“Yes, I just forgot to tell you that your mother called the house phone,” he said. “And we’ll have dinner early tonight.”
“What did she want?” I asked, frowning.
I had purposely ignored my family. I didn’t want to see my mother before the wedding. I didn’t think I could handle being reminded of the pain of not having a doting and supportive mother readying me for the most important day of my life. Watching Iris’s wonderful mother spoil her the weeks leading up to her wedding had been enough to keep me up at night in tears several nights in a row.
“She wanted to see you before the wedding,” he said.
“Did you talk to her?” I asked, surprised.
“I was passing by so I answered the phone,” he said. “I told her you would call her back.”
I hadn’t talked with my family since leaving the house, except for texting briefly with Cosimo a few times a month. I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut. “I’ll text her.”
“Do whatever you feel is best. I’m just the messenger,” he said. “Just bear in mind that I’d rather not have discord at our wedding.”
He was playing a game, he was always playing a game. I’d been to enough parties and dinners with him at this point to know that everything was a game of chess to Lucien Esposito. He showed up to a room full of lethal made men and their equally deadly wives and swept through them like a breath of icy air, freezing them in their tracks. And somehow, he dominated the men’s conversation and charmed their women until they gazed up at him like he made the sun rise and set.
I hated the parties and dinners. Not because it was tiring to smile and pretend to make conversation with people I barely knew. No, it was because wherever I went, Carlo Romano’s sharp gaze followed my every move like a wolf hunting its prey. Luckily, Lucien hadn’t left me alone after that first night so I felt safe, but just seeing him turned my stomach.
The memory of his violating touch kept me up at night sometimes with bubbling anger in my gut. He had taken a piece of my innocence that night in the garden and now I had to live with that secret forever. It felt treasonous to even form the thought, but deep inside I wished he was dead. I wished Lucien would take the knife he kept in his desk in the study and tear it across his throat.
I stood in my wedding dress, listening as Lucien’s footsteps died away and I was left leaning against the door with a hollow sensation in my chest. That night at dinner, we made casual conversation over roast chicken and vegetables. It was such a confusing thing to sit here with him, so much awkwardness and space between us, knowing that within a week he would be my husband.
Within a week, he would claim his rights.
I was too anxious to eat so I spent most of dinner cutting my food into little pieces. After a while, there was a knock on the front door and Lucien stood abruptly, gesturing for me to rise. I set down my glass and pushed back my chair and he took my elbow and pulled me from the room.
“Are you expecting company?” I asked.
“Yes, but I don’t want you around for it,” he said, his jaw tense. “It’s outfit business and not safe for you to know about.”
He pushed me into the hall and pointed in the direction of my door. A wave of humiliation washed over me and I bit my tongue and fought the urge to snap at him. Flip him off for treating me like a child. Instead, I released a huff and rolled my eyes before pivoting on my heel and marching down the hall.
“Olivia,” he snapped.
I paused, turning. “What?”
“Don’t fucking roll your eyes at me again.” His icy gaze bit into me and a shiver of something that felt a lot like arousal went through my body.
“Okay,” I said quickly, not wanting to rouse his anger.
“Please respond to me with a little more respect than that,” he said coolly. “Yes, sir, will do.”
I swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Good, now go up to your room, please.”
He turned and was gone, the crisp sound of his shoes on the polished floors echoing behind him. I stood in the hall for a moment and grappled with the sudden ache between my legs and then I ducked into my bedroom and went to change into my nightgown.
As I left the bathroom, I heard Lucien say something through the floor and someone responded to him in a Russian accent. I frowned, getting down on my knees to press my ear to the heating vent. Yes, it was definitely a Russian accent. How was that possible? The outfit had never been friendly with the Bratva, but over the last six months, tensions had risen to dangerously high levels. Why on earth would Lucien have a Russian in his house? And why was he so insistent that he conceal it from me?
I couldn’t hear what they were saying and my curiosity was overwhelming. It would be incredibly stupid to leave my room, but I couldn’t just sit here. I opened the door quietly and stepped back into the hall. The floors creaked in the middle so I kept to the edges as I made my way to the top of the spiral staircase.
They were in the living room. I could hear the gentle rise and fall of their voices as I began ascending the stairs in my bare feet. My heart pounded in my chest and my palms were slick with sweat. This was a stupid thing to do and every nerve in my body screamed for me to turn around. Begging me not to provoke Lucien’s wrath.
The lace on the edge of my nightgown tickled the middle of my thigh with every step. I probably should have put a dressing gown on because my nightgown was little more than a silk slip. It would make Lucien even angrier if he caught me sneaking around half naked than it would if I was properly clothed.
Just as I stepped onto the landing, the living room door opened and Lucien walked out. His eyes fell on me and he froze, his mouth pressing together in a hard line. My heart hammered against my ribs and I let out an involuntary squeak and stepped back, tripping over the corner of the stairs and sprawled onto the floor. The sound reverberated through the house and Lucien’s jaw twitched beneath his expressionless eyes.