The Wallflower's Revenge

Chapter 12: The Misunderstanding

It's dreadful what little things lead people to misunderstand each other. 

-L.M. Montgomery

Lucca Cavelli's POV

My brain hurts like there was an ice pick stabbing it right this moment, cursing the irritating tabloids that had me as their front-page story. It was about last night's event when I attended a charity ball so I could meet Paolo Ranaldi.

Now every damn tabloid had my photo with a woman I don't even remember her name, but I remember I was talking to her because she's thanking me for my generous donations. The papers were hinting that she's my newest mistress. Hell, only last week they filled their column about me and the mystery woman in the restaurant and thought that I'd proposed to the woman. Which is true, of course, since I married the woman but now, they wrote rubbish that I have a new woman in my life and betting how many weeks before I get tired of her.

I sorely wanted to tell them that I am already married!

Thank goodness, Rome tabloids didn't reach Amalfi Coast—or else there would be hell to pay on Tatiana's wrath.

"Well, well, well..." Marco strode to my office like he owned the damn building. "Have you seen today's paper, Your Excellency? No? It's a good thing that I brought one for you then."

I scowled at him that often makes my servants shrink with fear. "Put that blasted paper away from me, Marco."

He just merely smiled at my direction as he took the vacant chair in front of me. "Oh, I see you also have a copy." He said with laughter visible in his voice. "Well, I guess that Italian tabloids weren't yet aware that you're already married, Lucca. Have you already told your little wife about this? I'm sure she had a thing or two to say."

I took a deep breath and settled back on my chair. "No. Rome papers don't reach Amalfi Coast. I think it's fine."

"But that doesn't mean that she couldn't get a copy of it if she wants to keep tabs on her faraway husband that's quite known as a womanizer."

I swore in Italian long and hard that made Marco's eyebrow rise. "Tatiana wasn't like that. She keeps reminding me that our marriage was only for convenience. I was the one who keeps forgetting it."

Marco laughed out-loud. "You? You're the one who keeps forgetting it? That's rich!"

"So what?" I felt a little defensive which I don't understand. "Is that a bad thing that I enjoy being married to her? She's a great person to talk to. She has vast knowledge of everything that's the result of her hiding behind their library growing up."

"Just how well do you know your wife, Lucca?"

How well do I know Tatiana? I shrugged as I recited what I knew about her. "She's known as a wallflower in the society before Paolo Ranaldi swept her off her feet. She's incredibly shy and has a very low self-confidence. She likes to read books. In fact, she's the only woman I know that could be extremely happy about the size of my library. She's fluent in English, French and Russian but she's hopeless in Italian. She's—"

"Whoa!" Marco held up his hands. "That's enough. Clearly, you knew her damn well. How long do you know her again?"

"Eight days and four hours."

"You keep tracks, huh?" My friend commented dryly.

Was it good that I am counting the minutes too?

"Still, you should call her, amico." Marco advised as he stood from his chair. "At least, she knows firsthand the rumors about you before she hears it from another person, however convenient your marriage is."