by Emma Slate
“How old are you?” I asked suddenly.
“Sixteen.”
“Sixteen,” I murmured with a shake of my head.
“Be careful, Sterling,” she said. “Don’t anger him.”
“Angelo? It’s a little late for—”
“Not my father. Raphael Foscari. You don’t know what he’s capable of…”
“What? What do you know about him?” I asked.
She was just about to reply when Luca called, “Gisella? Papà wants you to return to the table.”
Gisella stood up and brushed the wrinkles from the skirt of her dress. With one final look at me, she left, passing Luca as she went.
Her brother reached out to touch her arm, holding her for just a moment as he leaned down to whisper something in her ear.
She smiled up at him with such a look of trust I wanted to scoop her up into my arms and protect her. She was a fawn in a glen of wolves.
I didn’t even hear her footsteps as she strode away.
Luca stood near me with his hands in his trouser pockets.
“I’d like to be alone,” I said, turning my back to him and focusing on the fountain.
The artist had taken great creative liberty with this version, because there was no fear or revulsion on Proserpina’s face. In fact, the look she gave Pluto was nothing short of carnal.
Luca didn’t bow to my demand. Instead, he took a seat next to me on the bench. “What did Gisella say to you?”
“She brought me food and said she was sorry about my mother.” I picked up a seasoned olive and placed it in my mouth.
“Is that all?”
I chewed and removed the olive pit before answering. “Yes, that’s all.” I looked at him and frowned. What was he driving at? Did he suspect that Gisella had warned me about Raphael?
She hadn’t needed to warn me. My mother had told me what the Foscari were capable of—murdering my father in cold blood, hunting her tirelessly for years.
How had she found the strength to go on? All she had was Sister Agatha, and then it was just her, alone in the world. A mother with nothing more than the determination to protect her child.
I had Hadrian. I just had to wait. I could withstand anything, knowing he would come for me.
“Your fiancé will arrive tomorrow,” Luca announced.
I stood up from the bench and flung my half-eaten plate of food into the fountain.
Chapter Thirty
After my reprieve in the gardens, I went back to my bedroom, refusing to spend any more time in my family’s presence. A servant brought me dinner on a tray, but I didn’t touch it.
I went to bed, hugging a pillow to me and crying. Deep, bone wrenching sobs. I had only been on my own for one day and already I felt myself breaking.
I needed Hadrian. I needed his arms around me, his strength, his power. I needed him to sweep me away from this horrible nightmare that had become my reality.
Sometime around dawn, I finally fell into a fitful sleep, only to be awakened a few minutes later by a female servant bringing me a breakfast tray. Even though I felt nauseous, I managed to choke down a homemade chocolate-filled sfogliatella.
I decided to sit and have tea on the balcony and try to collect my thoughts when Luca entered my bedroom without bothering to knock.
I glared at him. “There’s this thing called privacy. You can’t just barge in here like that.”
“You’re not afforded privacy anymore,” he stated.
“I hate you,” I seethed, ready to chuck the delicate china teacup at him.
“You’ve made that clear.” He straightened his tie. “Raphael Foscari will be here within the hour. I suggest you make yourself presentable.”
“Or what? He’ll send me back to the factory and ask for a new Moretti brood mare?”
His jaw tightened. “He’s graciously decided to marry you despite the fact that you’re not a virgin.”
“How wonderful for me.” I took a sip of my tea, wishing it didn’t taste so bitter on my tongue.
Luca stalked toward me and in spite of my temper, I had to stop the tremble of fear that washed through me. My anxiety was for naught though, because all he did was reach out to gently cup my chin and force my face up to his for examination.
“You didn’t sleep,” he stated. “And your eyes are bloodshot.”
I batted his hand away. “It’s hard to let my guard down in a prison. Doesn’t matter how nice the mattress is.”
“One hour,” he reminded me, taking a step toward the door. “Don’t keep him waiting. He won’t like it.”
Luca left, leaving me alone.
I gently set the teacup down and ran to the bathroom, throwing up the contents of my stomach, hating that nerves were getting the better of me.
Where are you, Hadrian?
In the armoire were dozens of dresses in my size. I was surprised Luca hadn’t picked out a garment for me. What should I wear to meet the man my family was going to marry me off to?
I thought about Gisella’s warning. It wouldn’t do well to flaunt the fact that I wasn’t a virgin.
Something demure then, but definitely not white.
I choose a champagne colored dress that neither completely concealed nor hid my attributes. It was form-fitting at the bust but flared at the waist. I hung it up on the back of the armoire door and then went to shower. I didn’t bother blow drying my hair, choosing instead to pull it away from my face and pin it into a bun.
Shadows under my eyes were stark in contrast to my pale cheeks. I used the makeup products to conceal my sleepless night and blush to bring life back into my face. I coated my lips in a rosy gloss and then slid into the dress. A pair of matching heels completed my outfit.
There was a knock on the door, followed by a female servant entering. “Sorry to intrude, Miss. Your uncle bade me to come get you. Mr. Foscari is waiting for you in the salon.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
Nodding, she retreated, but left the bedroom door open.
With one final look in the armoire mirror, I steeled my nerves and went downstairs.
Raphael Foscari stood at the mantle, speaking in low tones to Angelo. Both men’s gazes turned toward me when I arrived in the doorway of the salon.
Luca and Tor were seated on an antique white settee, but they both rose like gentlemen when I entered the room.
It was clear I was there to be presented.
A Moretti woman on the altar of sacrifice.
A gift for a man and no more.
Raphael was a handsome man in his mid-forties. Golden skin, tall, blond. But there was a calculating gleam in his blue eyes, and I would never forget the words in my mother’s letter. She’d warned me about the Foscari. I would not be deceived by physical beauty.
He was everything Hadrian was not.
Raphael pushed away from the mantle and strode toward me. My gaze tracked him, and I met his eyes when he stopped in front of me.
“She has the Moretti trait,” he said, addressing Angelo, but his attention remained on me. “It’s unique, and I approve of it.”
“She will be a credit to you,” Angelo stated.
A serpent of rage coiled around my heart, but I kept my expression serene.
“I’d like to walk with her in the gardens,” Raphael said, still addressing Angelo.
“Absolutely,” Angelo said. “It’s best if you get to know one another.”
Get to know one another?
“Shall we?” Raphael asked, offering me his arm. His voice was velvet richness, so very unlike Hadrian’s bold brogue.
I remembered Gisella’s warning again and took his arm reluctantly. He led me from the salon, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Luca watching me intently. I couldn’t discern his look, but I realized it didn’t matter.
I was on my own.
As I held his arm, Raphael rested his hand on mine, and we turned down a long hallway. Only when we were out of sight did his hand tighten on mine in a clear s
how of force. Instead of taking me toward the double doors that led out into the gardens, he changed course and shoved me into a bathroom.
My heart tripped in terror.
Raphael shut the door and then with a sinister twist of the lock, blocked the exit. I barely registered the black and white marble tile floor of the guest bathroom or the gleaming wood of the walls. The attractive man before me smiled, an evil coil of his lips.
“You’re beautiful. Like your mother.”
I swallowed but didn’t reply.
“You’re also a whore, just like your mother. Sharing a bed with that Scottish brute.” He took a menacing step toward me. “I will not be shamed again.”
He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a long skinny device wrapped in a foil packet. “You’re going to take a pregnancy test. Now. While I watch.”
“I’m not pregnant,” I protested. “There’s no need for—”
He backhanded me across the cheek, the force of it so strong my head snapped to the side and my eyes watered. “You will not talk back to me. Ever. Now lift up your dress and pull down your underwear.”
When I stared at him fright, he took another ominous step toward me. “Don’t make me tell you again.”
Shocked into submission, my head still reeling from his blow, I hastened to do his bidding. With supreme embarrassment, I lifted the skirt of my dress and slithered my panties down around my ankles.
I heard the crinkle of the wrapper as Raphael opened the pregnancy test and then he shoved it at me. Keeping my head bowed, my heart thundering in my chest, I moved to the toilet and peed on the stick.
After setting the test on the sink counter, I drew up my underwear. I tucked myself into the corner and waited.
Raphael’s eyes were trained on the stick as were mine, though I knew the result. There was no way I was pregnant. I’d been on birth control since before I’d slept with Hadrian.
My heart continued to drum as one pink line of the test slowly began to appear on the tiny screen. I let out a slow exhale, my gaze swiveling to Raphael.
But he wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were still focused on the test, which he slowly lifted in his hand to show me.
Another pink line had appeared.
“Like I said. A whore,” he said with ominous precision.
“I—”
In one swift move, he punched me hard in the belly. I buckled forward and almost fell over, but he pushed me up against the wall with his free hand, and then hit me again so hard I thought I was going to vomit. I doubled over in pain with my arms around myself in a futile gesture of protection, and I began to sob.
“You won’t embarrass me the way your mother did,” he spat. “I will not be made a fool of twice. If by some miracle your bastard isn’t dead yet, it will be after the wedding. You’ll get an abortion, and then I’ll sow my own seed within you.”
Gasping for air, tears streamed from my eyes, sending makeup cascading down my face. I bowed my head, not wishing to see his depraved expression.
“You’ll say nothing of this to your family, or I’ll kill you and make it look like an accident.”
Raphael leaned down to grasp my arm and hauled me up to a standing position. Nausea swam in my belly.
“You look pale, mia dolce. Wash your face and then go upstairs. I’ll explain to your family that you needed a moment of privacy. Don’t worry, I’ll tell them that we get along famously and later tonight, we will toast our long and fruitful marriage. And you will convince them that’s the truth.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Raphael let me out of the bathroom, and I escaped to my bedroom. I shut my door and then ran to the mirror. My cheek still throbbed and it was red, but it didn’t look swollen.
Thank God. Raphael might’ve found a way to blame that on me, too.
I gripped the counter and struggled to keep my emotions under control.
I was pregnant.
I carried Hadrian’s child, and I didn’t know if Raphael had just—
If circumstances had been different, I would’ve been overjoyed. But hearing what Raphael planned to do had my insides cramping.
I was lightheaded and in danger of passing out.
No. I would not be weak. I would not give in to my desire to faint, to mentally check out for just a few minutes.
This wasn’t just about me anymore, and I had to figure out a plan to survive.
I wasn’t physically strong enough to protect my unborn child from Raphael’s malevolent intentions. He’d already beaten me.
If I was still carrying Hadrian’s baby—
“Sterling?” Gisella called. “Sterling, are you all right?”
I pinched my cheeks to give myself some color, wincing at my tender skin. “I’m fine. I just needed a minute.”
When I couldn’t hide any longer, I left the bathroom and met Gisella’s penetrating expression. Her eyes searched my face, trained on the cheek Raphael had hit.
She inhaled a shaky breath. “You can’t go downstairs looking like that.”
“It’s that noticeable?”
She nodded. “Stay here. Let me get you some ice. Hopefully that will take care of it by dinnertime… Papà invited him to stay for the evening meal.”
I swallowed. “How did he—I mean, were you in the salon when he returned?”
“Yes.”
“How did he look?”
“As though nothing had transpired at all,” she blurted out, her eyes wide.
I let out a choked sob. “He’s a monster.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered brokenly.
“Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault. You didn’t do this.”
She bit her lip as her eyes filled with tears. “We were tentatively engaged. I was too young to marry him, and then you…”
“Showed up out of the blue.” I dragged the younger girl into my arms and held her tightly. My mother hadn’t been able to protect me from the Foscari, and I might not be able to protect my unborn child from them either. But at least I was able to protect this sweet, innocent girl from marrying a sadist.
After a moment, she pulled away and swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Let me go get you that ice.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Gisella and I spent the afternoon holed up in my room. Her company was a welcome distraction from my disorderly thoughts and current situation. No one came looking for us until it was cocktail hour. A servant knocked on my door and told us our presence was required downstairs.
“Gisella,” I said to her before we left the sanctuary of my bedroom. “Do me a favor.”
“What?” she asked, peering at me with her golden-brown, fawn-like eyes.
“Keep your distance from me, okay? I don’t want to give Raphael any reason to—I don’t want anything to happen to you because of me. Do you understand?”
Nodding, she replied, “I understand.”
“How’s my cheek?” I asked her.
“Hardly noticeable.”
We walked down to the salon together, and I was careful to remain aloof. When we were in the doorway, Raphael turned to look at me.
“You look refreshed,” he commented.
“My afternoon nap was invigorating,” I said with a bland smile. “Thank you for understanding my need for space.”
Any shrewd observer could look at me and know I hadn’t napped, and that I was boldly lying to cover something up. But I was in a room full of Moretti who wanted this marriage to go through, so they smiled and pretended to believe me.
“I was just discussing wedding dates with your uncle. The ceremony will take place a week from today.”
“You must bring your family to stay,” Angelo said to Raphael. “We’ll have a long overdue celebration.”
Angelo held out his hand to Raphael, who didn’t hesitate to take it, but they did not shake. Instead, they wrapped their hands around each other’s forearms, grasping one another in a silent vow. A new alliance to be sealed with my marriage t
o Raphael, and the birth of a child that would carry the blood of both Foscari and Moretti.
The butler appeared in the doorway of the salon to announce that dinner was ready.
“You go ahead,” Raphael said to the other occupants. “I’d like a word with my fiancée.”
I tried to stop the shiver of apprehension that crawled up my spine. Angelo left the room first, followed by Luca and Tor. Gisella was slower to depart and when she did, she threw a casual look at me over her shoulder before disappearing.
When we were alone, Raphael took a threatening step toward me. “A servant told me you spent the afternoon with your cousin.”
“I did.” I swallowed my nerves and clenched my hands into fists, but I kept them at my sides.
“Did you tell her what happened between us?”
“No. She doesn’t know a thing.”
He pinched my chin and turned my head to the side, inspecting the cheek he’d delivered vengeance to.
“It’s not swollen,” he murmured. “Excellent. Shall we go to dinner?”
Once again, he offered me his arm. I didn’t hesitate to take it. I would do nothing to incite his wrath.
Where are you, Hadrian?
Dinner was an oddly lively affair. Even though Raphael was a sociopath, he was a charming one. He drew everyone individually into conversation at one time or another, and laughter was rampant.
I remained quiet, attempting to keep the rich meal in my belly. I ignored the wine that was set at my plate, wishing I could partake. But if there was the slightest chance Raphael hadn’t made good on his promise, that I was still carrying Hadrian’s child, I would do everything within my power to protect it.
After the cannoli were served and devoured, Angelo asked, “Would you like a brandy and cigar, Raphael?”
Raphael dabbed his lips with a linen napkin before setting it aside. “Thank you, but no. I should be heading home.” He looked down at me. “Come, Sterling. See me out.”
He helped me rise from my chair and then we swept from the dining room, away from the prying eyes of my family.
When we stood on the front steps of The White Company’s ancestral home, Raphael’s driver patiently waited for him in the front seat of a silver BMW sedan.