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Bile rises in my throat, and I turn abruptly, suddenly repulsed by my reflection. And slam into the Moretti butler as he rounds the corner into the entryway.
“Ah, Signora Moretti.” His tone is formal as he steadies me for the briefest of moments before releasing my arms to step back.
“Sorry, Luigi,” I gasp, warmth radiating in my cheeks.
“That’s quite alright. The master requested that I inform you there will be a meeting in the library today. You’re to occupy yourself somewhere else.” He gives a stiff bow before striding away to carry on with his duties.
Well, there goes the only escape I’ve found from this dreadful place. I guess I’ll need to find another way to fill my time. Looks like another day of wandering around the grounds. Sighing, I change direction, heading toward the terrace doors at the back of the ballroom.
On my way, I pass several suited men, their scowls a clear indicator I should mind my own business. I give them a silent nod, but their eyes simply slide over me as they walk by.
Leo’s house is filled with self-important men who scarcely notice my presence. Except to tell me where I’m expected and when. The guards keep their eyes carefully focused on the middle distance. The maids whisper from the room every time I enter one, as if they’ve been told to remain invisible. Only Luigi seems willing to speak to me. And even then, it’s just to relay messages Leo wishes me to receive.
But even Leo pays me little mind. He goes out early in the morning and comes back in the evening, often arriving late for dinner. I doubt the tension between us is helping. During our engagement party, I thought I might have been making a little bit of headway with him. After our wedding night, I don’t think we could be farther from it.
And with so many hours left alone, I can do little more than dwell upon it.
Breathing in the fresh summer air, I make my way down the terrace steps into the garden below. It’s a beautiful day, the sky blue, the birds whistling happily from the potted fruit trees that line the windows.
Strolling idly through the colorful garden, I slide my Millefiori necklace back and forth along its chain, thinking about my new life. Overall, it hasn’t been too challenging to get used to. This gilded cage isn’t much different than my own family home. I’m expected to stay within the confines, make an appearance at all meals and functions, and stay out of people’s way otherwise.
The grounds here are somehow more impressive than the acres of space that surround the Guerra estate. A backdrop of the dramatic Allegheny mountains lies just beyond the Morettis’ backyard, and a dark, mysterious forest covers the distance between the sprawling house and the sharp peaks. The view is breathtaking, certainly my second-favorite amenity to my new home—after the library.
But I miss my sisters, even my parents. My sisters would love it here—all the stunning gardens and colorful flowers growing with wild abandon, the countless rooms to explore and play hide and go seek through.
Even though my relationship with my parents has been somewhat strained over the past few months, I miss them, too. After I agreed to marry Leo, I managed to recover a shadow of the closeness my parents and I once had.
But then I had to leave them all, to move miles away and into an entirely new world—it might as well be light-years. And it feels like I’ll never have the opportunity to fully repair the rift that my actions caused.
Instead, I can only move forward, and learn the expectations that come with being Signora Moretti. I can’t say it’s very fulfilling. Even my revenge plot is dead in the water as of now. Because I can’t do much of anything to learn Leo’s weaknesses if I never even see him.
Plucking a dianthus, I hold the fragrant bloom to my nose and take a deep breath, trying to calm my frustration when I think about my husband.
My initial plan to get close to Leo is failing miserably because he’s hardly ever around. Whether he’s intentionally trying to avoid me, or if he simply lives to work, I don’t know. Even in our bedroom, he hasn’t attempted to touch me, since our wedding night.
I can’t decide if I’m happy or sad about that. He humiliated me, fucked me for all our wedding guests to see, and did it with a brutality I wasn’t ready for. But at the same time, I can’t deny I liked it. He made me orgasm multiple times—despite the mortification and the shame. Something about his unapologetic way of touching me, his confidence as he manipulated my body, set my soul alive.
I’ve had sex with him two times now. Both very different. And yet, each time, I feel such an intense connection, a rapture that’s almost like a spell falling over me. I want his touch. I crave it. And yet, I fear what unexpected consequence might come from it.
Sex clearly isn’t how I’m going to manipulate Leo, so I need to find another way. Because I refuse to fade into the background and watch my family’s once-great name get raked through the mud by associating with the Morettis.
It’s my fault we had to form this alliance. And I intend to fix it.
But how, I have no clue when I’m so entirely isolated.
Usually, I might go to Maria about this kind of thing.
Now, it seems the only person I can speak to is the child growing in my belly.
“You’re pretty good company,” I assure my abdomen solemnly. I’ve caught myself doing that a lot more lately to fill the silence of my new home. “Though you’re not very talkative,” I add. “So I don’t really know that you’re going to be much help planning my scheme.”
My lips curl slightly at my bad humor, and it feels pretty sad that I’m now the only person who laughs at my jokes. Hopefully, my child will find me funny, seeing as they just might be the only person I’ll have around.
Continuing my stroll, I round the corner of the well-trimmed hedges, and my heart skips a beat. A gardener kneels on the gravel walkway, his blue overalls coated with fresh soil as he digs in the ground with a spade.
“Oh,” I gasp, my hand going to my heart as my body reacts to the surprise of finding somebody when I thought I was alone out here. I hope against hope he didn’t hear anything I said to my baby. Because I’m not confident it wouldn’t incriminate me.
“So sorry, Signora. Did I startle you?” he asks, turning to face me though he keeps one knee resting on the hard ground. By the gray of his mustache, I would assume he’s in his late sixties, and his leathery skin has a permanent tan from years spent in the sun. But his eyes have laugh lines around them, making his face soft and kind.
