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I wonder if I should turn around and leave, but I don't like the tone he's using. I don’t want to eavesdrop. In this house, we respect each other’s private conversations, but I also want to stick around to protect Tatiana if need be.
Martin's enraged bellow assaults my ears before I reach her room. “Otherwise you’ll never recover, you’ll never sing again!” I pause outside Tatiana's door, fury burning through my veins. How dare he demean her like that? I clench my fists, barely resisting the urge to storm in and confront him.
Tatiana's defiant cry rings out. "It’s my choice, not yours!"
Pride swells in my chest at her strength and stubbornness. She is no longer the timid girl I once knew.
The door bursts open, and Martin storms out, his face twisted in rage. Our gazes clash, and hatred flickers in his eyes.
I step into his path, blocking his way after he closes the door behind him. "Do not speak to her like that again," I growl.
He sneers, attempting to shove past me. I seize his arm in an iron grip. "Let go of me, you Italian mongrel!" He struggles in vain to free himself from my grasp.
"You will leave Tatiana alone, or you will regret it," I warn in a low voice. My tattoo burns on my arm as my veins rise with strength from the grip I have over him, the three Fates snapping at this mere mortal who dares to challenge them. And me.
Martin pales but recovers himself quickly. "She is ruining her life because of you," he accuses.
"Don't you forget who you're speaking with," I snarl. "Look around. You're in Don Accardo's house. In my house. I can break you like the tiny puppet you are. You do anything to jeopardize her health or her singing career; you even think as much, and I will make sure you are never able to earn another dollar in your miserable life."
He tries taking a step back, but I pull him closer, locking my gaze with his. "Her life is her own to live as she chooses." I releasehim with a shove. "Now get out of here before I do something I regret."
He stumbles back, staring at me with fear and loathing. Then he turns on his heel and flees down the hall.
I take a deep breath and knock softly on Tatiana's door. "It's Philippe. May I come in?"
Her quiet invitation drifts through the door, and I step inside. She is curled up beside the door, her face streaked with tears.
Concern washes over me at the sight. I kneel before her and take her hands in mine. "Did he hurt you?"
She shakes her head and offers me a watery smile. "I'm fine."
I bring her hands to my lips and kiss them gently. "I'm here if you want to talk, Tatiana."
"I just need some time to think," she whispers.
I help her up and support her until we reach the bed and she can sit down. When I pick up the comforter to cover her, she stops my hand. “It’s okay, Philippe, I can do that. Thank you.”
That familiar lurch goes through my heart. She's been pulling away since that morning we made love while she was healing from her bullet wound. Since then, there've been no whispersof sweet nothings, no comfortable touching, and no meaningful communication.
Each time I try, she withdraws. I let her be, in fear that if I get too close, she'll shut me off completely.
I don't know what to do. I don't know what's running through her mind. Looking around the room as if it would supply me with the answers, I see that it has been tidied. She must have done it herself.
Up till now, she has sent every single staff member away, except for the meals. Still, at this moment, the only option staring back at me is to leave her to her endeavors.
I need to find a way to help her out of this shell she’s been hiding in. By tonight, I'll have a plan.
"Okay then," I say in a gentle, quiet voice. "I'll see you later."
She doesn't respond, only nods as I stand and walk away.
Martin's accusation plays on repeat in my mind as I stride down the hall to my office. Am I truly a bad influence on Tatiana? She has poured her heart and soul into her music since we've been together, until the tragedy with her parents.
But would she have progressed further in her career if I had not distracted her with our relationship?
Had I not gotten involved with her, had I not sidetracked her, would she have turned to the music itself for consolation?
The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I pour myself a glass of brandy and stare out the window into the garden, my knuckles whitening around the glass.
