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But I don’t. Because I promised to protect Caroline, even if I don’t trust the feelings she evokes in me.
“Great. Thanks.” My voice is tight, deadpan, but he doesn’t seem to notice or take the hint.
“I’d also like to invite you two to a fundraising gala I’m hosting in July. Black-tie, at the Montalto Arts Center. Your appearance would do wonders for my reelection campaign, and I’d love to get to be the one to introduce you as a married couple to the world for the first time.”
The thought of being stuck at any event with him makes my ulcer flare, but I nod instead, hoping to usher him out. “Sounds good. I’ll have to check my schedule, but I’m always looking for events to attend. It’s good to keep up appearances, wouldn’t you say, Senator?”
His eyes narrow, his gaze attempting to dart back to his daughter, but I wedge myself further between them. With an exasperated huff, he smooths down the blue sweater vest he has on, clears his throat, and exits the same way he came in.
Benito pokes his bald head inside, an apologetic look on his face, but I shake my head. I’ll deal with his dumbass later.
Caroline climbs to her feet, clutching my jacket around her small form, and the sight of my clothing swallowing her has my mouth drying. But the look on her face, her eyes downcast and sullen, her features somehow sunken, has me retreating.
She glances at Luca’s passed out body, then up at me through watery blue eyes. I don’t understand what’s happening, why the fight’s suddenly drained from her life force, and it throws me off-balance.
I want to reach out and draw her to me, promise her that whatever the hell’s going on, it’ll all be okay. That I can help her, keep her safe. But something tells me she won’t believe me.
As she turns on her heel, leaving her shorts across the room and me with her injured cousin, I’m fucking sure of it.
AN INVISIBLE CHASM opens up between Elia and me in the weeks following my father’s unwanted drop-in, not that we necessarily needed the help. It’s hard to get close to someone who spends all his time at the elusive Crimson—a place I’ve been instructed not to step foot into—or in our pool out back, swimming laps like he’s trying to escape his demons.
I guess he doesn’t know how they embed themselves in your skin, locking in with a ferocity that can’t be outrun—only slain.
Normally, I wouldn’t cower from my father’s leering gaze, but being fully naked around the man brings back memories I’m just not willing to let resurface. It’s taken a lot of willpower to get over some of the things he did and said to me as part of the grooming process, and I won’t suddenly let myself regress.
Elia wanted answers, I could tell, but I’m not looking to give them. My battles are my own to fight, and although I married him for a reason, I’m not actually looking for a savior. Just some revenge.
The distance between us shouldn’t matter to me, especially considering my growing attraction to him. But still, when I’m assigned a new bodyguard—Leonardo Fanucci, a brute of a man who doesn’t speak or blink or seem to even breathe—I can’t help feeling like I’m being punished.
And, well, maybe I am. I did almost fuck one of his soldiers, and without established boundaries and expectations, it’s hard to know where exactly we draw the line. Apparently, he draws it at that.
Good to know.
Liv comes to visit the week after, during one of Elia’s frequent stretches where he sleeps at his office and only checks in a few times a day to make sure I’m not dead. I’m working on cran-orange muffins, a recipe handed down through generations on my mother’s side, when she saunters in, black hair tightly braided and pulled back off her neck.
Leo stands just inside the front door, hands crossed over his crotch, watching me.Alwayswatching. Like the cameras hidden around the house aren’t enough for my husband.
“Oh, good, I’m starving.” She’s wearing a beige pantsuit with a deep purple undershirt, indicating her departure from work, and I can’t help the soft stab of envy that pricks my stomach.
I’d always expected to own a little bakery by this point in life, to be spending my time baking professionally and sharing my craft with King’s Trace.
But here I sit, still baking only for myself.
“Cranberry-orange,” I tell her, watching as she plucks a muffin from one of eight tins, tearing off a piece of the top and stuffing it in her mouth. “Allergies?”
She waves me off. “Don’t worry about that; I’ve got an epi-pen. I’d have to eat like twenty of these for it to really flare up.”
“Fine, but don’t expect me to dig around in your car for the pen.”
Laughing, she plops down on one of the barstools at the island, idly chewing. She glances around the kitchen, eyes flickering between me and the muffins. I quirk an eyebrow, daring her to comment.
The thing about Olivia is that she’s never, ever, afraid to speak up, especially for something she believes in. She’s the stronger of us two, willing to go toe-to-toe with anyone standing in the way of her getting what she wants.
Unfortunately, she’s also always been vocal about my choices, and the fact that I don’t appear to have a backbone.
That’s what all the major news outlets in Maine report on me, anyway; that I’m spineless. A jellyfish, willing to do my father’s bidding and suck whatever cock he needs me to. A vessel to help dig him out of debt and look good for his campaigns.
Liv sees it and hates it. Always has. So, it doesn’t exactly come as a surprise that she’s against my marriage, especially knowing how close it seemed I was to getting out from under my father’s thumb.
