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That could very well be what happened to the brunette woman whose remaining effects are tucked away in the dusty attic of my new husband’s crumbling home.
I hadn’t heard anything about David having been married before. But at the same time, I realize with that growing sense of trepidation, I also don’t know that hehasn’t. I never thought to ask—and to tell the truth, I’m not sure if I would have gotten an answer. He might have simply said, as he has about other things, that it’snone of my business.
It’s starting to feel as if it very much might be.
With no staff to help, I take my suitcase and garment bag downstairs, after changing into something that might make David less inclined to comment on my choice of outfit for the flight. I catch him glancing over me when I step back into the living room, taking in the green leaf-print sundress and nude espadrilles I chose, and his mouth twitches.
“Dressed for summer vacation, I see,” he says dryly, and that furious heat nearly overtakes me again.
“Do youeverhave anything nice to say?” I snap, setting down my suitcase with a hardthumpagainst the wooden floor. “Doeseverythinghave to be a jibe?”
David shrugs, unfolding his long, leanly muscled body from the couch and standing. I hate him for how handsome he is, for how he makes my heart trip in my chest as he walks towards me, standing close enough that I could touch him—if I wasn’t so focused on making certain that he doesn’t get to know how much I want to.
“I can say nice things.” His dark eyes glint with barely restrained humor as he reaches for my suitcase. “For instance, I’m impressed that you packed so lightly this time.”
“We’re only going for the weekend.” I tilt my chin up, glaring at him. “Why would I bring more?”
He shrugs, refusing to take my bait. “The driver is waiting,” he says, taking the suitcase with him. “You took longer than you should have.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake!I want to slap his handsome face, to snatch my suitcase out of his hand, and tell him I’ll take it myself, but he’s already headed for the door. I grit my teeth, suddenly questioning whether the possibility of company and entertainment for the night is worth having to spend it with David.
Unfortunately, I’m not really being given a choice. One way or another, I’m going to Boston with him.
And one way or another, I’m determined to get answers.
21
AMALIE
Imanage to keep my questions about what I found in the attic to myself until we’re nearly an hour into the flight to Boston, if only because I’m terrified of what the answers will be. Halfway there, I knot my fingers together in my lap, looking across the small gap between us to where David is sitting back in the plush leather seat, working on something on his laptop.
“Was your brother married?” I blurt out the question, hoping that the answer isyes. That David will describe her as having brown hair and an elegant bearing, that he’ll mention a ruby necklace given to her as a gift. That the woman in those photos will cease to matter, because she won’t have anything to do with David, beyond having been his sister-in-law.
He looks up at me sharply, displeasure instantly wreathing his face. “I don’t like talking about that.” His voice is flat, a clear sign that he wants the conversation to end there. But I’m not prepared to just let it go. Not after what I found the second time I went up to the attic.
I take a breath, searching for the nerve to keep pushing. “I think we should talk about it,” I say, as calmly as I can manage. “I’m your wife, David. I’m going to be around your family. Talking to them. How does it look if I don’t know anything about your life before me—yourreallife? If I don’t know anything about your brother, or how things were before—”
David’s jaw clenches. I can almost see his teeth grinding together. “It wouldlookas if my wife respects me enough not to ask questions that I don’t want to answer.” His lips press thinly together. “We’re notfriends,Amalie. We’re not even partners, or whatever ridiculous notion that others might like to think about marriage. You are a means to an end. You provide me with what I need—the other half of the foundation of a family, and in time, if you prove that you’ve been honest with me, an heir.Iprovide you with the means to save your family’s name, and the chance to regain your status. This is an exchange, Amalie, a business arrangement. If we both take some pleasure in it now and then, well—” he shrugs, a lewd smile crooking one side of his mouth. “I suppose that’s a small bonus to what could be an otherwise unfulfilling experience.”
I glare at him. “Can you just answer one question without talking to me in circles? Why is it so hard, David? Why can’t you just sayyesorno?”
“Is that all you want? No ulterior motive for asking?” There’s a glint in his eye that makes me feel a cold knot of fear starting to form in my stomach, a hint that he might know what caused this line of questioning. “Yes. Are you happy? My brother was married.”
I swallow hard. “Does she live in Boston now? Where did she go, after—”
Thin lines deepen around David’s mouth at that, his expression hardening. “See? It’s never just one question. You’re never happy with what I give you.”
“David.” I let out a breath, utterly exasperated. “It doesn’t have to be this hard—”
“Yes, it does, when you refuse to respect my privacy. A well-bred woman, the kind of woman whoshouldhave been offered to me as a prospective wife, would know when to be quiet. When tonotbadger her husband with questions about things he doesn’t want to discuss. What her mouth is actually for.” There’s that glint in his eyes again, that hint of cruel amusement, and that cold fear snakes its way down my spine. “She’s gone, Amalie.”
“Gone?” The word comes out as more of a squeak than I would have liked it to. I see the bloodstain on cream-colored silk, the secret photos, all flashing through my mind as I sit there looking at David’s cold expression. “She—”
“Moved away,” he says smoothly, his gaze lingering on mine for one more second before he looks back down at his laptop, clearly dismissing me and the conversation. “We don’t speak to her anymore. Now, I’m finished talking about this.”
I know there’s no point in asking more questions. I’m not even entirely sure what I would ask. David makes it sound as if she left because of the loss, maybe even went back to her own family. I can’t find it in myself to believe there was love in that marriage—it’s a rare thing to find in our world. It’s not encouraged—not even really desired. His brother was the heir before him—that marriage would have been one made pragmatically, not out of emotion. It would have been even more well-arranged than ours was.
A mafia widow without children would move back in with her family, most likely. It fits with what he said, but not the tone in which he said it. I want to ask if therewereany children—but there must not have been. I can’t imagine David’s mother allowing her daughter-in-law to simply leave with a grandchild, not even if it was a daughter.
