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Izzy nodded. “I should have come back sooner than this. I should have forgiven him.”
“I didn’t.”
“It should have been me here in your place,” she said, her eyes downcast.
“I don’t want to think about that.”
“If it weren’t for me getting pregnant…”
“Do you keep in touch with the father?” I wanted to know who he was. It didn’t matter anymore, not now that Papa was gone, and even if he had found out, it couldn’t have mattered then either.
Salvatore chose that moment to walk into the living room. “I could smell the cookies from the study.” His eyes met mine first, his expression guarded, almost cautious.
“I baked them. Rainey helped,” Effie proudly said.
“Did you now? May I?”
She smiled, nodding.
He picked one up and took a bite. “Well, you did a good job. They’re the best cookies I’ve ever had.”
Effie gave him a big smile. “They are?”
“Yep. And Rainey’s a good cook, so that says something.”
Izzy checked her watch. “We should get going.”
“You can’t stay longer?” I didn’t want her to go. I didn’t want to be alone with him.
“I’ve got people coming to help with the house, and we’ll be back with bathing suits soon. Maybe you can come help? I’m packing up some things and moving them to the attic, getting rid of some things. Maybe you want to do your room?
I glanced at Salvatore, hating that I had to ask his permission. Ask him for a ride. Ask him for everything.
“When?” he asked.
Izzy shrugged her shoulder. “Tomorrow or the next day.”
“I think we can manage that.”
I felt like I went from my father’s house, to the nuns, to Salvatore Benedetti’s. I was powerless to decide anything for myself.
“Luce?” Izzy asked.
I nodded, adjusting my expression. “My calendar is free,” I said, giving Salvatore a smirk.
He didn’t react.
“Great, we’ll see you then. Come on, Effie, time to go back home.”
“Ugh. Home is so boring,” she said, her shoulders slumping.
“No, it’s not. We’ve just got to find your box of toys. Maybe you can pack up a couple of those cookies for home.”
I picked up a napkin, tucked the remaining cookies into it, and handed it to Effie.
“Here you go, honey. Don’t forget your bathing suit the next time you come, by the way.”
“I won’t, Aunt Lucia.”
She gave me a hug. Again came the thought that I’d missed out on the first years of my niece’s life. I didn’t know her. I hardly knew Izzy anymore. Or Luke.
Were Luke and Izzy really planning an attack on the Benedetti family? What did that mean for Salvatore?
Salvatore walked with us to the door. Once they had driven off and were out of view, he closed it. We stood in the foyer.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done what I did.”
Shit. An apology was the last thing I’d expected. If he’d locked me in a room, been a beast to me, it would make more sense. I could hate him. But an apology? Him offering to take me to my sister’s?
“I hope we can forget it and start again,” he added.
I think both of us found it hard to hold each other’s gaze, and the last thing I wanted to do was talk about what happened, so I nodded. “Okay.”
He smiled a small smile. “Thank you.”
“If you ever do something like that again, Salvatore, I will kill you.”
His eyes narrowed, and apologetic Salvatore was instantly gone. “You don’t have to threaten me with murder. I said I was sorry.”
He held my gaze until I blinked and nodded, looking down, my attention absorbed by an invisible piece of lint on my blouse.
“Are you really going to take me to help my sister?”
“You’re not a prisoner, contrary to what you think, Lucia. This contract between us, the circumstances of our families, those things bind us, and although I have expectations of you and won’t tolerate misplaced loyalty, I’m not interested in keeping a prisoner. Neither you nor I can get out of this, even if we wanted to. We have to find some way to live with it.”
Even if we wanted to. Did that mean he didn’t want to? And what did I want?
“I feel like a prisoner. I’m constantly watched. I couldn’t visit with my sister without Marco standing by. I have nothing to do here. You have a cook, people who clean…”
He looked confused. “You’re neither a cook nor a cleaner.”
“But I am your property. You said so yourself. I have a degree, I want to work, but—”
His mouth tightened, and he looked away for a moment. “Come into my study, Lucia.”
“Why?” I didn’t trust him. And as much as I hated to admit it, he scared me.
“So we can talk. That’s all.”
I didn’t move.
“I promise.”
After a moment, I nodded. He gestured for me to go ahead and followed close behind me, opening the door to the study once we reached it and letting me inside. Once he’d closed the door, he moved behind his large desk. I looked around the room. The walls were painted a dark shade of gray, and two windows overlooked the backyard and the forest beyond. The furnishings were made of a dark, heavy wood, and his desk, the focal point, must have been an antique. Directly before it stood a leather sofa, and the shelves along two of the walls contained floor-to-ceiling books. Set apart from the desk and sofa was an armchair, the leather well-worn, with a matching ottoman at its foot. The reading lamp behind the chair was on, and although it was sunny outside, this room remained darker. Masculine. Even the scent here was different, all man.
