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“And why is that?” When I frown in confusion, he clarifies. “Was your mother unable to have any more?”
“I really don’t know. I guess it just never happened for them.”
“Are your parents healthy?”
“As far as I know, yes. I don’t know of any history of illness in my family on either side.”
“And your parents, how many siblings do they have?”
I’m so damn confused. What is the point of all of this? Should I have brought a family album along with me before essentially being kidnapped? “Um, my father has two sisters, and my mom has one of each.”
“Not exactly a large family, but respectable.”
I shrug because what am I supposed to say? I don’t even know if what I told him matches up to the girl he thinks I am.
He looks me up and down without bothering to hide it. “You look healthy enough. And you’re a pleasure to look at, if you’ll permit an old man to reflect on what he’d do if he was a few decades younger.” My cheeks go warm, and I duck my head, both slightly flattered and a lot more disgusted. “You’ll make beautiful babies with my grandson. They will certainly be blessed genetically.”
That’s all this is about. Wanting children to grow the family. That’s what all these questions have been leading to. He wants to make sure I can give him lots of great-grandchildren. I don’t know if that’s sort of sweet or completely disgusting, considering the family he wants me to build. A bunch of little Enzo clones? No fucking chance. I would never raise a child the way he raised his grandson. I would want my children to have a chance in life of being actual, decent people. Not some twisted, haunted shells.
I realize he’s waiting for me to say something. How am I supposed to respond to that? “I’m glad you approve.”
His thin mouth stretches in a smile that goes at least part way toward making him seem more human and approachable. But I’m not fooling myself. This isn’t some kindly old man. He’s a viper if ever I saw one, and anybody stupid enough to underestimate him because of his age would deserve whatever they got.
He even goes so far as to pat my hand, his skin thin and almost papery. “Your marriage to my Enzo is going to cement a great deal between our families,” he predicts, still smiling.
And just as suddenly as a snake striking, his hand tightens around my wrist until pain races up my arm. “But if you don’t get pregnant quickly,” he continues, his voice lower now, “I will kill you myself and send your body to your father. No more deal.”
I can’t say anything. I’m sure he doesn’t even want me to respond. I’m too shocked to do anything but sit still, trembling despite my best efforts to hide it, while he gestures to his guards before standing and leaving the room without another word.
I have to get pregnant, or he’s going to kill me. I just met the man, but I know in my heart that was not an idle threat.
22
ENZO
What a fucking day. Between my grandfather coming over and all the deliveries for the wedding, I’m beyond exhausted by the time all is said and done. It’s well past eight o’clock by the time the townhouse empties out, leaving just Elena and me. I never knew getting married would end up being such a headache, but of course, this situation is more fraught with tension than it might be otherwise. Namely, because I don’t trust Alvarez as far as I can throw him. We’ve made arrangements for men to guard the house, the backyard where the ceremony will take place, all of it. Alvarez will have men of his own, so we’ve agreed on how many armed bodyguards both families can use on the day of the ceremony.
Three days. Three days from now. It’s probably for the best that the ceremony will take place so soon. Less time for second-guessing everything, less time for regret. No, I can spend the rest of my life regretting the decisions I’ve made. Lucky me.
Now, all I want is a little peace and quiet as I step into the house after having gone over arrangements yet another time, in this case, with the minister charged with performing the ceremony. I tuck my phone into my pocket and notice for the first time the way my stomach is growling. The kitchen is dark, the stove cold. It doesn’t look like Elena fixed herself any dinner. It might not be a bad idea to order something in and sit down together and catch her up on some of the arrangements we made today. Not that it matters one way or another—she has no say in any of this, something I’m sure she’s aware of by now—but it feels like I should at least inform her of what she’s in for on our so-called big day.
I almost hate who she’s turning me into. Since when am I considerate? Life is much easier when I’m the only person I’m concerned with.
It surprises me to find her on the sofa, curled in a ball, holding a pillow to her chest. She never turned on a light and is now lying in darkness.
And she’s crying.
I’m torn. Crying has never been something I’ve dealt well with, no matter who’s doing it. Emotions, in general, are not my forte. I don’t feel like sitting around and watching her drip snot all over everything, and God forbid she wants me to hold her or something awkward like that.
At the same time, the little sounds she makes remind me of a wounded animal. I might be a monster, but a wounded animal is not something I can simply pass by and pretend I didn’t notice.
“What’s wrong?”
She jumps like she truly didn’t realize I was standing here, not ten feet from where she’s weeping. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. I should have gone upstairs or something so you wouldn’t have to worry about me.”
I don’t know if she means it or if she’s only looking for sympathy. “It’s a little late for that now, isn’t it?” I take a seat on the coffee table, facing her. “What’s happening? Nervous about the wedding?”
“No. I mean, yes, of course I am. This is all happening so fast, like I’m on a train and can’t control the speed. I’m afraid it’s going to derail.”
