The shower spray is too hot for my liking and falls down on my skin marking it an eerie red. I simply bask in it - the scent of the body wash, the steam of the shower and my own naivety. I went to bed crying and resenting every inch of London. Dimitri stayed the night and refused to leave my side but his touch brought no comfort at all.

In the hazy mist of the spray, all I'm seeing are the flashes of the camera crowding me twenty-four seven, the evil smirk of his grandfather, the revolting dying flowers that Hugo Antolin has sent. It's all white ripping noise to the background of my life but it weighs more than gold.

The quicker I get out of London, the better. Wrapping my body in a towel, I decide to leave my hair alone and the droplets drip onto the linoleum. When I open the door, Dimitri's leaning against the wall patiently. His expression is stringed into a scowl with his phone tucked in his hand tightly. "What's wrong?"

It's not ideal for him to be standing in my room while I prance around naked. Despite the elephant in the room, his eyes only sear into my head. He pursues his lips ruefully, "You lied to me."

My eyes flick to his steel blue in panic. Ah, shit. He knows! My throat is beginning to close up and I can feel the tears waiting to pour out again. His Grandfather told him! I'm busy trying to piece together a suitable explanation. I turn numb, every sensation in my body blacking out. "I was going to tell you but I couldn't find the words. He called me and asked to see me and—"

Dimitri lifts his dark eyebrow challengingly at me, "He?"

I blink. He digs in further, "I called Quinn to ask about what happened last night. Clearly, this argument you and her had upset you a great deal. I was going to try to restore your relationship and be a peacekeeper because I know how much she means to you but guess what Isabella? Quinn was never with you last night."

"When did Quinn and you become best friends?" I scoff and turn away. I don't like his attitude right now. I wasn't aware he had Quinn's number and how dare he go behind my back and seek out information that has nothing to do with him.

"Ever since you lied to me." he responds, his voice chipping with annoyance. "So I ask you again, who were you with?"

I drop the towel on the ground and glare at him. "Don't call my best friend again." I ban him. He merely scoffs, tucks his hands into his trouser pockets and glares out the window in repulsion.

"Since when did we start lying to each other Isabella? From the day I've met you, I've been honest and here you are running circles around me? I'm shocked."

I manage to slip into a crop top and jeans. Despite me being covered, I'm wearing so much shame. He doesn't deserve any of this. Maybe I should tell him? No, no, no - if I narrate last night's story then I'll have to narrate my story. He'll want to know exactly what he said and what he blackmailed me with. I can't tell him about my mother nor the brute that is my father. Another lie after another lie. Another secret, after a secret.

"So I ask you again, who were you with?"

I don't think and it slips out. "Jeremiah."

Something flicks over his expression. Pain? Irritation? Disappointment? Jealously? Hell, I can't tell because it fades just as fast. He's scowling at me in hatred, his jaw tight. Dimitri's never once looked at me in this manner.

He doesn't say a word just continues to stare at me. Hot, molton, wildly intense. I've seen that look – he gives it to his incompetent employees when they fuck up. He's utterly calm and collected which scares them even more. I hate every daunting second of it.

Silence stretches between us, it sways back and forth for an eternity until finally, Dimitri breaks it off.

Dimitri shakes his head, "You know what hurts, Bella?" his voice is a gentler than before but so quiet and strained. "It's the fact you lied to me. I know Jeremiah is a close friend and ex co-worker of yours, and if you had told me you were going to dinner with him I wouldn't have said a word. I would've let you go, let you enjoy yourself and then asked you how it went. Whether it was Quinn, Jeremiah or even fucking Bruce Wayne, I remain indifferent."

I snap, "It was just dinner, it doesn't mean anything." God, I'm so pathetic. In the time span of meeting Dimitri and getting married to him, I've become a pathological liar.

"Of course, it doesn't mean shit! Regardless, you lied to me about it."

His resentful expression fades for a second before his eyes are widening in realisation. He threads a hand into his dark hair, "Oh God, did you try to sleep with him too?" What? "Did Jeremiah reject you and is that why you came crawling back to me. You were so distracted last night and hardly paying attention. Is that why you used me for sex last night?"

It's always been him. He was on my mind last night, not Jeremiah. I was screaming Dimitri's name, not another man's.

"Is that why you snapped at me when I asked you if we could talk about it?" he's forming his own conclusions and drawing on his own explanations. I don't correct it.

No, I snapped on you because I broke my rule. Dimitri's too addictive, too damning, too sickeningly sweet. He's the sweet saccharine embrace that forces me to cling to him. I'm so ashamed of it because he's starting to grow on me and I can't let this happen. This marriage is fake and I don't have the capacity for feelings. The minute I confess to him how I feel, this sham will fall apart.

But right now, I'd rather have him hate me than tell him the truth.

He shakes his head as if he can't believe it. "I expected better from you," I expected better from me too. It hurts. It hurts so much. It feels like needles are being poked into my skin and I'm left to bleed out.

"Get dressed. Louis is downstairs waiting to drop you." With that he opens the door and walks out, not bothering to close it behind him. Dimitri doesn't once turn over his shoulder to glance at me. The sound of his footsteps trod for a few beats before his office door slams shut. He's done more damage with the slamming of his office door than with his words.

I've spent the weeks rotting in bed, crying and eating ice cream as crappy rom-coms play in the background. Right now, I hardly have the energy to function like a normal human being.

"Get up!" Abuela's pulling the duvet off me. The curtains are drawn open and the sunlight hurts my eyes. "I didn't raise no sad pretty princess, who mops around all day. Get up, Isabella!" I roll over and continue to ignore her. She pokes me in my rib with her skinny wrinkly finger and I shoot up in pain.

I groan, the sunlight makes my head throb, "¿Qué es? I was trying to sleep,"

Abuela sits down on the bed beside me. In comparison to me, she's put together. Her dark hair is curled beautifully and her lips are painted dark pink. I resemble Dracula with my terrible sleep schedule and half-moons underneath my eyes.

"Don't pity yourself. Do something about it." I don't reply and gaze lazily at the patterned wall. I don't want to talk about him. I came back to Kent to relax and recharge, not be reminded of how much Dimitri currently hates me. Abuela keeps babbling on, she's fancied herself determined and I have the sudden urge to stuff cotton in my ears.

"Has he called you?" The silence is her answer. She sighs a breath and mutters God's name, "Call him then, you silly girl." Hm, he hasn't once called me since I left. I thought it was an issue with my phone or perhaps my phone was on silent - but nope, not a single ring.

I think he's giving me space for the sudden breakdown or our heated exchange we had in the morning of my departure... the space is what makes it worse. I've had too much time to think about it and now that London's cloudy weather is not crowding my judgement, I'm regretting ever crossing paths with Dimitri.

Maybe he wants space for himself too. To think, to conclude, to hate me even more.

It's fine, I don't really care to speak to him.

I meekly gaze down at my finger then begin sliding off the thirty-five carats worth of weight and sparkle. "What are you doing! A married woman should never take her ring off!"

"It's just a piece of jewellery." I slip it off my finger and place it on the nightstand.

There's a faint blue line marring my finger. I rub it as if it's a wound that deeply hurts. The longer it stays off my finger, the more naked I feel. Abuela's eyebrows dent in the middle and she frowns at the ring. "Absolutely, aimless. So aimless. You've had one small argument with the man and you're already pulling your ring off. I wonder if you'll divorce him for expressing he wants to paint the walls yellow instead of lilac." she rumbles to herself with the joke she's made. I don't laugh with her and she frowns.

I sigh and rub my eyes in a tired hazy mess. "I would let him paint the walls yellow. But it wasn't easy as deciding what colour we liked best, it was about me lying to him to protect him. I can't tell him the truth because he'll want to know about Hugo and my poor Mama." I break out into a whimpered squeeze of a cry, the tears leak onto my skin.

Abuela ushers herself closer and wipes them away with her thumb. She gently mumbles I look better when I'm smiling.

"Men have two heads and they think with their second one, give him some time. He'll come around. And whereas Hugo is concerned - I loved him. I loved your father at one point because he was the reason why my Evangelía smiled. And now, I only have her memories." Abuela zones out, gazing into the distance. Her voice is slow and strained.

"All this anger and misery does your heart no good. It's finally time you forgive him, Bella. After your mother died, he wasn't able to keep himself together. That's not his fault, he lost a piece himself too."

"Never," Abuela frowns at me.

"Trust me, there comes a time where you get sick of hating people. There's absolutely no purpose to it."

"Dimitri's going to find out and he'll hate me for it. Dimitri's already friends with Hugo... you know Hugo gets everything he wants. Hugo's using him to get to me and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Tell him then. Tell him before Hugo, before the media and before you crumble. He has the right to know and he if hates you for it, then he was never the man for you."

I debate over her words. It's the truth, he is not the man for me because the sole reason for our marriage is based on a huge lie itself. How can I sit here and stare into Abuela's eyes and continue to lie like this. "I lied to him and he just doesn't like me lying to him. And if he finds out I've kept this from him, he'll leave."

Abuela sighs and clutches on her gold cross necklace, "Why would he leave you when he chose to marry you? He looks at you like you're the prettiest woman he's laid his eyes on. He's mad about you and you don't even realise it."

"That's not true." Dimitri and I are pretending.

"Mi flor, you're too naïve. Dimitri is not your father and that's a fact. He's a kind, compassionate and most importantly, he's a man that loves you,"

I don't know what love means. Abuela has described it as a sticky warm feeling that corrodes your insides with a mellow warmth. It's supposed to be the first fleeting look you pass but keep on staring. It's you and them sitting in silence but not complaining because their presence matters more. I've never felt that with him and for the duration of this facade, I never will.

Despite it all, Dimitri will just have to bare out the truth and the consequences will all come later.

"Okay, "I'll tell him."