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The boys finished their breakfast and I let them play outside as long as they promised to be back by noon. Then, in the silent house, I washed fruit and vegetables and laid them out in baskets on the table. I made bread and put it in the oven to rise. I put a seasoned chicken in with it and went out onto the porch with a glass of white wine.
In the distance, the faint hum of the motorboat sounded. I squinted up at the pale sun and the glassy horizon. A faint dot appeared where sea met sky.
They were back.
I went inside and laid the food on the table and disappeared downstairs in the wine cellar. It was cool and offered me a moment to gather my thoughts. My lower back and the space between my thighs twinged as I sank to a crouch. But this time the memory of last night didn’t arouse me, it just confused me even more.
This island had been so good to Lucien and I. Our marriage was the best it had ever been.
Was I ready to go home?
If I begged him for a different life in the city, what would that look like?
I closed my eyes. Last night he’d told me that if he could ask the gods for one thing, it would be to spend eternity with me. I envied the simplicity of his mind and emotions.
He didn’t struggle with anxiety about the unknown the way I did. Instead he planned and moved slowly, waiting out his prey until the right moment to strike arrived. He’d plotted to kill Romano for years before actually making his move. I knew he was capable of incredible patience, but witnessing it was something different.
He waited like a panther in the tall grass. Watching his enemies from afar. Studying them to learn their weakness and letting them get comfortable before he hunted them into a corner and landed a killing blow.
That thought scared me before, but now it was oddly comforting.
All I had to do was trust.
Overhead, I heard the floorboards creak and I pushed myself to my feet and grabbed two bottles of white wine that would pair well with lunch. Then I padded up the stairs and into the kitchen.
Hugo stood by the table, munching on a grape. He was barefoot, in his shorts, but at least his shirt was clean.
“Where’s your father?” I asked.
“Outside,” he said, reaching for a piece of chicken.
“Wait,” I told him firmly. “We’ll eat in a moment.”
Rebellion flashed in his eyes. He scowled and grabbed at the chicken and I let out a quiet gasp. We both froze, gazing at each other over the table. Nervously, he glanced down the hall like he was expecting Lucien to appear.
“Hugo,” I said quietly. “Do I need to have your father talk to you?”
He pulled his hand back and shook his head hard. “No, mom. Sorry.”
I hoped the reason the boys always listened to Lucien was out of respect, but I knew there was also an element of fear. Everyone was a little afraid of Lucien, despite how much we loved him. There was just something about all his ice and quiet that still unsettled even the ones closest to him.
“Go wash your hands,” I said. “Please.”
He ducked out of the dining room and ran past me into the hall bathroom. I stood there, holding the bottles of wine to my chest. My sons were getting so wild and unruly here on the island. It was fine now because they were small.
But someday they would be men. As powerful as their father.
Would it even matter if I brought them back to the city and put them in school? They were Lucien’s wild sons and their nature was woven into their bones.
Unsettled, I set the wine down and went to the door. Lucien was walking up the walkway and behind him was Viktor Anatole Borisyuk. As my eyes adjusted, I was surprised to find he hadn’t changed much in the last ten years. Living in New Orleans must have suited him.
They approached me and Lucien stepped aside.
“Viktor,” he said. “My wife.”
My mind went back to the first time I’d met him, before I was married. I held out my hand and he shook it, smiling his wide, shark-like grin.
“Strange to be meeting like this so many years later,” he said. “You look very well, Olivia.”
