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"She's in her own room,” I inform her. “She has been since last night."
"I know." Her lips curve into a mischievous grin.
My eyes narrow. "How long have you been back home?"
"Since this morning." She shrugs. "Presumably not long after you went to bed."
"I trust I don't need to warn you to leave her alone." My voice carries an edge to it Mercedes doesn't miss.
She eyes me speculatively. "Of course, brother. I would never dream of interfering."
Now she's toying with me.
"I have work to do," I tell her. "If you're going to lurk around The Manor, you will need to stay out of the way. And find something productive to do with your time. I can't have you sitting idle."
"No, we can't have that," she says bitterly. "The elders surely wouldn't like it."
"Mercedes." My jaw clenches.
She rolls her eyes. "I'm going to visit the chapel. I'll pray forgiveness for my many sins."
"I expect that should keep you occupied for the rest of the night," I answer dryly.
She snorts and leaves me to shower and dress. It is already later than I would like, and I have work to do. Since the incident, I have not been able to sleep through the night. I often find myself wandering the halls of The Manor or working until the sun has risen before I am exhausted enough to close my eyes and seek rest.
Typically, my day would begin in the study downstairs. My position within IVI consists of managing the funds. I am tasked with distributing payments, investing collective earnings to amplify our wealth, managing stocks and bonds, and shuttling money into offshore accounts.
The founding families within The Society come from old money. They were wealthy to begin with. Now, they are gods among men. In no small part, thanks to me.
Since I took over Eli's position, I have elevated our status considerably. Numbers are what I'm good at. I can stare at the data all day, recognizing patterns, predicting trends, deciphering the undecipherable. I do not possess the same talent for humans.
Ivy Moreno is an abstract equation, and I feel as though I'm missing a variable required to understand her. I had so many notions about what she was, but so far, she is proving most of my theories incorrect. There is a burning need in me to analyze her until I crack her code and all of her pitiful little secrets spill out.
This desire unsettles me. And still, I can't deny it. As I walk down the corridor, I forget about going straight to my study and continue to her suite. Work will not come until I have looked at her at least once. This much, I think is a logical indulgence.
The lock unbolts, and the door creaks open, and I am greeted by only a few waning flames from the candles nearly gone. The room is silent and still, a sliver of moonlight slicing in from the window to bathe the silhouette of Ivy's body in the large bed.
I move closer to examine her, noting the way her dark hair spills across the silk pillow. She is curled into herself, and even in sleep, she appears tormented. It puzzles me exceedingly as I consider the reasons. Beyond myself, I am certain other things haunt her dreams. But I am not yet sure what they could be.
I sit down beside her on the bed. She does not stir, even as I smooth a strand of hair away from her face. She is beautiful. I will give her that much. Already, my groin is tightening in memory of the way she felt around me last night. The way her body came alive for me, despite how much she wanted to resist.
The question is why. Why did she marry me without a fight? Why did she give herself over so willingly? There must be a reason. And it will eat at me until I uncover it.
She murmurs something in her sleep and then clutches her stomach as if it pains her. My brows furrow, and I don't realize my hand is moving to touch her until it's already there. On top of hers.
The cold of my skin against hers startles her awake, and she gasps as her eyes fly open to meet mine.
"Santiago." My name falls from her lips like a curse.
She pulls herself upright, curling her knees into her chest, peering back at me with an innocence I want to despise. But when I see the gash on her forehead, an unidentified emotion rolls through me like a black cloud.
"What happened?" I reach out to touch her and she dips her head.
When my fingers fall across her skin, she does not flinch. She does not close her eyes or shudder. Instead, she seems to draw in a sharp, shaky breath as if to fortify herself. I suppose she is trying to be brave. To prove she is not frightened of me. But her silence is grating at my last nerve, and the clawing desperation to know who hurt her is poisoning me from the inside out.
