It was spring and the air was balmy and smelled of fresh earth. Lucien was the picture of a gentleman as he opened the door for me, his hand just brushing my lower back as he ushered me through. Then he walked at my side as I lead the way around the house to the garden and unlocked the gate to let him through.
The garden was a project I’d worked on for the last few years and it had become my sole escape. It was a beautiful piece of earth with roses all along the fence and rows of soft, dark earth that overflowed with begonias, daisies, snapdragons, and anything else that suited my fancy. This time of year, the garden was full of daffodils and tulips, their bright heads bobbing in the faint wind.
“Your garden is very beautiful,” he said carefully.
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s mine. I grow everything here.”
His brows rose as he looked around, his hands tucked in his pockets. I hadn’t realized until he was standing in my little garden how large and broad he was compared to my small frame. He had to be at least six foot, three or four, but it was offset by his lithe body and graceful movements.
“So, we should probably talk,” Lucien said, a little stiffly.
“About our engagement?” I looked up at him hesitantly.
“Yes,” he said. “I brought your ring today and I expect you to wear it, at least whenever you leave the house.”
He took a small, black box out of his pocket and handed it to me. I let it rest in my hand, something throbbing painfully in my chest. Of course it would be like this. There would be no romantic proposal, no getting down on one knee to ask for my hand, no declaration of love. Just a black box and an ice cold stare.
I blinked rapidly, determined not to tear up in front of him. He probably already thought I was weak. I opened the lid and let out a gasp at the large, oval diamond glittering on a delicate white gold band. It was beautiful and the sight struck me speechless for a long, awkward moment.
“How many carats is this?” I asked, looking up.
“Three,” he said. “Why? Not enough for theprincipessa?”
I resisted the urge to glare at him. “No, it’s just…enormous.”
“But you like it?”
“I do,” I said. It was true, a part of me did like the extravagance of it. “Aren’t you going to put it on my finger?”
His mouth pressed together. “Why? I’m not in love with you, Olivia.”
I flinched as if he’d hit me. Why did it hurt to hear him say that? I was fully aware this was an arranged marriage, a transaction more than a union, but it still felt like a kick to my stomach to hear him say it so plainly. It made me want to stamp my foot and throw the ring back at him, hit him the way his words had hit me.
Instead I clenched the box in my fist, shoving it into the pocket of my dress. “Never mind.”
He scowled, clearly not happy with my reaction. A single step from his long legs ate up the distance between us and suddenly he was inches from me. His presence and heady scent filled my senses. It was enough to get me lightheaded.
Taking my wrist, he pried the box from my hand and took the ring out. I clenched my fist, but he forced my fingers apart and pushed it on. The gold scraped down over my finger, stinging my knuckle, and rested heavily against my skin.
I looked up, my heart thumping, and met his gaze. There was nothing, just a sheer wall of indifference behind the hazel irises. The thought of being alone with him in his bedroom, with nothing but his all-consuming chill sent a shiver through me. Cosimo was right, he was unnerving.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, sounding almost surprised.
“You didn’t have to put the ring on me so roughly,” I snapped.
“You have a mouth on you,” he observed.
“Thank you, it’s gotten me enough beatings that I’m not afraid of them anymore.” I froze in surprise at the words that had unintentionally slipped out.
There was a long, tense silence. In the background I could hear birds singing in the woods behind the house and the faint whir of the sprinklers turning on in the front yard.
His brows rose slowly. “Does your father beat you, Olivia?”
The answer was yes. At least once a month either my mother or father lost their temper with me and slapped me hard enough to leave a bruise the next day. Only once had my father totally lost control and hit me hard enough to send me to the floor where he’d used the toe of his fancy shoes to paint bruises down my hips and sides. My mother was furious with him, afraid I would somehow be permanently marred and Lucien wouldn’t want me anymore. But she was too afraid of my father to confront him.
The only person that had a problem with it was Cosimo and he could do nothing to help. Lucien didn’t seem like the kind of man who had an apathetic bone in his body. Why did he care?
“I don’t expect a lot from you as my fiancée, but I do demand honesty,” Lucien said. His voice was still cold and light, like snow, but this time there was a note of gentleness.