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“Well, that’s how things are, isn’t it?” My mother’s tone is breezy as she dips her spoon into her soup. “We ladies do as we’re told, and keep the traditions going. And in exchange, we live quite a comfortable and pleasant life. I’ll have to think of some ways to help keep you occupied, dear, once the wedding is over. I’m sure you’ll need it, until the first little Carravella comes along.”
Amalie winces, and I fight to keep the frown off of my face.Surely she can’t expect that I’m going to do anything other than get her pregnant as quickly as possible?My entire goal, in fact, is to accomplish that as speedily as I can, so that I can turn my attention to other things—and to other women. The sooner I resolve the grip that she seems to have on my mind and my desire, the better—and I can’t think of any better way to accomplish that than to handle the task she’s meant for, and then put as much space between us as possible. A long business trip overseas, maybe, until the baby is born.
“—just thrilled for grandchildren,” my mother is continuing on, her face wreathed in a polite smile. “Bianca hasn’t made a good marriage yet, so until we manage that, David is our only hope.”
The look that my mother casts my way makes me uncomfortable, knowing what’s behind it, but I try not to let it show. Amalie had her secrets in Ibiza, and I have mine here. There are things that, if I have my way, she’ll never know.
She doesn’t need to.
“The wedding is all planned,” she continues. My father glances at her, but says nothing, preferring to remain quiet while my mother goes on. “I’ve quite enjoyed putting it all together.”
“I can’t wait to find out whatmywedding will look like.” Amalie’s voice isjustthis side of polite, her tone smooth, but I know her well enough to hear the needling sound just beneath it. I squeeze her thigh once more, but I can tell she’s ignoring me.
“Well.” My mother’s voice is tight and formal, the way it always is. “We couldn’t allow your family’s recent disgrace to tarnish your wedding to our son. No one will eventhinkof it, with something like this being thrown to celebrate.”
I can feel the vibration that goes through Amalie’s body at that.
“Like I said.” My father looks at her, his face impassive. “It was quite the deal your mother struck for us to take you on. She spared nothing in convincing me.” There’s an edge of bitterness to his voice that makes me wonderexactlywhat it was that Marianne Leone said, which of our family’s skeletons she threw in his face. “Our families have had dealings in the past. This seems to be a good move for both of us, but especially for you, dear.”
“I never heard of any of those dealings.” Amalie licks her lips, reaching for her water glass as the soup course is swept away and replaced with salads. “I can’t recall having heard the name Carravella at all, actually.”
“Well, you haven’t gotten out much, have you, dear?” My mother has that same taut, polite smile plastered on her face. “Your family kept you quite sheltered.”
“Maybe I can show you around Boston, before you leave.” Bianca pipes up, clearly trying to break some of the tension around the table. An admirable effort, but not one that I’m sure will have much of an effect. “There’ssomuch to see, and—”
“Well, that will be up to David.” My mother smiles primly, and I feel another shudder of anger go through Amalie. “I’m sure he has plans for them, after they’re married. You’re probably eager to get back to the mansion, aren’t you?”
“Where is your home?” Amalie interrupts, and I give her a warning look. Her etiquette is abominable, and I make a mental note to talk to her about it before she’s required to be on my arm for some dinner or gala. “You haven’t said anything about it.”
“I thought I’d keep it a surprise for after the wedding,” I tell her smoothly, my hand still resting firmly on her thigh. “Now, why don’t you tell me about dinner,mama? You said something about a new cook—”
My mother ismorethan eager to go into detail about how she planned the menu for tonight. She has two great loves in her life—spending my father’s money and planning dinner parties. I know that she must have spent days, if not weeks, agonizing over exactly what to serve tonight. Amalie has probably barely noticed any of it, which irrationally irritates me, but my mother is thrilled that anyone has taken an interest in it.
“I did replace the cook,” she says, taking a small bite of salad. “The last one kept making so many substitutions and changes! Just so difficult to find good help that can follow instructions—”
“I can’t imagine,” Amalie says dryly. “After all, isn’t that why someone goes to culinary school? To have someone else who’s never been given their opinion about the recipes?”
“Amalie!” I growl her name under my breath, fortunately just as the courses are switched again. I catch a glimpse of my mother’s face—she never lets her composure slip, but I can tell Amalie’s comment upset her.
She goes silent, but I can feel the tension around the table thicken. The main course is served—a lamb roast with crisply roasted root vegetables and whipped garlic potatoes—and Amalie sits there quietly through it, her frame tense. I can tell from her expression that she’s unhappy, and I feel a wave of bitterness wash through me.
The moment dinner is finished, I take her arm, leaning towards her. “I want to speak to you alone,” I murmur, and I feel her stiffen, but she nods.
“We’ll have dessert and drinks in the living room,” my mother says with a forced brightness, and I stand up along with Amalie, giving her a tight smile.
“Go ahead,” I tell the others. “We’ll meet you in there shortly.”
Amalie follows me as I lead her down the hall, opening the door to a powder room and stepping inside with her. I lock the door behind us, rounding on her instantly as she leans back against the countertop, her eyes narrowed as she looks at me.
“Well?” She crosses her arms over her breasts. “What is it that you want to yell at me about? I can see that look on your face. Go ahead.”
“Your attitude is entirely inappropriate.” I don’t shout it, but she glares at me as if I did. “You can’t speak to my family like that. You can’tbehavelike that. Not if you want to be—”
“I don’t.” She says it curtly, tipping her chin up. “I don’t want to be your wife. Butyourfamily, andmymother, andyoudecided that I would be. So please, forgive me for not simpering and smiling over your mother’s idiotic conversation, and pretending like this is the warm family reception I always dreamed of.”
“I haven’t said anything rude about your mother—”
“Feel free to!” Amalie throws up her hands. “I can’t stand my mother. And I don’t like yours. She’s selfish and arrogant, and I’m beginning to wonder how much of that is in you, too, since it seems like I don’t know you at all.”
