Page 47 of Cruel Heir

Andre smirks. “I think we get along just fine,principessa. When you’re not fighting me, that is. In fact, every time you come to my bed,you seem absolutely delighted to be there.” He reaches for his wine glass, the smirk spreading. “And out of bed, too. Earlier, you gripped my cock so hard with that sweet pussy that I thought you might leave me raw.”

There’s a clink of dishes, and I realize that a maid walked in just in time to hear him say that. I feel my face flame red, and Andre chuckles.

“So easily embarrassed, for someone who fell asleep naked in the living room with me.”

I look away from him, hating the reminder of that night. It feels like weakness, now—the way I convinced myself to lie there for just a moment, the way I told myself it wouldn’t matter if I enjoyed it briefly. It had mattered, of course. Itdoesmatter, just like every other small thing does. It’s all added up, and now, as I look at my husband, I feel that awful conflict inside of me. I feel myself wishing that things could be different. And I find myself desperately afraid for the future.

I wonder, later that night, as I lie in bed looking up at the ceiling, if I should come clean about the pills. If it would be better to admit it and tell the truth, rather than continue to risk him finding out on his own. Celeste managed to get another pack for me, and I’ve hidden them in the same place. Another month that I can, hopefully, not have to fear giving Andre a child—unless he managed to get me pregnant when I first started taking them, before they could take effect. My period is due to start tomorrow, and I’ll know then. It’s keeping me awake tonight, wondering if the next few days are going to be full of increasing anxiety, counting as my period is later and later, until I finally have to admit that the worst has happened.

Another month for my father to decide if he’s going to come and get me,I think bitterly, before I can stop myself. I don’t want to believe that what Andre said was true. I don’t want to believeanyof it. But deep down, as I lie there and try to look at it without emotion, I can’t stop the doubt that creeps in.

I thought Andre was a monster when he first brought me here. I thought that he was an anomaly, the kind of man that men like my father would shun. But the more I think about it, the more I wonder.I think of the way the respect others had for my father always seemed tinged with fear— a fear I didn’t entirely understand. I think of the way he presided over my debut, of the glimpses I saw over the years of the way others moved around him, and I wonder if I simply didn’twantto understand. If I chose to be sheltered from the ruthlessness of my world, so that I wouldn’t have to see the truth of it.

I don’t sleep well. I have fitful dreams all night, some of them aching, desire-filled snippets of dreams about Andre, and others nightmares of him finding the pills, of him strangling me until I wake up gasping for air, looking around in terror until I remember that I’m alone.

In the morning, when I go to the bathroom, I see that my period has started. It’s a relief, until the door pushes open just as I’m getting up to wash my hands, and I see Andre standing there.

“You could knock.” I breathe the words, half in fear, realizing that he could have caught me taking my pill. I think of the bag on the vanity, of how easily he could find them if he had reason to look through it. He hasn’t so far, but if I give him reason to distrust me more than he already does, he could go through everything I own.

“Why? It’s my house.” He gives me a lazy smile, leaning against the doorway, and I try not to look at him. I try not to take in the sight of his bare, muscular chest, the dusting of blond hair that I’m all too familiar with. I try not to think of how soft it feels against my hands, or look at how it darkens past his navel, running into the black pajama pants hanging off of his hips and already starting to tent with his arousal.

“Our house,” I mutter, drying my hands. “We’re married, remember?” I give him a sarcastic smile, and his spreads into a smirk as he pushes himself off of the doorframe, walking towards me.

“Something I thought I’d take advantage of this morning. I wouldn’t mind a repeat of having you over the bathroom sink, but if you’d prefer the bed—”

“I started my period.” I blurt it out without thinking; the only thought in my head how to keep him from touching me. I don’t thinkI can bear his manipulation of my desire this morning. “So I’m sure you don’t want—”

The smile falls away from Andre’s face. His expression goes dark, his jaw clenching as every part of his body tenses, and for a moment, I think he’s going to grab me by the throat again.

“This is youronlypurpose!” he snarls, striding towards me, backing me almost up into the glass door of the shower. “To give me an heir! This isallyou need to do, and you can’t even do that right.” His lip curls in a sneer, and he glares at me, his hands fisting at his sides. “I need anheir, Lucia! This marriage doesn’t do what it’s meant for if you can’t get fucking pregnant!”

“And we’re so sure that’s my fault?” I shoot back, drawing myself up as tall as I can, trying not to let him see the fear shuddering through me. “You’re absolutely certain that it’s not you? That you might be the one who can’t make a baby? Maybe you’re not as much of a fucking man as you think you are,” I spit, darting away from him before he can grab me.

A look of shock comes over his face, almost as if it’s just now occurring to him that could be a part of the problem. I don’t know whether to burst into hysterical laughter or cry. He stops, looking at me as some of the anger fades, and I feel a sudden flash of guilt as I realize that he’s considering the possibility.

I know, of course, that’s not true—or as much as I can know, anyway. The pills are what’s keeping me from getting pregnant, not any fault of Andre’s. The lie seems to eat its way through me, especially when, for one brief moment, I think he’s about to apologize.

But he doesn’t. His jaw tightens again, and then he turns on his heel suddenly, stalking out of the room as he slams the door behind him hard enough to shake the floor.

I press a hand over my mouth, frightened tears filling my eyes as I wait for the sounds of him tearing through my things. But I hear a second door slam as he leaves my bedroom, and I sink to the floor, on the verge of collapsing with mingled terror and relief.

—

I only just manage to pull myself together in time for when the other wives are meant to come over. Celeste brings me breakfast, noticing my pale face and accepting my excuse that I’ve started my period. I don’t want to talk about the argument with Andre—and besides, I think she expects that he was angry with me.It’s always going to be my fault,I think blankly, pushing my spoon through the raisin-studded oatmeal she brought me.Anything that doesn’t go his way.

But I know that’s not necessarily true. The last time we fought over this, he apologized with notes and flowers. I have a feeling he won’t do it again. That with each passing month, he’s going to grow more and more impatient, more and more frustrated with my supposed inability to produce the thing that he wants more than anything else—except maybe my father’s death.

My brother Tommas, too. I bite my lip, dropping my spoon. If Andre’s goal really is to take over completely—and I’m not sure of that—he’d have to remove my brother as well. I very much doubt that he would be willing to simply allow Andre to take his place—the one that he should step into with my father’s death. No matter what kind of force Andre brings to the table, I can’t imagine it would ever outstrip the allies that my father has. And although my brother and I have never been close, I don’t think he would let Andre’s behavior go unanswered.

There must be some way to change his mind.I try to, for a moment, assume that everything Andre is telling me is the truth. That my father had his killed, that he ripped Andre away from his own family and kept him locked away for two years, that Andre’s family has languished in his absence and fallen out of grace. I try to think of how I would feel, in those same circumstances. If I would have the same ravenous need for revenge that Andre has. If I would go to some of those same lengths to avenge my family.

I sit there for what feels like a long time as my breakfast grows cold, considering it. And the truth that I’m forced to face is that I don’t know. I want to say that I wouldn’t—that I would find some otherway, that I would make concessions. That I would look for a way to make peace. But I have no context for it.

I’ve never been faced with anything like that. I barely know the realities of the world I live in. And daughters in the mafia are taught the skills they need for marriages to bring families together, not to embroil themselves in the wars that might tear them apart. I don’t know what I would do.

And what will you do, if Andre truly does bring down your family? If he kills them?

Pain lances through me at the thought. I can’t imagine living a life with him, going to bed with him, and giving him children with that knowledge hanging over our marriage. I think of the times he’s been kind to me, when he’s tried to bridge the gap between us and seemed sincere, and I wonder why.Why, when he so clearly blames my family for everything terrible that’s happened to his? It makes more sense for him to treat me roughly, if all that is true. His intention to take out his vengeance on me, as horrible as it is, makes sense in those circumstances. Won’t I want to do the same, if he’s responsible for hurting mine?

---