Page 39 of Cruel Heir

“When my father is dead, you mean.” I start to draw back, but his hand on my waist keeps me there.

“When things are settled,” Andre repeats. “It doesn’t have to be that way—necessarily.” He pulls me closer, guiding me towards the table. “Let’s enjoy our evening,principessa. Without talking about all of the—unpleasantness.”

I want to say that the potential destruction of my family isn’t justunpleasantness. But Andre is already sliding the chair out, and as I sink down into it, I stop myself. I tell myself that this is a chance to try and find out what it is that he truly wants, to try to get him to open up about himself. If I can understand him better, perhaps I can find a way to utilize that against him,

That’s the only reason I want to know more,I reassure myself as I reach for my fork.Not because I’m curious about my husband.

The salad looks delicious—mixed greens with feta cheese sprinkled over it and orange slices, with a vinaigrette. I take a small bite, glancing over at Andre, who looks entirely relaxed as he reaches for his wine.

“I heard you’ve been making quite a lot of use of the yoga room.” He looks at me curiously. “Is that something you’ve always enjoyed?”

I nod, taking another small bite of my salad. “My father employed a teacher who would come and do lessons with me daily. But I remember enough to do it myself, here. It’s relaxing. And a good form of exercise, too. I’ve always liked it more than anything else.”

“Is that something you would like? Having a teacher come here?” Andre seems to be considering it. “I hadn’t thought of that—if you might have hobbies you’d like to continue while you were here. That was an oversight on my part. I’m sorry for that.”

I stare at him, momentarily speechless. It’s the second time he’s apologized for something in the past week, and I have absolutely no idea what to make of it.

“What?” He raises an eyebrow. “Is it something you’d like?”

“Yes—but—” I blink. “You’reapologizing?”

Andre lets out a sigh, taking another long sip from his glass. “Lucia. I know that I was—rough—with you at first. I was angry. I let my emotions get the better of me. But I did truly mean it when I said that I would prefer for things to be good between us. That theycouldbe, if only you would stop fighting me. Surely, the way things have gone over the past month proves that. We’ve grown more—comfortable with each other. And you can’t pretend that we don’t enjoy each other. I know you want to tell yourself that, but you can’t hide it.” Helooks at me almost sympathetically. “We could be good together, Lucia. And that begins here. So tell me. Do you want me to have a yoga teacher come? Would that be something you enjoy?” His expression hardens the slightest bit. “Are you going to try to bribe that teacher into going to your father? Because I assure you, I will be taking precautions against that, and Iwillfind out.”

The thought had occurred to me. But I just give him a small smile, taking another bite of my salad. “I would enjoy that. Thank you.”

There’s a long moment of silence. “What about you?” I venture, glancing over at him. “Do you have hobbies? Besides kidnapping daughters from their homes, I mean.” There’s a touch of sarcasm in my voice, and I feel myself tense as I say it. It’s a gambit—I think that deep down, Andre likes my attitude. He likes that I don’t simply take what he dishes out and that I have cutting remarks like that from time to time.

“You’re my first kidnapping, so I’d hardly call that a hobby.” Andre takes a bite of his own salad, shrugging. “Not as much, these days. While your father had me on house arrest, I read quite a lot. Exercised.”

“And before that?” I press a little harder, curious despite myself about what he might say. “When I lived in Chicago with my family? I took fencing lessons.”

“You’re from Chicago? Did you like it there?” The idea of being from the States seems exotic to me—I’ve never been out of Italy. I’ve rarely even left Sicily, except to visit my stepmother in Rome a few times.

“I did back then. Now I’m beginning to like it here more. I liked riding horses on occasion then, too, although I had to get out of the city for that. I’ve thought about taking it up again as a hobby here.”

“I used to love that, too.” I fiddle with the napkin in my lap, wishing I could take it back as soon as I say it. I don’twantto have anything in common with him. I don’t want us to get closer. This all feels like a trap, closing in around me, but like one that I’m not entirely sure that I want to step out of.

“Used to?” Andre looks at me curiously. “Not anymore?”

“I still did from time to time. I started spending a lot more time on lessons. Languages, that sort of thing. My father said it would be good for me to learn, in case I traveled with my husband.”

“What do you speak?” Andre looks almost impressed, and I fight back the warmth that spreads through me at the idea.

“Italian, obviously, and French. A little Latin—it was always hard for me. I was learning German.”

Now, it’s clear that Andreisimpressed. “You should continue,” he says finally. “I could practice with you, if you like—I speak German. My father had several contacts that he wanted me to be able to do business with.”

His gaze locks with mine, and I don’t know what to say. I can feel my hand starting to tremble around my fork, and I set it down, suddenly fighting back tears.No. I can’t let this humanize him. I can’t let myselflikehim.It’s bad enough that I want him. I can’t let myself make it worse.

“Maybe,” I say softly, and it almost looks as if there’s a glimpse of disappointment on Andre’s face.

The salad course is swapped for soup, a crab bisque, and Andre asks me about the gardens. “They need work—they were the least tended to while none of my family were here. I thought you might like to take them on as a project.”

I feel my stomach clench, remembering that moment’s thought I had while drinking my tea—the thought that I might want to do exactly that in the spring.I’m not going to be here then,I tell myself again, but sitting at the table with Andre as we eat our dinner, discussing the things we enjoy and talking about learning a language together, it’s hard not to think of the future. It’s hard to remember that this isn’t a marriage I intend to stay in.

“I want to make things easier for you, Lucia.” He sounds earnest when he says it, in a way that makes me almost want to believe him. “I truly do. Whatever might help—”

I nod, taking another bite of my soup. “I don’t know what that would be,” I tell him truthfully. “Other than to let me go home.”

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