Page 26 of Cruel Heir

“Be that as it may—” The worried expression doesn’t leave Celeste’s face. “Men do terrible things out of anger when they’re pushed too far. Just—be careful. That’s all.” She pauses, her lips taking on that pinched, worried look again. “Andre is asking to be told in detail which staff members come and go from the estate andwhen. He also asked to be told if anyone speaks with you. I think he may be suspicious.”

I feel my stomach lurch, remembering what Andre said last night. “I didn’t tell him anything,” I whisper. “I promise. He doesn’t know for sure.”

Celeste lets out a breath. “We’re going to have to be very cautious,” she says finally, glancing at the door. “If he finds out, it will be bad for us both.”

I nod quietly, picking at my food. It’s hard to eat very much, and I sit alone for a little while after Celeste leaves, feeling the knot in my stomach grow tighter. If the assault last night was from my father—and it seems likely that it was—it’s not going to be as easy as I’d hoped for him to rescue me. Andre, it seems, was prepared in a number of different ways for the lengths he might have to go in order to keep me.

After breakfast I change into yoga pants and a crop top, thinking that I might go and get a light workout in. It’s been days now since I’ve done my usual routine, and my muscles feel tight and restless. I walk downstairs, keeping an eye out for anyone that I might talk to and test the waters with, and the first person I see is James—the house manager who met me the first night.

He raises an eyebrow the moment he sees me, his expression suspicious. “Where are you off to, Mrs. Leone?” he asks coolly, and I shrug, forcing a pleasant smile onto my face.

“I thought I’d do some yoga.” I pause, trying to seem as casual as I can. “I think we got off on the wrong foot that first night. I—”

James holds up a hand, his expression still polite, but guarded. “Not to interrupt you, Mrs. Leone, but there’s no need.”

Hearing myself calledMrs. Leonegrates on me, but I doubt that asking James to call me Lucia would have the same effect that it did with Celeste. “I’m only trying to—”

“Again, pardon the interruption, but I’m quite sure that I know what you’re trying to do.” James gives me that same cool look, his expression entirely impassive. “My loyalty is to your husband, Mrs. Leone. Regardless of the circumstances of your marriage, or whatideas you might have about garnering sympathy with the staff, I won’t help you plot against him. And I suggest you keep any other ideas about that to yourself as well. I’ll be sure to listen out for any talk among the others about your plots and plans.”

He says it all with the cool air of someone delivering a rehearsed speech. It makes me wonder if he expected this, if he were simply waiting for me to approach him so that he could strike the notion down. It infuriates me—but it also lets me know for certain that I have one enemy here besides Andre. It’s good to know who might be on my side—and who is solidly against it. It will hopefully keep me from making the mistake of confiding in the wrong person.

I decide to take my time talking to any other staff—as much to avoid running into James again during that discussion as anything else. I make my way into the yoga room, spreading out a mat. There’s an iPod on one side of the room on a low shelf, connected to the room’s sound system, and I’m pleased to find out that I’ll have music for my stretching session after all. I turn it to a soothing yoga playlist and lie down on the mat, closing my eyes and trying to breathe away the stress of the past few days.

Unfortunately, what’s happened to me is far worse than what a fewsavasanascan fix. But I take long, deep breaths anyway, moving through the familiar routine and stretching out my sore muscles. I’m sore in places that I wouldn’t have expected to be—places I hadn’t known Icouldbe sore—and that makes me angry too, that even here I can’t escape reminders of Andre.

By the time I’m finished with my yoga routine, I’m hungry again. I toss my hair up on my head in a loose bun and wander towards where I’m pretty sure the kitchen is, keeping an eye out for Andre if he’s returned. I don’t see any sign of him, but the short, round, brunette woman, who I assume is the cook based on the roll of dough that she’s pounding into a bowl, turns and gives me an irritated look.

“What are you doing—oh, it’s you, Mrs. Leone. Didn’t expect to see you wandering into the kitchen.” She looks at me curiously. “Is there something you need that one of the maids can’t get for you?”

“I just wanted a snack.” I can hear a touch of defensiveness creep into my tone, and the woman sniffs, rolling her eyes.

“Can’t believe Don Fontana’s daughter can manage to come and get her own ‘snack’ on her own two feet. I’d have thought you needed it brought to you on a golden platter.”

For a moment, I don’t know whether to be angry at her rudeness or stunned that she’s talking to me this way. I’m not surprised that she knows who I am—I expected the gossip of whose daughter Andre had stolen and married would have made its way through the house by now.

“I’m perfectly capable of it,” I tell her coolly, brushing past her and walking to the huge refrigerator. “And it wasn’t my choice to be here, as I’m sure you know—since you seem to be so aware of who I am.”

The woman rolls her eyes, clearly without any respect for either my former position as Don Fontana’s daughter or my new one as Andre Leone’s wife. “And now you’re buttering up to us, trying to figure out which of us is most likely to help the princess out of the little problem she’s found herself in?” She snorts, looking sideways at me as I rummage through the refrigerator. “You’re not going to have any luck. Most of us were loyal to the new don’s father. And none of us give two shits about yours, not enough to risk our jobs or our lives. So you might as well hurry on back upstairs so you can lie on your back for Don Leone, until you do your job like the rest of us and give him an heir.”

I stand there with a container of hummus in my hand, trying not to let my mouth drop open. I’m stunned that she’s speaking to me this way, but I can also feel my hopes sinking with every word she says. It’s clear that if any help is going to be found, it won’t come from getting anyone here to assist me, other than Celeste. I think of what she said earlier, of how many times she urged me to be careful, and I’m not sure how much help I’ll have from her, either.

The cook is still looking at me, a small smirk on her lips, and I tilt my chin up, doing my best to look as if what she said didn’t feel like a punch to the gut. “Are there any chips? Or crackers?” Somehow, Ikeep my voice from trembling, to sound as if I’m utterly unconcerned with her little speech. I manage to keep the poise that I was always taught, and the woman shrugs, pointing to a door at the end of the kitchen.

“In the pantry.” She says it brusquely, turning back to the dough she was punching, and I retreat quickly, scooping a box of wheat crackers out of the pantry and hurrying out of the room.

The hopelessness hits me once I’m alone, sitting in the smaller dining room by myself, nibbling on the hummus and crackers. I’m trapped here in this beautiful prison, married to a man I don’t want, being forced into having a child for him. I never expectedloveout of a marriage, but I did hope for respect, for my husband to be someone I actually liked. I always knew my father’s word on it would be final, but with so many men vying for my hand, I hoped he might take into consideration which of them I liked, too. Or at least, which of them I thought I could tolerate.

I think of Mattias, of the respectful distance he kept when we danced, of his politeness, of how eager he was to talk to my father about the marriage. Everything would be so different now if I’d just stayed inside, if I hadn’t left the safety of the house. I might be engaged to Mattias right now, planning a wedding that I would have been excited for.

Instead, I have no idea what my life will look like going forward. It feels as if all I can do is survive one day to the next, and hope that help will come sooner rather than later.

I have to figure out something.I finish my food, and walk to where Andre’s study is. I try the door handle, but it’s locked, which doesn’t surprise me. I stare at it for a long time, wondering if there’s any way to break in, but I know better than to try. I wouldn’t have the slightest idea where to start. After my encounters with James and the cook, I suspect that anyone who caught me other than Celeste would report straight to Andre. Just the thought of his reaction to finding out that I tried to break into his study makes me shudder with fear. It’s the only way I can think of to get access to an actual phone—the one in my room and next to Andre’s bed doesn’t make calls outside of the house.But even if I had access to one, I don’t know how I would get ahold of my father. I don’t have a number for him. I’ve never needed to call him for anything. I barely ever left my house when I lived there.

The magnitude of how sheltered a life I’ve led crashes down on me all over again, making me sag against the wall in defeat. I’m a prisoner, and I’ll stay that way until my husband gets what he wants. Every idea that I have of what I can do about it seems to be a dead end, and I close my eyes, pressing my forehead against the wall for a moment. I’ve never felt so trapped.

Eventually, I go upstairs and shower again, and change into something nicer for dinner. If Andre is home, he’ll expect me to eat with him, and I know that I need to show up in the dining room regardless. If I don’t, he’ll be angry, and I doubt he’ll do me the courtesy of letting me know if he’s actually going to be there or not. As I’m changing, there’s a knock at the door, and when I call out, “come in,” one of the maids steps quickly into the room, heading straight for the laundry hamper.

“I’ll be quick,” she says, scooping up the basket, and I glance at her.

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