Page 35 of Cruel Heir

“And if he does? Lucia, he’ll kill you.” Celeste is staring at me as if she can’t believe I’m suggesting this. “And what happens when he asks where you got them?”

“He won’t kill me. I’m too valuable to him for that. And if he finds out—I’ll come up with something. I’ll find some other excuse for how I got them. I won’t let you get into trouble—”

“I don’t think you’ll have much say in that.” Celeste pinches the bridge of her nose, letting out a breath. She’s quiet for a long moment, and I can tell that she’s thinking. I know I should tell hernot to worry about it, that I’ll think of something else. That she’s right—it’s too dangerous for us both, and especially for her.

But I’m too desperate. The relief of getting my period is all tangled up with the visceral realization of what it would have meant if Ihadn’t, and I don’t think I can bear another month of wondering.

Enduring this marriage is one thing. But getting pregnant is unthinkable. I can’t give Andre what he wants.

“Alright.” Celeste looks up at me. “It’ll take me a few days to figure it out, but I’ll get them for you. You’ll need to start them as soon as you can—it takes time for them to take effect. It’s unlikely that he’ll manage to get you pregnant so quickly after your period, but it’s possible. Just keep that in mind. And for God’s sake, Lucia—” she shakes her head, her voice wobbly with fear. “Youhaveto hide them well. If he finds them—”

The look on her face tells me that it’s unthinkable. And I know she’s right. But I’m desperate enough to try.

Playing my role during the dinner party is one of the hardest things I’ve had to do so far. I manage a pleasant face during the dinner, and when Andre notices me wincing once in between courses, I play it off as having a migraine. To my surprise, he’s almost sweet about it, covering my hand with his and giving me a sympathetic look. It throws me off a little, and makes me feel all the more anxious for the end of the night when he’s going to try to take me to bed, and I’m going to have to tell him the truth. Even more so because he’s pleased with everything else—he’s had nothing but compliments for the flowers that I picked out for the decor, the menu that I planned, the soft string music that plays faintly in the background while the dons talk with Andre and amongst themselves. It didn’t take me long to figure out that Andre’s mansion has a sort of smart technology installed—upgrades that my own father’s home most certainly doesn’t have—that allows music to be played in just about every room. Andre hadn’t told me about it, and the fact that I figured it out was one of the first things he complimented.

I sit there at the dinner table, lamenting a night that would have gone off without a hitch, if not for the news I’ll have to give him later.

And then Andre throws another wrench into the evening.

“I have a surprise for you all,” he announces as the last of the dessert plates are cleared, standing up. “I’ve arranged a poker game for us tonight. A little friendly gambling among colleagues.” He grins at the other dons. “Two tables set up in the grand room and a bartender to keep the drinks flowing while we play. How does that sound?”

“Excellent!” Don Gaeta stands up, tossing his napkin onto the table. “A fantastic way to close out the evening. We’ll follow you, Don Leone.”

For a moment, I think that I’m off the hook, for tonight at least. That Andre will stay up late drinking and gambling with his allies, while I’m able to simply go to bed. I’ll have to deal with his wrath in the morning, but at least I’ll get to put it off for a little while longer.

And then his arm slides around my waist, bringing me in close to him as he splays his hand possessively over my hip.

“You’ll come along too,principessa,” he murmurs. “A little entertainment for me, and something pretty for the other dons to look at.”

It’s not difficult to figure out what this is. It’s a chance for him to show off his prize, to have Don Fontana’s daughter next to him while he enjoys his evening, his trophy that he can touch while the others can only look, and envy him.

I turn into his embrace a little, leaning in close, trying one last attempt to escape for the evening. “I’m really tired,” I whisper into his ear. “Planning this was exhausting. Maybe I should go up to bed—”

His arm tightens sharply around my waist, and I know that it’s not going to work. “Planning nights like tonight is yourjob,dolcezza,” he murmurs, low enough that his guests can’t hear. “And the night isn’t over. Come along like a good girl.”

I nod, biting my lip as he releases me. Another sharp cramp bites through my abdomen, and I grit my teeth to keep from wincing. “I’m just going to touch up my makeup in the bathroom,” I tell Andre, and when he nods, I quickly escape to the nearest one, hoping that Celeste was able to do as I asked.

Thankfully, she was. I make sure to touch up my lipstick as well,running my fingers through the ends of my hair to make sure that the curls still look artfully messy. I have no idea what Andre wants from me tonight, but I have a feeling that it isn’t going to be anything that I like.

When I make my way to the grand room, I feel my stomach twist. Andre hasn’t had a party or event large enough to utilize this room since I’ve been here—this still isn’t, the space that he’s utilizing barely takes up a quarter of it—and I’m instantly reminded of the last time I was in a room like this, the night of my debut.

The night that Andre took me away.

It already feels as if it’s been so much longer than it was. Barely three weeks—and yet it feels like a lifetime ago that I glided down those stairs on what was meant to be a night of happiness and adulation, a night that would have concluded with my father receiving offers from men that I would have been happy to marry.

I look at Andre, seated at one of the poker tables, and feel my chest clench with raw anger. He’s taken my life away from me, and forwhat? So he can plot vengeance and parade me around like a stolen treasure that he wants to remind everyone else he owns now. It feels almost impossible to force myself to cross the room to him.

But I do. The consequences of defying him, especially tonight when I already know he’s going to be angry with me by the end of it, are too dire.

Andre smiles indulgently at me when I approach, his arm going around my hips as he pulls me down into his lap. “My pretty wife,” he murmurs, his hand resting on my thigh. “I thought of hiring other women to be here tonight, for the other dons to enjoy. But I want to be the only one who gets to enjoy such a pleasure.” His fingers trace a pattern on my leg through the silk, and I can feel him thickening underneath me, getting hard just from having me in his lap.What would it be like,I can’t help but wonder,to be desired so much by someone who I actually want in return?

The men all have drinks in hand, laughing and joking and talking amongst themselves as the cards are dealt. I know nothing about how poker is played, but I know Andre well enough by now to know thathe’s pleased with the hand he’s been dealt. He keeps his free hand on me, brushing it over my leg, the small of my back, my waist—almost idly as if he’s content to merely touch me at his leisure. But as I feared, it doesn’t last.

As the game progresses and the drinks flow, Andre’s hands wander more and more. He takes a long sip of cognac when he wins a hand, tossing his head back with a delighted chuckle as his hand slips beneath the slit in my dress, finding my bare thigh. It takes everything in me to keep my face neutral, to not show my shock—or the unwanted flutter of pleasure that ripples through me at the feeling of his hand on my bare skin.

I don’t want this. I tell myself that, but that doesn’t change how my skin prickles when his fingers trace higher, up the soft curve of my inner thigh, nearly to the edge of my panties.

His fingers slide between my thighs, circling over my panties just above my clit, and I force myself not to gasp.He wouldn’t,I think—but I don’t know why. Of course, he would. Andre isn’t the one being embarrassed in front of these men, men who might once have sat at my father’s table, men who all know who I was before Andre stole me and married me. What he’s doing only makes them respect him more, but it shames me.

---