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And there was laughter in her voice as she said it. In her eyes, too, making the blue into a sparkle that was brighter than the candles.
A sparkle that faded the longer she gazed at him.
“It is a long, long time indeed since I have been viewed as the better of two options,” he said darkly.
“People always tell you the devil you know is better,” Angelina said, a wisdom beyond her years where that sparkle had been, then. “But I have never thought so. There’s more scope for growth in the unknown. There has to be.”
“How would you know such a thing? Did they teach it in the convent?”
Again, her lips moved into something wry. “Ask me in three months and two days or so.”
And despite himself, Benedetto laughed.
What was the harm in pretending, just for a little while, that this was real? That it could be precisely what it seemed. No more, no less. Would that really be the worst thing that ever happened?
He suspected he knew the answer. But he ignored it.
When they finished eating, he led her out onto one of the balconies, this one equipped with a fire pit built into the stone, benches all around, and a hot tub on one end with nothing before it but the sea. He could imagine winter nights in that tub, the two of them wound around each other—
But he stopped himself, because she wouldn’t be here when winter came.
He watched as she stood at the rail, the sea breeze playing with her hair, making it seem more like spun silver than before.
Or making him feel like spun silver himself, which should have appalled him.
“You look remarkably happy.” The words felt like a kind of curse as they came out of his mouth. As if he was asking for trouble. Or tempting fate too directly, standing there beside her. It was as if his heart seized up in his chest, then beat too hard, beating out a warning. “Particularly for a woman who married a monster today.”
She turned her dreamy face to his and then his fingers were there, helping the breeze at its work, teasing her hair into curls and lifting them seemingly at random.
“If you think about it,” she said softly, “we are all of us monsters. In our hearts, most of all.”
“Are you already forgiving me?” Benedetto asked, though it seemed to him that the world had gone still. The tide had stopped turning, the planet had stopped spinning, and there was only Angelina. His last, best wife and her gaze upon him, direct and true, like his own north star. “Don’t you think that might be premature?”
“Do you need forgiveness?”
Something inside him crumbled at that. It was a question no one had ever asked him. Because everyone thought they already knew all the answers to the mystery that was Benedetto Franceschi. Everyone believed they were privy to the whole story.
Or they preferred to make up their own.
Over and over again.
“Carlota,” he heard himself say. And though he was horrified, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “I should never have married her.”
Angelina’s gaze moved over his face, but he didn’t see the revulsion he expected. Or anything like an accusation. It made him...hurt.
“I thought you had to marry her.” She tilted her head slightly. “Isn’t that what you said?”
“That was the understanding, but I doubt very much we would have been marched down the aisle with shotguns in our backs if we’d refused.” He let go of her hair and straightened from the rail. And no matter how many times he asked himself what he thought he was doing, he couldn’t seem to stop. “Still, we were both aware of our duty. I thought she was like me—resigned to our reality, but happy enough to play whatever games we needed to along the way. Because as soon as the line was secure, we could do as we liked. And even before, for that matter. All that needed to happen was that we set aside a certain period of time of strict fidelity to ensure paternity.”
“That sounds very dry and matter-of-fact. We are talking about sex and marriage and relationships, are we not?”
“We are talking about ancient bloodlines,” Benedetto replied. “Ancient bloodlines require ancient solutions to problems like heirs. And once the deed was done, we could carry on as we pleased. Another grand old tradition.”
Angelina blinked. “You do know that science exists, don’t you? No need to do the deed at all.”
He should have stopped talking. He shouldn’t have started. But he didn’t stop.
“You must understand, Angelina. Carlota and I knew we were to be married before either one of us had any idea what that meant. We were intended for each other, and everything we learned about the opposite sex we learned in the shadow of that reality. And when it finally came time to do our duty, she suggested we jump right in and get the heir taken care of, rather than messing about with invasive medical procedures we would inevitably have to discuss in the press. We were friends. We were in it together. She rather thought we should handle things the old-fashioned way because it was quicker and easier. Theoretically.”
