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“The least I can do.” There’s a sudden tightness to David’s smile, and I see an opportunity. It’s very clear the conversation is beginning to make him uncomfortable, and I smile at Marie, reaching for her hand.
“You should absolutely stop by. We can have coffee, or tea—oh, and David introduced me to this wonderful pastry shop in town. I can have some delivered. You can tell me all about the Carravella family.” I let my smile widen, just a little, as if there’s nothing that I would like more. “But—” I turn towards David. “I’m getting a bit tired. Maybe we should head home? I don’t want to be rude, but it’s getting late—”
I give him a slightly wide-eyed look, just enough to imply that I’m a newlywed wife who can’t wait to get her husband home. It works, because Marie lets out a knowing laugh, sitting back in her chair.
“Ah, I remember those days. I did like my husband too, once upon a time when we were first married.” She winks at me. “Well, I’ll let you two lovebirds get on with it. I can’t be offended that you prefer each other’s company, and god knows you deserve it, David.” She reaches down, squeezing his hand. “It’s so nice to see you happy again. We thought you might never be, after the first Mrs. Carravella passed away.”
The room goes very still. I stare at her, my pulse suddenly thundering in my ears. I can’t look at David, only at the sweet old woman standing there, a smile on her face as if she hasn’t said anything unusual.
“What?” The word comes out almost strangled, and she looks at me quizzically, as if I should know what she’s talking about. David stands up abruptly, walking away from the table with a quick, short stride, and I look from his receding figure back to Marie with confusion. “What do you mean?” I blink, wondering if I’ve heard her wrong.
Marie frowns at me. “He must have told you. It wasn’t all that long ago—two years, but I know that can be a long time for a man of his age. It was terribly sad. He was devastated—that’s why we’re all so happy to see that he’s found someone. None of us ever expected he would.”
I can hear a strange ringing in my ears. I turn slowly, staring at David. His face has gone utterly still from where I see him standing at the bar, and I know at that moment that my suspicions aren’t unfounded. He’s been lying to me about more than I imagined.
“Please excuse me.” I get up, feeling my hands trembling as I walk numbly towards where David is standing. I can barely speak past the lump in his throat, but I hiss the words under my breath, staring up at him as I stand close enough that no one else can hear.
“David.” I can feel my voice shaking, but I can barely hear myself speak over the thundering of my own heartbeat. “What the hell is she talking about?”
25
AMALIE
Before I can say another word, David’s hand is on my elbow, pulling me away from the bar. His fingers dig roughly into my skin, and I gasp as I dimly hear him apologize to Marie, turning me away from the table as he marches me towards the mansion’s entrance. I try to wrench out of his grasp, but his hand tightens even more, and I bite my lip to keep from making a sound.
“David—”
“If you make a scene, Amalie, I swear to god I’ll make you regret it.”
My blood runs cold. I remember the bloodstained blouse all over again, his refusal to talk about what I found in the attic, and all my suspicions and fears come rushing back. My heart is pounding so hard that it hurts. I’m terrified of going back to the mansion, of being alone with this man who, only minutes ago, I thought might finally have come to truly start to care for me.
I’ve been so stupid. I know the kind of man David is—the kind that almost all mafia men are. I should never have let my guard down, even for a moment. I nevercan. And now I’m afraid that it all might be about to get so much worse.
“What was she talking about?” I try to jerk my arm away from David’s again as we get to the car, the urge to dig my heels in and refuse to get inside washing over me. “No one said anything to me about you being married before! You need to explain—”
“No, I don’t.” His voice is flat and terrifyingly cold, and he urges me forward into the car, blocking me so that I have no choice but to get in. He follows me, and for a moment, I think he’s going to tell the driver to take us home, but the car remains still. “It’s none of your business, Amalie.”
Something inside of me snaps. It takes everything in me to stay where I’m sitting, my hands clutching the edge of the leather seat, instead of flinging myself at him in absolute fury. “What do youmeanit’s not my business! I’m yourwife, David! Your second wife, apparently, which no one bothered to tell me about! Don’t you think I should know that? Wouldn’t you want to know if you were mysecond fucking husband? If the first onedied?”
I’m nearly screaming now, but I can’t stop. The windows on the car are heavily tinted enough that I know no one can see in, but that doesn’t make me feel better. All that means is that no one will be able to see if David does anything to me.
Every muscle in his body is tense, his voice as cold as his expression as he speaks. “I’m not entirely convinced that there wasn’t a man before me, Amalie. Who knows how many men? I did meet you inIbiza, after all. You weren’t married before, of course, but isn’t that worse?” There’s a raw contempt in his voice that infuriates me even more, and I feel my nails digging into the seat. I want to tear at the leather in lieu of him, to scream until my throat is raw. I feel as if I’m trapped in a nightmare, as if I’m going crazy.
“You were my first,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “Youwere. And the baby is yours; it would be impossible for it to be anyone else’s, because there hasn’tbeenanyone else. I’m notjealous, David—but you can’t lie to me like this! I’m your wife! I have a right to know. As your wife, it’s my right—”
“You’re wrong.” The coldness in his voice seems to burrow down into my bones—I’ve never heard anyone speak like this, not even my father. There’s no emotion in it at all, not even anger or hate. He sounds as if he’s speaking from far away, as if he’s already detached himself from all of it. “I was forced into marrying you, Amalie. Your mother managed to wheedle my father into making a deal that I wasn’t a part of, and I was foolish enough not to put my foot down and refuse to marry a woman that I had already fucked. No self-respecting future don would marry a woman he met in goddamnIbiza, but I did, because I was convinced it was best for our family. It can continue to be good for our families, if you will learn to—”
“Towhat?” I can feel my lips trembling, the tremor making its way through my body as I look at the man I’ve married, a man I’m tied to for the rest of my life, who, at this moment, is scaring me more than he ever has before. “Learn to be quiet? To never ask you questions? To be—”
“To be a good wife.” His jaw clenches. “Your mother convinced my family that she taught you how to do that. If I’d known she’d done such a poor fucking job—”
“Is that what happened to your first wife? Was she notgoodenough?” I’m on the verge of tears again, sinking my teeth into my lower lip to try to stop the flood that I know will break free if I let myself cry even a little. “David—”
“I don’t have to talk about anything with you that I don’t want to.” There’s a ring of finality to his tone that feels like a blow, and when he opens the car door, I have the urge to push past him, to run back into the mansion and beg for help, for anyone to listen to me. To beg for the truth about what happened, since my own husband won’t tell me. Since he seems intent on tormenting me with it instead.
Or he just doesn’t care enough to tell me.Deep down, I know that’s the truth. He simply doesn’t want to tell me. He’s not torturing me intentionally—it’s just that I’m nothing to him, not really, except for what I can provide. And right now, I’m providing nothing.
Just as I know that if I did run into the mansion, no one would help me. No one would tell me. They would hand me back to David and turn away.
