Page 65 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
As soon as conversation returns to superficial pleasantries I make my excuses to visit the restroom. Once inside, I sit on a toilet seat and press my face into my hands.
I can’t cry. I can’t cry. I can’t cry.
I mustn’t draw attention to howterrifiedI am, because these men feed off weakness. But my brain is whirring. What have I been married into? Slavery? Does Cristiano know about this? Does Trilby?
Everyone wanted this marriage but me. Everyone saw how an alliance with Andreas would benefit thefamily. That seemed to come before everything, including my feelings, my dreams.
The truth tastes like a bleeding finger. Sour, metallic and with a sting that feels even worse than it looks. My husband wants me to sleep with another man. That’s why he wants me well. So the cutting stops, the scars heal and the view is more appealing. I turn around and face the toilet bowl but nothing comes up.
Despite that, every part of me is shaking. Quivering. I need to calm down before I walk back out there. Now that I’ve seen how ruthless Andreas is, I can’t imagine what he will do to me if I ruin his plans by not being the polite, compliant little wife he bargained for.
I take some deep breaths then open the door of the cubicle.
Another shock awaits me. Governor Grayson’s wife is bent over the counter sniffing a long line of white powder. She pops upright with a blissful snort and holds out a rolled fifty. “Want some?”
I shake my head, unable to trust the words likely to come out of my mouth right now, and turn on the faucet.
“I must say,” she starts, “I’m surprised the great Corioni would bargain with his own wife.”
Now, I feel sick.
A small fraction of me was still hoping I’d misunderstood Andreas’ words but Grayson’s wife has just confirmed them. I rinse my hands under the hot water, willing them to burn. Anything to feel pain greater than the throbbing inside my chest.
“I’d always imagined that whatever or whomeverAndreas made his, no one else could touch. Clearly, hisbusinessis more important than I’d given him credit for.”
With no outlet for my emotions, I feel a twist of anger start to unfurl somewhere deep inside me.
She doesn’t relent.
“I must say, I was surprised when he brought you to the dinner last week. I didn’t have him down as someone who’dwanta short, chubby redhead, let alone marry one. My husband on the other hand… he’ll take whatever he can get his grubby hands on.”
The anger turns to hate and I can’t stop my lips from moving.
I smile the sweet, compliant wife smile that everyone seems to expect from me and look directly into her dazed, clouded eyes. “I guess that must be why he chose you.”
She peers back at me, unable to focus, and her mouth opens and closes like a fish. My goodness, I’ve managed to make a coked-up person speechless.
Guilt brings me back to earth as, with every step I take back to the table, I realize with dread what I’ve done. I’ve just insulted the wife of the man my husbandneedsin order to get his vision off the ground. But then I remember Andreas’ icy gaze as he outlined the benefits Grayson would realize from this technology plant, and I know for a fact it would take more than a bitchy remark between women to interrupt his plans, not when there are benefits to be had for everyone involved.
The rest of the evening passes in a slow blur. I spendmost of it staring out at the darkened ocean, wishing I could just jump into it and swim far away.
When Andreas takes my hand to leave, I let it hang limply in his grip, hatred sizzling in my fingertips.
I don’t say a word as we’re driven home and I fix my stare out the window—anything to distract me from the sound of filled nostrils and cracking knuckles.
Andreas
I wasn’t intending to come into the house when I dropped my wife at home, but something happened during the dinner that changed her entire demeanor and I need to know what it was.
She steps inside the house and turns toward me, unable to look me in the eye. I press my palm to her chest and push her backwards. Her eyes stretch wide and a panicked look crosses them. Closing the door behind me, I tower over her, and my voice comes out low, broken, barely restrained.
“What’s the matter?” I demand.
Her breath shivers between us and a look I haven’t seen on her before sends an irritated shiver down my spine. It’s cold-hearted fear.
“Nothing,” she whispers, shakily. “Nothing’s the matter.”
My hands curl into fists as I hold back my frustration. “Don’t lie to me.”
