He shrugged, those broad shoulders seeming to expand, or maybe it was that her view of the room narrowed. Everything fell away except for this handsome man with a brutally hard expression. Even his perfectly fitted dark suit now looked like a lesson in severity and disdain.
‘Doing business with him is necessary if the enterprise my family built over generations is to survive. As for marrying you...’ His lips twisted. ‘You know that was a condition of the deal. No marriage, no business.’
Cesare paused, his lips turning down as if he too tasted the bitter tang that filled her mouth.
‘But you need to know, Ida...’ Icy fingers closed around her throat at the sound of her name in that harsh voice. ‘I don’t take kindly to blackmail. Don’t expect me to pander to your whims, or Calogero’s.’
Ida met his eyes then, drawn by the sheer depth of hatred in his voice. What she read there stopped any thought of trying, again, to explain that she hadn’t been party to her grandfather’s schemes. She looked away.
Perhaps, one day, Cesare would hear her out. Not now. Despite the way he leashed his anger, it was clear he was at the edge of his control. She felt his ire in the thickened air like electricity sparking between them.
She sympathised. She’d thought she knew the worst about her grandfather, but these revelations shocked her. She’d learnt to fear the old man. Now she felt ashamed to share his blood.
What else had he done? He’d built a fortune and lived lavishly. Was it all based on criminal activity? No wonder her mother had grabbed the first chance to run away from him. If only Ida had been able to do the same.
She sucked in a breath, trying to calm her rackety pulse. ‘What now, Cesare?’
Ida fixed her gaze on the black silk of his bow tie. She couldn’t meet his eyes. Not feeling this terrible guilt and horror, the taint of the old man’s crimes.
‘What now?’ Cesare’s voice was like that bow tie, smooth and beautiful but severe. ‘I don’t know what you plan to do but I have calls to make. As for tomorrow...’ He paused, and she watched his chest rise on a deep breath as if the prospect of tomorrow was unwelcome. Finally, something they shared! ‘Tomorrow we continue the pretence of being a happily married couple.’
‘You can’t be serious!’
Her gaze shot up, to find him scrutinising her. This time she read nothing in his stare. Not distaste or impatience. Not even anger.
It felt as if he couldn’t be bothered wasting his energies on her when he had more important concerns.
‘Naturally I’m serious. We agreed to this marriage and now we’ll live with it. In public. I have stipulations, of course. Expectations to be met and ground rules you’ll need to abide by—’
‘Not now,’ she whispered, pressing her hand to her churning stomach. ‘I’m suddenly very tired.’
Nausea swelled. She’d thought this situation couldn’t get worse, but now he asked the impossible. To expect her to act in public as if they had a real marriage while in private they were enemies. To live a pretence of what she’d believed just a short time ago was real...
It was mockery and degradation on top of devastation. Her heart seized up at the very idea.
‘Then we’ll continue this conversation in the morning.’
Ida swallowed convulsively, forcing back bile at the idea of continuing their discussion. The flesh between her shoulder blades crawled as if an army of spiders danced there.
She turned away, hurrying to her room. But, as in a nightmare, the more urgent her steps the slower she seemed to move.
By the time she finally made it through the open door she almost sobbed her relief. She paused only long enough to snick the lock shut before stumbling to the bathroom.
A scant hour later Ida stood in the centre of the opulent bedroom, checking she hadn’t forgotten anything.
Her wedding gown still hung in the wardrobe, as did most of the clothes her grandfather had chosen. There was no point taking more than she could easily carry. She had to travel light, since she’d be hitchhiking.
Stoically she suppressed a jitter of fear at the idea of getting into a car with a stranger. She understood the risks. But the alternative, to stay with a man who despised her, was impossible.
Ida had precious little money. One of her grandfather’s methods for keeping her under his thumb had been to ensure she didn’t have cash to strike out on her own. Not that it had stopped her trying.
She opened her shoulder bag, checking the contents. Passport. A couple of euro notes, a few pounds, the string of natural pearls her grandfather had produced for her to wear at the wedding. Not because it was an heirloom, precious with family sentiment, but to flaunt his wealth.
Ida’s gaze caught on the plain wedding band she wore and the stonking great diamond solitaire beside it. How had she ever imagined Cesare had chosen them as tokens of respect and affection? They were like the pearls. Cold, hard symbols of wealth and ownership.
She’d belonged to a man who’d never cared for her but kept her to use in his obscene scheme. He’d passed her to a man who not only didn’t care about her but also actively hated her.
Gritting her teeth, she pulled the rings off and dropped them in her bag, zipping it securely.