HIS FIRST LADY(SANDRO MARCOS)

Chapter 47: Don't Go Crawling Back

As I read Sandro' message, a flurry of questions spins in my mind. The most pressing one: How on earth does he know I've moved? I never told him, and I highly doubt Samuel would. Kaylee doesn't know him either.

Cloudine earlier message flashes through my mind. *Sorry.*

Oh no, Cynthia. What did you do?

Before I can address Cloudine, I need to deal with Sandro. For reasons I'm not ready to dissect just yet, it feels crucial to clear up his assumptions. Yes, I've moved back in with Samuel, but there's no way I'm getting back together with him. It's an essential distinction.

I quickly type:
*It's not what you think. I've moved into the guest room.*

After hitting send, I barely have time to take a breath before my phone rings. It's Sandro. For a brief moment, I consider ignoring the call and hoping this will all blow over. Sandro is hardly an integral part of my life—he doesn't need to know every detail.

But then again, his voice has a way of soothing me, and after the night I've had, I could use the comfort. With a resigned sigh, I answer.

He wastes no time. "This is how it starts."

I sigh again, louder this time. "Sandro—"

"He's lured you back into his castle, Rafha. You can say you're in the guest room, but to him, it's all the same. You're back in his house and his life. He's going to use that. Be careful."

"I've already put a lock on my door, Sandro. My room is secure now."

"Why did you say 'now'? Did something happen before?"

The last thing I want to discuss is the nightmare I found under my bed sheets. "They left me some surprises," I say, keeping it vague. "It wasn't exactly welcoming."

"That's exactly why you shouldn't have moved back," Sandro says, his voice tinged with frustration. "Where are you going to keep your food? Are you planning to get a mini-fridge for your room?"

"Samuel wouldn't mess with anything the girls might eat. I doubt he'd tamper with the food."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Sandro warns. "What about your bathroom?"

"I have my own bathroom," I tell him.

"With its own lock?"

I hadn't considered locking the bathroom when I'm not using it. Looks like I'll need another trip to the hardware store. "I'll get a lock for the bathroom door."

"This is such a terrible idea, Rafha," Sandro says, sounding more exasperated. "What made you even consider moving back in? You can't enjoy being tormented by that guy."

I know he won't fully grasp it since he doesn't have kids, but I tell him the truth anyway. "Iris and Violet told me they missed me. I miss them too. Until the divorce and custody arrangements are finalized, I'm not going anywhere."

There's silence on the other end, long enough that I check to see if the call dropped.

"Even so..." he starts to say.

"I'm not abandoning my girls again," I state firmly, annoyed at the implication that I might. "And I don't recall this being any of your business."

"It could be," Sandro retorts, "if you'd actually leave your husband instead of crawling back."

"That's not what's happening."

"Mark my words, Rafha. You're making a mistake. He's going to make your life miserable."

"He'd do that whether I lived here or not," I counter.

"Just watch your back with him," Sandro says. "For me."

He hangs up before I can respond. He always has to have the last word.

*For me,* he said, as if I wouldn't be cautious for my own sake.

Yet, as much as I hate to admit it, the idea of being careful *for him* does push me a bit more. Maybe a mini-fridge isn't such a bad idea after all, to keep my food safe from tampering. Or at the very least, to stop them from eating whatever I buy for myself. Not that I'd tell Sandro he gave me the idea—no need to inflate his already oversized ego.

I rub my forehead, taking a moment to gather myself after the call. Then, I dial Cloudine.

"I told him not to say anything," she says as soon as she picks up. "I'm guessing he called right away?"

"Texted," I correct, "almost as fast as your apology came through."

"Yeah, I figured." I hear people talking and the sound of cars rushing by on her end.

"Where are you?" I ask.

"Just left the club," she replies. "That's where I ran into your guy."

"Sandro is not my guy."

"Sure, sure. But when he saw me, he ditched his crowd to come ask about you." She clears her throat. "I might have been a little upset still about you moving back."

"You vented it all to him, didn't you?"

"I might've had a couple of glasses of wine..." she admits, softer this time. "Sorry."

"It's fine. What's done is done."

"You're a saint," Cloudine says, her words slightly slurred. She's probably waiting for a cab.

When Sandro called earlier, there were no club noises in the background. Did he leave the club as soon as Cloudine talked to him?

The thought of him dropping everything to call me makes me feel a little giddy, even if it's silly. I can't help but savor that small bit of pleasure.

"He was so mad when I told him," Cloudine says. "I thought he might storm over to your house, toss you over his shoulder, and drag you out of there himself."

For a fleeting moment, I indulge in that image—Sandro as a knight in shining armor, charging in to rescue the damsel in distress from her tyrant ex-husband.

It's a childish fantasy, but I let myself enjoy it.

"You belong to me," the imaginary Sandro says as he lifts me into his arms.

Reality sets back in as I replay the real conversation in my mind. "You didn't mention my new job, did you?"

"No," Cloudine says. "That never came up. As far as I know, he still thinks you work at the country club."

Good. I'm relieved I didn't bring up the potential interview with Sandro during our call. It would've been terrible timing, considering how angry he already was.

"He's going to find out eventually," Cloudine warns.

"I know," I reply.

But when he does find out, it's going to be on my terms.

When I finally ask for that interview, I want to be in full control. I'm going to impress him so much that he won't be able to turn me down like he has with everyone else.

I *will* get that interview.