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A mask I’m sure his grandfather fixed in place a long time ago.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “I thought it would be nice for us to have breakfast together out on the terrace. It’s a beautiful morning. And I would like it if you joined me.”
I wonder how much it took for him to get all of that out. It’s like every word was torture.
Is this a good sign? I wish I knew. I wish I didn’t always have to wonder what’s behind every comment, every simple invitation. “Sure, it would be nice to eat somewhere other than this room.”
“I thought it might.” He looks me up and down, and for a moment, I find myself hoping it means he’s taking an interest in me again. My heart sinks when all he says is, “I’m glad I bought you all those things back in Miami. At least you have something to wear.”
“Thank you for having everything sent over for me.” After all, we sort of left in a hurry, and I wasn’t exactly allowed to pack. But my clothes and other items arrived the day of the funeral, after Enzo left me, once I finally told him everything. For all I know, he was holding it back, waiting for me to fess up before giving me the dignity of wearing actual clothes. I’m not sure I even want to know where he dug up the nightgown I was wearing at first.
I have to follow him from the bedroom since this house is an impenetrable maze to me. I haven’t exactly had the opportunity to take a tour and learn the layout—and once I get an idea of the true size of the place, I have to wonder how long it would take me to figure it all out. It’s so huge, sprawling, and nobody has to tell me where the money came from to build this kind of palace. I think back to the drugs I had in my bag and wonder how much the De Luca family is responsible for spreading all over the country and maybe even further than that.
Downstairs, past the bright, sunny kitchen, are a set of doors that lead out onto the terrace he spoke of. And while I’m trying my best to be dignified and quiet, always keeping my eyes and ears open, I can’t help but gasp like the out-of-touch, unsophisticated rube I am when we step outside.
It’s one thing to survey the grounds from upstairs, but it’s another thing to be out here. The heady aroma of so many luscious flowers makes my head spin. A pergola spans the terrace from end to end, and around the wood slats above me wind flowering vines. Bees buzz here and there, almost lazy as they go from blossom to blossom.
And in front of me is a garden that brings to mind the word paradise. Fruit trees, enormous roses, all other kinds of flowers I can’t identify but would love to. I wonder if there’s a book around here somewhere that could help me name them all. There are paths cut out and neatly kept, without so much as a weed marring their beauty, winding almost aimlessly through acres of meticulously manicured land.
Beyond this sits rolling hills, and in the distance, a lake shimmers in the morning sun. Like diamonds, sparkling, making me wish I was in one of the handful of boats already out there. I don’t think I’ve ever longed quite so hard in all my life.
“This is stunning,” I breathe, stepping up to the railing separating the stone terrace from what lies before it.
I turn to Enzo, startled into smiling, and his lips twitch. “Would you believe it if I told you this was my grandfather’s pride and joy?”
“I’m not so sure. It doesn’t seem like…” I really should stop while I’m ahead, shouldn’t I? He doesn’t need to know what I really think about that old man. Sure, he meant a lot to Enzo, but he was kind of a pig, too.
He knows what I was thinking and now flashes a brief but genuine grin. “You’d be surprised how many hours he spent out here, thinking and planning. He always said he thought better when he was out from behind his desk. Please, have a seat.”
He even pulls out a chair for me, then takes a seat opposite mine. Between us is an array of different foods: cheeses, fruit, bread, little jars of jam and butter. “Coffee?” he asks, and I nod eagerly. The aroma is even stronger than that of the flowers, and the taste is rich, better than any coffee I’ve ever tasted at home. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, I guess.
“I normally take a light breakfast. I don’t know why, but my appetite changes when I’m out here.” He helps himself to various items and fills his plate, then I do the same. “The baker is second to none. I’m almost anxious for you to taste his desserts.” He sounds friendly, almost. Like he hasn’t been keeping me prisoner all this time. I almost ask him what he’s trying to get at? His moods are giving me whiplash.
“So there’s a lot of staff on the grounds?”
“A handful.” I guess he’s not in the mood to answer questions. All I want is to get a feel of what I’m up against here. I’ve been secluded all these days and nights, with nothing to do but think and wonder and worry. It’s a good thing I’ve never had a problem with my own company. I know some people might go out of their mind, if forced to be alone for very long.
He’s already pouring himself another cup of coffee by the time he starts to talk about what he really invited me out here for. ““Now that I’ve had a few days to think, I believe the two of us ought to get a few things straightened out. I’m sure you have many questions you would appreciate having answers to, as well.”
“Yes, now that—”
“I will answer them in my own time, if at all.” Just like that, the very thin veneer of politeness dissolves, leaving me with the man who has countless times threatened to kill me.
He settles back in his chair, slicing up an apple in his hand. Obviously, he knows the effect it has, that knife, even if it is small. It takes conscious effort, but I force myself to look into his eyes rather than follow the knife’s progress. He flips a slice into his mouth, crunching loudly. “We have a problem.”
Just one?
“We are officially married. You are a De Luca now, for better or for worse. There’s no going back. Putting it mildly, I know this isn’t what either of us signed up for.” There’s a bitter edge to his voice that I guess doesn’t come as a surprise.
Married. Now I understand that I hoped we could declare the whole thing null and void and get it over with. I could bring up the fact that we haven’t consummated the marriage yet and could have it annulled, but something tells me all I’d get in return would be a quick, hard fuck on top of this table. Anything to remind me I have no say in this.
He gazes out over the gardens, looking almost wistful for a heartbeat. “In the end, Grandfather had only one wish for me. It was one of the last things he said to me just before the ceremony. That I need to carry on the De Luca name. Through all of this, that has been his only goal. I can’t tell you how many times he tried to set me up with random women he thought would be a good wife, a good mother. Somebody to provide me with plenty of heirs to carry on the family name.” He glances my way, his mouth drawn into a thin line. “He thought you fit the bill.”
I hope he doesn’t expect me to be flattered by that. The man looked at me and treated me like some broodmare, like only what I have between my legs gives me any value. I suppose that was the case to him.
“With that in mind, I want to make a deal with you.” He tosses the core onto his empty plate but keeps his grip on the little knife. I already know how fond he is of knives, so this doesn’t exactly thrill me much.
“What kind of deal?” Is my voice shaking? My voice is definitely shaking. I get the feeling he enjoys that, anyway.
