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“What can I do for you, Antonio?” I motion for him to have a seat, while I step toward the chair behind the desk.
“This is a social call, not a business meeting. Why don’t we sit near the fireplace?”
All week I’ve been entertaining men claiming to be paying condolence calls, but who were really only interested in the vineyards.Sitting in my father’s chair gave me the courage to tell themno, even when they became insistent.I need that courage now.
“I’m more comfortable here,” I reply, easing into the chair, with my spine steely against the firm leather back.
Antonio scratches his temple and smiles. It’s not a genuine smile, but more like the way lips might contort when someone is struggling for self-control.
While waiting for him to take a seat, I lace my fingers together tightly, so my hands don’t shake. As the seconds pass, I become more and more convinced that he doesn’t plan on sitting.
While I adjust my bottom on the seat, looking for some of the courage that was here just yesterday, Antonio splays both hands on the desk and leans over, his mouth an inch from the top of my head.
“I don’t give a damn where you’d be more comfortable. We’ll sit by the fireplace.” His edict is issued in a stern whisper, which makes it seem even more menacing. “Don’t make me say it again.”
8
Daniela
Igrew up in a world where there is plenty of tough talk and no shortage of tough actions to back it up, but no one speaks to me like that—not in this house. At least they didn’t when my father was alive.
I swallow hard and try to calm my pounding heart. But I don’t move. I’m not sure I can move.
He steps back, still towering over me. “I’m a guest,” he says in a voice as tightly restrained as his movements. “In your home. And as ridiculous as it is, it appears that you’re in charge of the estate now. My comfort, not yours, is something that should concern you.”
I’m normally quite patient, and good manners have been drilled into me since the moment I took my first breath. But I’ve had my fill of his insults.More than my fill.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, holding my tongue, before I say something I’ll regret. If I don’t want this to escalate, I need to keep myself in check, because clearly no one checks him.
This is your house, Daniela. Act like it.
I can’t grind the heel of my riding boot into his balls like he deserves, and I’m not foolish enough to think I can toss Antonio Huntsman out on the street. But I do need to show some kind of authority, otherwise he’ll continue to humiliate me.
If he wants the property, he’s certainly going about it in a strange way. Maybe he thinks he’ll wear me down until I agree to sell it, just so he’ll leave.
That’s not happening. I’ll burn everything to the ground before I let anyone named Huntsman have my mother’s vineyards.
From the corner of my eye, I see him glowering at me. I can almost feel the burn on my scalp.
The one thing I’m sure about is that he’s not going anywhere without a fight.
Let him make an offer for the property, and you can politely refuse him.It might get a little testy, but then he’ll leave—just like the others.
He’s not like the others,a little voice in my head warns. But I can’t come up with a better idea.
I raise my chin. “Well, I certainly don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
It’s not my intention, but the words tumble out like an exaggerated eyeroll that I doubt he appreciates. Antonio doesn’t say anything, but there’s a growing intensity vibrating off him, and I wouldn’t be shocked if he grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me over to the sitting area near the fireplace.
Before he makes a move, I stand and step away from the safety of the antique desk that embodies my father and everything he valued. The safety is merely an illusion I’ve been clinging to since he died. Nothing is safe around Huntsman. Certainly not me. Even my father’s sturdy desk can’t change that fact.
“The door,” he says, pointedly, with his brow raised.
Something inside me snaps.
Fuck you!I want to scream in his face.Fuck you!
Don’t stoop to his level,good sense chides.I won’t, but I’m done being a doormat.
