Page 40 of Wicked Sinner
CAESAR
Iadjust my tie for the third time, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The black suit is perfectly tailored, the shirt crisp, the cufflinks gleaming. I look every inch the successful don that I’m attempting to be—polished, sophisticated, marriageable.
That last thought makes my stomach turn, twisting in on itself at the thought of having to continue to play along with Konstantin’s schemes to marry me off. The woman I want to marry is just down the hall, as intractable as ever, and I wonder how she’d feel if she knew where I was going tonight. She’d say she didn’t care, of course, but I wonder how she’dreallyfeel. If some part of her would be jealous that I’ll be talking to other women tonight, looking at them as prospective brides, even if I’m pretending.
Isabella Torrino’s father is hosting the dinner tonight, but that doesn’t mean that Catherine and Elisa won’t be there. In fact, I expect they will be, and possibly other options too. I’m sure Konstantin wants to make sure that I have all I could hope for to choose from.
My jaw tightens. I hate being managed, being made to feel as if I’m being told what to do, backed into a corner with no way out. In the past, my solution to that has been to run or to use violence, but neither of those are options now. This is a whole new world that requires new strategies, and I can admit that I’m woefully underprepared.
I hadn’t expected to find so much resistance when I returned home.
I check my appearance in the mirror once more, and then head down the hall to check on Bridget.
It's been two days since her comment about the fall from the window, and I haven't been able to shake the image of her sitting there, calculating the drop. She said she wasn’t serious, and I don’t truly think she was, looking back on it. But still—every time I think about it, I feel a cold chill run through me. The thought of anything happening to her is… well, it’s unthinkable.
I’ve had Marco watching her more closely while I’ve been gone, just in case. It hasn’t improved her mood, although she’s finally started eating. I want to let her out of the room, to give her a chance to explore the penthouse and see for herself what else I have to offer her, but I don’t trust her not to try to escape, or to cause some other chaos.
It feels like a vicious circle. The longer I keep her confined to the guest room, the angrier she gets, but I don’t feel that I can give her any freedom until she givesmesome sign that she’s coming around. And now I’m in so deep that I’m not sure what to do next.
The penthouse is quiet as I make my way to her room, my footsteps thudding softly against the gleaming wooden floors. I can hear the soft murmur of the television through her door—she finally accepted the entertainment system I had installed, though she's using it more for background noise than actual viewing.
I knock softly. "Bridget? I'm coming in."
There's no response, but I unlock the door anyway. She's sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing the silk pajamas I had delivered yesterday—a soft ivory set that makes her skin glow and her hair look like honey sliding over her shoulders. She glances up when I enter, and her face instantly hardens into an expression that I’m becoming all too familiar with.
"Let me guess," she says, taking in my formal attire. "Hot date tonight?"
"Business dinner," I correct, though the distinction feels meaningless.
"Ah." She turns back to the television, where some mindless romantic comedy is playing. "The kind of business where you check out the eligible daughters of your criminal associates? Does this have something to do with that marriage that you wanted to make me a side piece for?"
I blow out a sharp breath. She’s perceptive, I’ll give her that. Sometimes too much so. “You don’t need to make it sound so crude.”
Bridget raises an eyebrow, still staring at the television. “How else should I describe your terribly romantic offer to make me your mistress?”
My jaw tightens. “I made that offer because I wanted you,bellissima. Because of how you made me feel after an hour together. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Most women?—”
Bridget snorts. “As I’m sure you’ve figured out by now, Caesar, I’m notmost women.”
The sound of my name on her tongue, even spoken with such disdain, makes my cock twitch. “I’m very aware of that, Bridget.”
Her throat moves as she swallows hard, but she still doesn’t look at me. I file that away for later, though, something to think about. Me saying her name affected her, too. She’s notimpervious to me, even if she likes to pretend that she is. “You should go then. You’re going to be late. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your arranged marriage.”
I ignore the sarcasm in her voice and move closer to the bed. "Have you eaten today?"
"Yes,daddy. I had the salmon you sent up for lunch. And the fruit salad. And I took my prenatal vitamin like a good little prisoner." She smiles sweetly up at me, her eyes finally locking onto mine, and I do my best to ignore my body’s response to her.
“Good.” I reach out despite myself, my fingers grazing along her jawline. “I’m not actually going to marry anyone other than you, Bridget. This is all just for show, until I can?—”
“You should get used to being single, then.” She jerks her face away from my touch, but I don’t miss the shiver that runs through her, almost imperceptibly.
I ignore that statement. "The doctor will be here tomorrow morning for your first official prenatal appointment."
Bridget presses her lips together. “What if I want to choose my own doctor?”
"You’ll see this one. It's not optional."
"Everything about this situation seems to be 'not optional,'" she snaps. "When exactly do I get to make a choice about my own life again?"
