilet. Once I finish, I thoroughly rinse my mouth and immerse myself in the bathtub. I don't want to come out and smell that odor again; just the thought of it makes me want to vomit. Eventually, I decide to get out, solely because I'm running out of time to catch my flight. I grab a bathrobe and search for my clothes since I didn't have time to look for them before entering the bathroom.

"What are you doing? Can you stop moving around the room, making annoying noises? Can't you see I'm dying?" Nicolas, clearly in pain from a massive hangover, complains.

"Don't worry; I'll fly to Los Angeles, by plane, since the broom is out of order," sarcasm drips from my voice.

"As I said, you're crazy. What the hell are you talking about?" I don't respond. Instead, I grab the sound remote control and put on opera music, not too loudly, just enough to exacerbate his headache without getting kicked out of the hotel.

He gets up, annoyed, and walks toward me.

"Give me that, Anna," his gaze is challenging.

"No," I shrug.

"Anna, give it to me nicely."

"What if I don't feel like it?"

"You asked for it." He approaches in large strides.

"Stop right there, it's an order!" I say, pointing at him with my index finger. "To my surprise, he stops." I can't hide a triumphant smile that forms on my lips, but it fades when I see him raise an eyebrow and pounce on me.

"I'm going to make it clear who's in charge and who obeys." He embraces me, trying to immobilize my body to take control away from me.

"Your scent..."

"What?" He continues his mission without giving me any respite.

"You smell like..." I let go of the control and run to the bathroom. Once again, I vomit. No matter how hard I try, there isn't much left in my stomach.

"Are you okay?" Nicolas asks, leaning against the bathroom doorframe, while I take deep breaths to stabilize my breathing. Once I do, I speak to him.

"Stay away from me, I can't stand your scent. No one has ever been so unpleasant to me in my life." I see him narrow his eyes in surprise, he raises his arm and smells his armpit.

"No, it's not me, and I don't think the smell of alcohol would bother you that much." He says, furrowing his brow.

"Your perfume, I hate your perfume."

"I understand." He relaxes his face a little. "It's the pregnancy."

"Could you take a shower and throw away those clothes?"

"Sure."

"Will you do that?" I look at him suspiciously.

"Yes" he affirms.

"Just like that? Without arguing?"

"If I do that, will you let me sleep?" I nod.

"Then yes."

"Deal, husband" Stupid Anna, why did you say that?

...***...