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“I’m sorry, Amara. But he has been using you, and not for the reasons he gave you.”
“No! Stop it.” Tugging her hands from his, she infused her voice with every ounce of icy authority she’d learned at Gio’s side. “I refuse to listen to this slander any longer.”
“It isn’t slander, Amara. I wish it were. I’m so sorry.”
The sound of her hand connecting with his cheek echoed around the room. For the first time in her life, she saw Emilio Rinaldi caught completely off guard. Eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open, he lifted a hand to the rapidly reddening skin.
She would have sworn the temperature in the room dropped several degrees when he stood. “You’re confined to your room for the rest of the night. Benny will bring your dinner in to you.”
“You’re leaving?” she asked, surprised. She’d expected to be tossed over his knee the second he recovered from the shock of what she’d done.
“I don’t trust myself to touch you right now. You will be punished, properly, before bed.”
With that, he turned and stalked from the room without so much as a glance back at her.
* * *
There wasn’t a clockin her room, but it had to have been hours before Benny finally came in, carrying a tray with her dinner. Hours for her to sit and contemplate what Emilio had told her before she’d driven him away.
Hours for her to come to the sickening, gut-wrenching conclusion that he may have been telling her the truth.
She’d raged, calling him every foul name she could think of, and some she made up just for the occasion. When she’d finally worn herself out, she’d stretched out on the floor to think.
Why would Emilio lie to her? To force her to marry him? She’d dismissed the idea as soon as it had popped into her head. If he wanted to marry her, there were easier ways to win her acquiescence.
But what other reason could he have had? There was no other reason she could think of for why Emilio would make up such a horrible, spiteful lie about Uncle Gio.
The only thread of hope she had left to cling to was that Emilio had simply been mistaken. He’d been given bad information, or correct information that he’d somehow misinterpreted.
When the door opened at dinnertime, she was still stretched out flat on her back with her eyes closed, trying to make sense of it all.
“Dinnertime, princess.”
Tears burned her eyes and she threw an arm over her face. “I’m not a princess. I’m a horrible witch.”
“You are not. You had a bit of a temper tantrum is all. Come eat your dinner.”
It didn’t surprise her that Emilio had obviously shared their argument with Benny, but it was embarrassing all the same that he knew about her childish behavior. “I’m not hungry.”
“Then will you at least sit with me while I eat? It isn’t polite to make a poor old man like myself eat alone.”
Despite her misery, she felt her lips twitch in response to his teasing. “You’re not that old, Benny.”
“Much older than you, and even Mr. Rinaldi. Take pity on your elders, Miss Amara.”
With a dramatic sigh, she rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself up to walk over to the table. “Happy?” she asked when she dropped into the chair beside him.
“Very. Thank you.” He lifted the silver domed lid off of the serving platter and she nearly moaned with pleasure. The prime rib smelled amazing and looked even better. Even the vegetables smelled wonderful.
Benny picked up one of the plates from the tray and loaded it with the mouth-watering meal. “So,” he said as he cut into a slice of meat. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“Didn’t Daddy tell you?”
“He did, but I’d like to hear your side of things. Maybe your daddy missed something I can help him understand better before he comes in here to punish you.”
Butterflies danced in her tummy at the wordpunish. Somehow, hearing the word said in Benny’s calm, sweet voice made it even more ominous than when her daddy had said it earlier.
“Does it matter?” She slumped in her chair. “He’s still going to beat me.”
