Page 15 of Cruel Heir

There must be some way to do that.I think of the possibilities—not leaving the estate, I don’t think, especially since I have no idea where I am. But I consider the possibility that he might take me somewhere with him eventually, that we might go to an event, even, where I might see someone who knows me.Don’t panic,I tell myself, trying to breathe, trying not to think about the possibility of Andre taking me somewhere far away from here, so far that I might never be able to get back to my home and family. I tell myself that things could be worse.

But deep down, as I huddle in the hot water and search for some scrap of comfort, I know that’s not true. Even if I were to get away, my life will never be what it was before. Any plans that my father might have had for me are gone now, along with my virginity. The best that I can hope for is that I find a way out before Andre manages to get me pregnant.

I press a hand against the flat of my stomach, fear chilling me despite the warmth of the bath. I want to believe that my father would still love me after this. That he would protect me. But the truth is that I’ve always willingly blinded myself to the harshness of the world that I live in, to how disposable a woman is if she has no value—because I’d never feared for mine. Now that Andre has had half of what he wants, I have no idea what value I have left to anyone other than him.

And the last thing in the world I want is to give him the rest of what he desires.

—

In the morning,I wake up to bright sunlight and an empty bed. It’s clear that Andre never came upstairs to sleep next to me last night,and I sit up slowly, wondering what that means.Does he never intend for us to share a bed other than for sex?The thought reassures me a little. It would give me at least some peace, a little space to compose myself before the next time I have to see him. Which, I consider as I push back the covers, I have no idea exactly when that will be.

At some point, Celeste must have slipped into the room. She took my wedding dress and discarded lingerie away last night while I was in the bath, and now I see there’s a red silk slip dress hanging on the edge of the wardrobe on a black velvet hanger, with black velvet ballerina flats on the floor beneath it. I have none of my own clothes, obviously, so this must be something Andre had brought here for me.

I wonder if he plans to dress me like a doll every single day. The thought makes me seethe, and I roll over, looking at the phone next to the bed. It occurs to me that I might be able to have breakfast sent up to the room and avoid him altogether, and I resolve to try that.Let him seek me out,I decide as I reach for the phone and find the number to ring down to the kitchen.

When someone answers, I try to sound as confident as I can. I grew up in a house like this, after all, and I’m still Don Fontana’s daughter. “Can you have someone send up breakfast for me, please? To the master suite. Something light, if you don’t mind.”

There’s a pause, and the voice on the other end almost sounds regretful when they answer, as if they, too, are aware of what’s going on in the house. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Leone. Don Leone insisted that you be told to come down to the formal dining room for breakfast once you woke up.”

“Don Leone,” I repeat, biting my tongue against what I really want to say. As far as I can tell from the little bit of information Andre has given me, his family is in disgrace. He was takenawayfrom his inheritance and brought here by my father to await punishment. The fact that he’s styling himself asdonafter he’s kidnapped me from my home is so outrageous that it’s almost laughable.

“Yes, ma’am.” Another pause. “I’m sorry. Don Leone was very firm.”

“I—” I swallow hard, reminding myself that there’s nothing thisperson can do about it. If I don’t have the power to contradict Andre, it’s certain that no one on his staff does. “Alright. Thank you for letting me know.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

The phone clicks off, and I set the receiver down in the cradle, feeling my stomach clench. I’d hoped I would have more time before I would need to face Andre again. It’s clear that he doesn’t plan to give me that.

If he’s going to demand my presence, then he can wait on it.I’m still more than a little frightened of him, but last night showed me that, at the very least, he wants to keep me alive. I don’t intend to test his line on that too far, but it does give me a small bit of power. It’s clearly not enough for him to simply eliminate me in order to punish my father. He wants me humiliated, too.

With that thought in my head, I take my time getting ready. I notice that there’s no underwear to go with the slip dress hanging on the wardrobe, and I bite my lip, hating the idea of going downstairs in this. It’s nothing but a glorified nightgown, and that’s all the more evident the moment I slip the red silk over my head and look in the mirror. The feeling of it sliding against my bare skin is lewdly sensuous. Every time I move, the peak of my nipples and the faint brush of my pubic hair against the fabric is evident to anyone who might be looking. The straps are so thin that they look as if they could snap with the slightest pull, and the neckline dips between my small breasts, showing the smooth skin there.

It’s a dress meant for a mistress, not a wife. A dress meant to embarrass me in front of anyone in the house who might see, even the staff—to prove that no matter whose daughter I am, no matter what name I bear, whether that be my father’s or Andre’s, I’m powerless here. His toy, and nothing more than that.

So I’ll just have to pretend not to be embarrassed.It’s easier said than done, but I force myself to go through the steps of getting ready as if I were wearing the sort of appropriate clothes I would normally dress in, and notthis. I run a brush through my hair until it’s hanging thick and shiny around my shoulders, and slip the flats on. None of myjewelry is here either, and I touch one earlobe, feeling even more bare without it. I feel even more adrift here, without any of my own things to anchor me.

As I walk downstairs, I realize I have no idea where the formal dining room is. I have a feeling that’s another tactic of Andre’s to embarrass me—as his wife, I should have already had a tour of the home and be familiar with all of it. He should have been there this morning when I got up, to show me around the estate that is, technically, mine now as well. Instead, I’m left to wander like a lost puppy, and I feel sure that it’s another way to throw me off balance and make me feel as if I don’t belong.

He wants me to remember that nothing here is mine, not even my own self.

Fortunately, I’m familiar enough with the way a mansion like this is typically laid out that I can find it fairly quickly. I end up catching a glimpse of a huge living room and a smaller parlor-type room before I notice a set of double doors cracked open just enough that I see a sliver of what looks like a long dining room table. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the moment I see Andre again, and push one of the doors open.

The room itself is impossibly grand, and I’m seized with the urge to laugh again. Even in my father’s house, we didn’t eat in the formal dining room every morning. I either had something sent up while I got ready for the day, or if my father wanted me to eat with him that morning, we ate in the smaller dining room. The sight of Andre sitting alone at the head of the long table, with the windows all along the far wall of the room spilling light in and a huge crystal chandelier overhead, tells me just how much he feels the need to play a role that he’s not accustomed to filling.

It might seem like a small thing to know about him, but it tells me that he’s insecure. That he needs to feel as if he belongs in this place that he’s trying to elevate himself to. It tells me that I need to step carefully, because if he feels as if he’s being undermined, there’s no telling how unhinged he might become or how dangerous he could be.

He hears me open the door and looks over at me, standing there, a pleasant smile on his face as if nothing happened. As iflast nightdidn’t happen, at least not the way I remember it. He’s wearing dark chinos and a blue button-up, and I hate the fact that I notice that it makes his eyes look brighter than the sapphire blue that they usually are. I hate that I notice that anything about him is attractive at all.

“Don’t just stand there.” Andre raises an eyebrow. “You must be hungry.”

I feel myself start to tremble all over again, as if just being near him causes it. I’m not sure if it’s fear or anger or both, but I can feel myself on the cusp of turning and running back upstairs. I’m starving—I haven’t eaten anything substantial since lunch yesterday, but it almost feels worth it to stay hungry if I can get out of this room.

Andre’s expression turns impatient. “Sitdown, Lucia. We’re a normal married couple having breakfast. Stop acting as if you’re being tortured.”

Something about his patronizing tone and the look on his face tips me over the edge. I’m so close to falling apart, and as much as I know I need to learn to take all of this in stride if I’m going to survive it, just this moment, it feels impossible.

“Nothingabout this is normal!” I bite out, still staring at him from the doorway. “And nothing about that ‘wedding’ last night was doneproperly, as much as you kept prattling on about that. You can’t possibly think that you’re going to get away with this—”

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