“I’m not a child.”
“You’re acting like one. You want to pick a fight? I’m happy to engage. But be smart about it and choose well. Now sit. Or go up to your room and I’ll be up to deal with you after I’ve eaten.”
I see her throat work to swallow and she studies my face, my eyes, maybe gauging the level of threat. I remember the scars on her back. Remember what she said to her father in the study about punishing her.
“Sit down, Gabriela,” I say once more. “I’m hungry and you must be too.”
She acquiesces, not replying but making her way to the seat, pulling it out farther and making a point of scraping the iron legs against the tile.
I move to my chair which is across from hers and Millie appears with two of the staff to serve the first course, a homemade pasta dish.
“Wine?” she asks me before serving my guest.
My eyes are still on Gabriela who is studying her plate. “Gabriela?”
She looks at the bottle and I know in the states, she’s too young to legally drink, but she nods her head and I give Millie the okay.
“Leave the bottle,” I tell Millie.
She disappears and Gabriela picks up the glass to drink a sip of white wine. I sip my whiskey.
“Eat,” I tell her, picking up my knife and fork and starting, hungry because I haven’t eaten all day.
She slices the ravioli in half to look at the filling before placing a piece in her mouth. She’s quick to eat another bite.
I smile.
“Is there anything you don’t eat?” I ask when she finishes her plate before I’ve finished mine.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks defensively.
“Restrictions to your diet. Allergies. So I can tell the staff.”
“Oh.” She picks up her napkin and wipes her mouth, then shakes her head. “No.”
I nod and it’s quiet again as I finish my plate. The staff appear to clear our plates and set the second course down. I watch her eat her fish with slightly less gusto and when she finishes her glass of wine, I pour her a second.
We don’t talk until we’ve both eaten the fish course and dessert, a chocolate torte. Millie’s specialty. I think she made it to welcome Gabriela, but I don’t comment.
Millie understands what this is about and although she knows better than to share her opinion with me, I’m aware she doesn’t agree with what I’m doing.
When dinner is cleared, she picks up her glass.
“What do you have on my father?” she asks, surprising me.
I smile at her bravery. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”
“It’s got to be big if he agreed to this.”
I just give her a smile and sip my drink.
“I’m not so valuable to my father you know. If you think taking me will hurt him, you’ll be disappointed.”
“I’m not concerned with hurting him. My plan is to bury him. And I think you’re wrong. I think you’re very valuable to your father.”
“As a piece on a chessboard he can manipulate to win his games, nothing more. I’m not precious.”
“You remember.”
“How could I forget the stranger in my room stinking of death?”
My mood darkens and she must see it because her expression falters.
I get up, go to her to refill her glass. It’s probably not a great idea but I’m feeling reckless. I walk inside and return with the bottle of whiskey, refill my glass and resume my seat.
“What did he do to you?” she asks.
“Trust me, you don’t want to talk about that, Gabriela.” I pause. “I have a question. It’s strange to name you the feminine version of your brother’s name, isn’t it?”
She looks surprised by my choice of topic. “I guess my parents weren’t feeling particularly creative.” She lowers her gaze to her glass, drinks a big gulp before looking at me again, her sea-foam eyes closed off.
“Explain that.”
“My mom struggled to get pregnant with my brother and they were told they wouldn’t have another baby so maybe they were unprepared. Change the subject. I’m not talking about my family with you.”
She drinks the rest of her wine and reaches for the bottle.
“That’s probably not a good idea,” I say.
She ignores me, refills her glass.
I don’t stop her. She needs the liquid courage, maybe.
“How old are you?” she asks.
“Twenty-nine.”
“Why do you want me?”
“To fuck with your father.”
“What did he do to you?”
“Like I said, you don’t want to know that.”
“Does it have to do with why you smelled like that the first night?”
I wonder if she can still smell that smell. I can.
I nod.
She shifts a little in her seat. “Do you mean to go through with it? Marrying me?”
“You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“Why? How will that punish him?”
“To take his daughter. His heir. To flaunt her, this dirty Sicilian that I am. To watch him do exactly as I say and humiliate him before I bring him to his knees as I steal the Marchese legacy out from under him. That’s how this will punish him.”