Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 120(@200wpm)___ 96(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
La Strega and the rest of the Marchettis had never made any comment about the show, and since Sarica was his grandmother's ward, she was forced to play nice and feign ignorance when asked about the documentary.
But Sarica in front of her laptop was a completely different matter, and she could still remember the countless nights she had spent in those years, creating multiple anonymous accounts just so she could demolish every wild theory that trolls had posted about Justina and Giancarlo online.
Sarica's hands trembled as she studied the other woman over the lid of her coffee cup. Justina looked really, really good for someone the whole world believed to be assaulted, raped, and murdered. The documentary portrayed her as a country girl whose dreams of a bright future were destroyed by one of New England's less honorable famiglie.
In those days, Justina's wardrobe consisted mostly of plaid shirts and denims. But the woman in front of her now looked posh and self-assured, her dress worth well over several thousand dollars, and her bag twice as much.
Was it coincidence that Justina was in the same country as the one Giancarlo was in?
No.
She felt stupid even for asking such a thing. Coincidences ceased to exist the moment she believed God existed. And if that was the case, then—-
Oh no.
There was no longer any point figuring out how to introduce herself to the other woman—-
"Hello, Sarica. Would you like to join me for coffee?"
—-since Justina had turned around in her chair to look straight at her with a smile.
"Hello, and yes, I would absolutely love to." Sarica greeted the other woman back without missing a beat...even as she mentally kicked herself in the head for forgetting every lesson about stealth. Her mind raced as she joined Justina at the other table, and she bit back a sigh of relief when the other woman asked for menus.
Oh, good.
Studying the menu gave Sarica a chance to regain her composure. To think of the questions she could ask of Justina. To figure out the real deal between the other woman and—-
"The menu is hardly complex enough to warrant such intense study."
Sarica lowered her menu and managed a smile despite her skin prickling at Justina's amused drawl.
"Shall I order for you?" Justina offered. "Maybe something iced? Giancarlo mentioned your sensitive tongue, which is very like him."
"Oh?"
"Giancarlo has a talent for discovering people's vulnerabilities...and going out of his way to protect them from it."
Did this woman just make a dig about her?
"Oh, but before I forget...thank you, by the way. And I'm saying that with complete sincerity."
"For what?"
"Your passionate defense for Giancarlo online."
Sarica's expression turned blank. "I'm not sure—-"
"I used to work at a salon," Justin cut her off gently. "Hair colors were a specialty of mine, and your usernames..."
Sarica could only wince at this point.
"Item codes of a popular beauty company, and they just so happen to match the shade of your hair during time of posting."
Sarica forced herself to smile. "You got me."
"No, Sarica. You got him. While everyone was happy to drag Giancarlo down, you worked twice as hard in putting the truth out there. You didn't allow anyone to get away with painting him a monster online. Every loser in Boston wanted to feel good at his expense, but you single-handedly destroyed all of them. And as his wife—-"
Sarica's world crashed as Justina reached across the table to take her hand.
"I know it's several years too late, but I can't thank you enough for it."
Chapter Nine
Justina ended the call with practiced grace, her French-manicured nails gleaming as she set her phone down. "Giancarlo asks that we wait here. My husband will join us."
Bile rose to Sarica's throat at the way Justina uttered Giancarlo's name with affectionate possessiveness, and her mind, unbidden, conjured images she didn’t want to see.
Giancarlo and Justina together, their bodies entwined, their breaths mingling in the dark.
But since it was Giancarlo and Justina who were married—-
Didn't that make her the villain in this story instead of the other way around?
Justina indicated Sarica's already-empty glass. "Would you like another one?"
What I'd like, Sarica thought, is Giancarlo back, and for you to disappear.
Shame ate her alive as soon as the thought popped into her mind, and Sarica managed to shake her head with a polite smile. "I'm fine, thanks."
Sarica made a show of texting someone on her phone, but it was all for show. She just didn't have it in her to indulge in small talk with a woman who professed to be Giancarlo's wife.
What now, God?
What do I do?
What do You want me to do?
The Giancarlo she knew would never have made love to her if he was truly married. But what if she was wrong? What if he had really changed that much?
And if Giancarlo was married, then—-
Help me, God.
Please.
Because she loved Giancarlo so, so much that only a miracle would enable her to walk away from him for good.