Two Years of Marriage, I Never Got My Wedding Ring Chapter 07

Two Years of Marriage, I Never Got My Wedding Ring Chapter 07

As the car pulled away from the Ricci estate, I saw in the rearview mirror that Alessio was still standing at the bottom of the steps.

He didn’t follow.

I was relieved.

I didn’t want to turn this into a scene at the gates of his family’s home.

When I returned to our apartment in Manhattan, the living room had already been partially cleared out.

The small, personal items I kept on the entryway console were gone.

In the walk-in closet, all my clothes had been packed into garment bags and hung neatly on a rolling rack.

Half the vanity was empty.

The wedding photo that had been turned facedown on the floor was now sitting upright on the nightstand.

As if someone had tried to hastily cover their tracks.

I walked over and picked up the photo.

The woman in the picture was smiling faintly.

Alessio stood beside her, his gaze directed somewhere off-camera, as if he were ready to leave at any moment.

I looked at it for a moment, then placed the frame in a cardboard box.

The butler stood in the doorway, wringing his hands.

“Madam, Sir called just now. He said not to move your things for the time being.”

“They’ve already been moved.”

I closed the box.

The butler lowered his head.

“I’m sorry, Madam. When Mrs. Ricci gives an order, it puts us in a difficult position…”

“It’s fine.”

I pulled a small wooden box from the back of the closet.

Inside were a few keepsakes.

The velvet pouch from the street market, our wedding invitation, the unopened vow card, and a photo of me trying on my wedding dress.

Alessio hadn’t been there that day.

The sales associate had asked me, “Is Mr. Ricci not coming to see it?”

I’d said, “He’s busy.”

She’d smiled professionally.

“Mr. Ricci is very dedicated to his career. You’re so understanding.”

At the time, I had thought I was very understanding.

So understanding that I didn’t even end up with a wedding ring.

I put the wooden box into my carry-on bag.

Just as I was about to leave, I heard a car pull up downstairs.

The butler started.

“Madam, Sir is back.”

I didn’t say anything. I just grabbed my suitcase and walked out the door.

Alessio came in, with Leo right behind him.

His expression was even colder than it had been at the estate, and he was holding a tablet.

He stopped short when he saw me with my suitcase.

“You’re really leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you going?”

“To my own apartment.”

Alessio frowned.

“When did you get an apartment?”

“I bought it before we were married.”

He was silent for a moment.

It seemed he was only now realizing that he didn’t even know where I had lived before our wedding.

Leo stood beside him and murmured, “Sir, the restoration specialist sent over some photos from backstage.”

Alessio didn’t take the tablet.

He just looked at me.

“You should see this.”

I had intended to refuse.

But when Leo held out the tablet, the screen was already frozen on an image from our wedding.

The photo was blurry, but the subjects were clear enough.

Alessio was sitting on a sofa, eyes closed, obviously drunk.

Sofia was leaning over him, holding a ring box.

In the next photo, the box was open.

In the third, Alessio’s hand was raised, as if she were helping him with something.

The images stopped there.

The next photo was taken after the ceremony.

Sofia stood in a corner, the wedding ring on the fourth finger of her left hand.

I looked at the photos, the old ache in my chest now a dull, hollow feeling.

I had never seen these before.

For two years, I had been able to make excuses.

The ceremony was chaotic. Alessio was drunk. The ring would find its way back to me eventually.

But now, with the photos right in front of me, even those excuses felt like lies.

Alessio’s voice came from beside me.

“Verona, I was so drunk that day, I don’t remember any of it.”

I nodded.

“I know.”

“I didn’t know she wore the ring.”

“I know that, too.”

He looked at me, as if he hadn’t expected me to be so calm.

I picked up my suitcase.

“Alessio, I’m not interested in litigating what you did or didn’t know.”

He blocked my path, his fingers slowly tightening into fists.

“Then what do you want?”

“I want to go home and get some sleep.”

I stepped around him.

“I have work in the morning.”

Finally, he reached out and grabbed the handle of my suitcase.

His grip wasn’t tight.

But it was enough to make me stop.

I looked down at his hand.

He let go as if he’d been burned.

“I’ll take you.”

“No need.”

“Verona.”

His voice was low.

“It’s raining.”

I glanced through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He was right.

It was pouring.

Before I could respond, the doorbell rang.

The butler went to open it.

Sofia was standing on the doorstep.

She wore a white cashmere coat, her hair damp from the rain. She was clutching a dark blue velvet box.

Her eyes were red-rimmed. When she saw Alessio, she seemed to sag with relief.

“Alessio, I brought the ring.”

She opened the box.

The real Ricci wedding ring lay nestled inside.