THE STRENGTH OF A WOMAN (Code of Honor #2)

Chapter 1

L EILANI

The house is quiet as a soft breeze curls around the furniture, unsettling the long drapes and whistling an old song reminiscent of how I once envisioned freedom.

Soft voices blend into a mellow dialogue over the blooming flowers and the shrubs around the house like a quiet call to a laid-back lifestyle.

From time to time, domestic noises interject into the diary of a lazy afternoon.

It must be lunchtime. Maybe later.

I roll to my side and reach for my phone on the nightstand.

The crisp sheets rustle around my legs.They smell like lemon and vanilla.

Sunk in thought, I slide a finger over the screen and check the time.

Twelve thirteen.

I was under the impression that it was later than that.

My hand slides off my phone as I reposition myself for sleep.

On my back, eyes closed, an arm draped over my abdomen, the pleasant scent tickling my nostrils, my thoughts a ball of yarn I have no interest in untangling.

Just listening to the soft sounds of the house, you wouldn’t guess that something bad happened here last night.

You’d think it’s just another day in a beautiful house near the shore of the gemstone-like Mediterranean Sea.

Dolce Far Niente. The sweetness of doing nothing.

A soft exhale crawls up my throat and rolls off my lips like a love bug flying into the sunlight for the first time.

I wish I felt that lightness as the little insect does when it spreads its wings and flies into the unknown, filled with hope.

I wish I knew how to live like that.

Free, unaware, untied, insignificant, and yet so blessed to experience everything without being stopped and shut down.

A minuscule globe of water inches closer to the corner of my eye and breaks free, rolling down my cheek, exhilarated.

It’s earned that.

I’ve earned that.

A tear of regret.

Cloaked in silence, I review what's happened since I spoke last to my grandmother.

No one had followed me into the bedroom to scold me, or worse. Thank God for that.

The party quickly died out as our guests’ voices were steadily trailing toward the exit.

There was no way of knowing whether any of the ‘special’ guests were still in the house. And for sure, I couldn’t tell whether Callum was one of the first to leave or if he lingered behind.

Perhaps, there were other business matters to discuss, issues that had nothing to do with me and my future marriage.

I huff in disgust.

What a terrible thing to even think about.

He probably left just after he talked to me. Maybe he went home. Maybe he joined his date and attended a different party.

I’d be crushed if that were the truth.

Maybe he just paid her a late-night visit, buried himself between her legs, and fucked her mindlessly, thinking about stuff that had nothing to do with her or having sex with her.

That reality would make my heart twist in pain, but I’d need to live with it.

Frankly, I have bigger problems now than thinking about who he is spending his time with.

I wish I knew more about his accommodations in town. As far as I know, my family doesn’t own any more properties in the area, but I may be wrong.

It might also be his property.

Or it may be that he had rented one of those luxurious coastal villas or a historic apartment.

I don’t see him living in a rural farmhouse, a masseria , a fortified traditional stone structure, although you never know. He may consider the safety aspect.

Who knows what’s going on in this man’s life? Other than, of course, that woman, Vittoria Petri. I wish I hadn’t met her.

It completely ruined my fantasizing about him.

A few moments pass.

It could be a multi-story townhouse.

It’s probably none of that.

There are plenty of hotels in town, and their owners would be more than happy to accommodate someone like him, despite his rather large crew.

I flick my hand in the air, trying to dismiss my fascination with him.

Things don’t go the way I want.

Although you couldn’t tell by how nice the house feels right now.

In a different universe, and in another life, I would wake up to a house filled with his presence.

His men would have brunch outside while he took a shower just about now.

The bedroom would smell of woodsy notes, musk, or aftershave.

I’d clench my legs under the sheets and dream about his returning, grabbing me, and fucking me like the world depended on us to survive.

In a different reality, I couldn’t wait to have my wrists gathered together in his fist, his eyes sunk in mine, his teeth tear into the softness of my lips, and his hard length move into me until I saw only light in front of my eyes.

In another time, he’d hover over me just about now, rock his hips, with every thrust tying me to him, making me part of his life and the bumpy road ahead of us.

He and I would be so great together.

He and I would rule our little world.

After spending some time in the darkest dungeons of the real world, I have no fear. Death means nothing to me.

How I live matters.

Every moment with him would have my full attention.

I’d be the other half of his heart.

I’d be his everything.

Too bad, reality sucks sometimes, and it can be such a letdown.

The sound of clinking plates from outside makes me think people are sitting around the table having lunch.

A muffled conversation unfolds in the background.

I bet they’re still comparing notes on how to find a suitable husband for me.

I’d rather paint old houses and take out the trash than live in a palazzo with guards at the door, not to protect me but to ensure that I wouldn’t run away, or worse, I wouldn’t kill my husband.

I scrunch up my nose.

Hmm, that’s an option, isn’t it?

If they push it, and I have no way out, I could do that. The joke would be on them.

See how they’d like that.

See how they’d need to recruit an army of people to clean up the mess their darling princess had created.

A smile curls my lips.

They’re quite dumb in some respects, considering how clever and conniving they are otherwise. They truly think I’m a tool. They just tell me what to do, and I dutifully comply.

Really?

Maybe my mother wasn’t the rebel that I thought she was. She talked a big talk, and we all believed her.

It’s just that Giorgio and Sylvia had different plans for her and let her be, whatever those plans were.

It’s impossible for me to say.

Their frustrations with their daughter are now baked into what they’ve planned for me.

I refuse to think about it for a while.

Let’s behave like nothing happened. Maybe they’ve changed their mind.

Even if they have, it surely hasn’t happened because of what I said to Sylvia.

You can count on many things in this family, but forgiveness is not one of them.

Every little word that flew out of my mouth when I spoke to her last night has made a tiny, ugly home in her head. At least we don’t have to pretend we’re friends anymore.

My phone rings quietly, shattering my thoughts.

I flick my eyes in that direction, trying to gauge how I feel about answering that call.

Is it the time to have my first crappy interaction of the day, or should I just ignore whoever that person is?

My phone quivers again.

It can’t be my family.

If I know anything about them, they would barge in, ask me to pack my things, and take me to a new meat market, some fancy place where crude cavemen get into a bidding war, buying new wives.

Little fresh things like me.Nicely groomed fools ready for a life of pain.

Delicate and fearful.

Silent and compliant.

That surely isn’t me.But they can hope.

I pick up my phone just as it beeps for the third time.

This time my eyes dip, and just as fast, I pull upright.

“Rory,” I murmur quietly, typing out a message. “Yes. Everything’s fine,” I say to myself as I input the words.

She’s worried because she hasn’t seen me the entire morning. I tell her I’m in my room, and soon after, I put my phone down and rise to my feet.

A soft knock on the door alerts me to her presence.

I drop the sheet to the bed and walk across the bedroom, barefoot.

Her eyes dip to my shorts and my long-sleeved top––it’s not what I usually wear when I go to sleep––as I open the door and invite her in.

My nights have been marred by my sweaty sexual fantasies as of late, so wearing any clothes at night is usually out of the question.

Last night was different, though.

Her eyes lift to meet mine when I show her to the bed.

We both sit.

I bring my knees to my chest and hug myself as I study her.

She looks fresh like a sunny morning on the heels of spring, with her long, silky hair tied at the nape of her neck with a blue ribbon, a vintage-looking white camisole with delicate spaghetti straps and floral embroidered lace along the neckline and the hemline, and a pair of long, flowing, dusty-blue pants.

Bejeweled sandals complete her look, while her shoulders shine from the sun as it makes love to her skin. It fits her.

She looks like she’s spent the morning outside.

For sure, she looks rested, unlike me.

Even without the critical reflection of a mirror, I know I have a venomous snake hair head that would make Medusa sigh with envy, while the skin around my eyes is dry and dark like the eye of Etna.

Her gaze trails down before she looks at me again.

It’s like the weight of the last few hours sits on my chest, making it impossible for me to speak.

“Things all right?” she asks, wrapping her soft hand around my forearm.

“They’re fine,” I say dryly.

A timid smile tilts her lips.

“How were things last night?”

I suck in a long breath and lean back against the headboard, my head tilted back as I look at her.

“Things were all right. They left me alone. Haven’t talked to me again. So far,” I murmur, tearing my gaze away from hers.

“Any news on the arranged marriage project?”

Her sweet joke makes me smile and lift my eyes to her. An innocent reminder of why I love her so much.

Every time she is around, my life feels normal again.

It’s like we’re two little girls playing with our dolls, coming up with stories for them.

“The arranged marriage project…Hmm.”

I chuckle, although I shouldn’t.

“So far, it’s a draw. There’s no winner.”

“Good for you.”

I laugh again, and my eyes hover over her face, my mind spinning a thought.

“How was your morning? Have you seen or heard anything unusual?” I ask.

Have you seen Callum leave last night?

The question burning my lips remains suspended in the ether, having no voice. She couldn’t have seen him even if she were outside last night.

She shrugs softly, her hands resting in her lap.

A lapis lazuli ring sleeps around her finger. It’s the darkest blue she wears. The harshest one.

Everything else is from an easel of pastel colors or dipped in clear water, like her eyes.

As if a fountain of love lives in her eyes, every time she smiles, warmth pours toward me, making a swarm of goose pimples rise across my skin.

“Things were pretty normal. I had breakfast on the terrace. Oh, your aunt is here.”

A flash of tension zaps through me.

“Flavia?” I ask incredulously.

She nods a couple of times.

“Mm-hmm. She arrived this morning. Had a mysterious air about her, too.”

Rory comments with a smile and ease in her voice, but this particular detail only increases my apprehension.

Flavia. The invisible aunt. The woman who’d fucked my mother’s husband without remorse or at least she hadn’t pushed him back and put him in his place when he pursued her.

Everybody drops Flavia’s name these days.

What is going on? Even when my mother was alive, she wouldn’t be so active. You could never count on her to join us even for the holidays.

Most of the time, she made her schedule and lived her life around her husband.

“Was she alone?” I ask, baffled.

“Yes.”

“How did she look?”

My question catches her unprepared.

“Uh… What do you mean? What was she wearing and stuff like that?”

“Yes. Describe her for me.”

Rory met her only once in New York.

We were grabbing a bite and having a cup of coffee when my aunt crossed the street.

Honestly, I was shocked she was on foot. I’d never seen that woman travel other than in a limousine.

She didn’t see me, yet I pointed to her and told Rory that she and I were related. I didn’t even think it would register with her.

My aunt was so hard to miss and forget.

“She looked all right. A car dropped her off. Only had a small suitcase with her.”

“Where did you get the mysterious vibe about her from?”

“Oh.”

She smiles.

“She wore her hair up and one of those elegant scarves wrapped around her neck and over her hair, accessorized with big sunglasses. Her hourglass skirt suit made her look like a midcentury model. You know… One of those women who graced the pages of a magazine. She only spoke in a quiet voice, and her manners were subdued. It was like she was up to something. To be honest, I thought it was all a setup, and someone was recording her to post on her social media account, or stuff like that.”

She laughs, amused, but I’m not entertained in the slightest. This is so not like Flavia.

She’s always been the poster girl for shy.

The person who sits in the second row, the one who is never fully caught in the frame of a photograph. The type of relatives people forget to invite over for the holidays.

That’s why, to this day, I don’t understand why my biological father boinked her like he just got out of a madhouse.

I couldn’t get her. I never connected to him either. But that’s another story.

Anyway.

Flavia has become an interesting piece on the family chessboard.

“What color was her suit?” I ask out of nowhere, fully aware that I sound more like a detective than a dotted niece.

“Umm… Light gray. She wore red shoes and a white scarf. She looked classy and made up. Soon after her arrival, I heard the staff talking about preparing breakfast for her. Apparently, she had special requests. And then, about taking it to her room.”

“Interesting,” I mutter, looking down and not knowing what to make of it.

Something is off about Flavia. Way off. And her presence here can’t be a good sign.

After hearing Nona’s story, I can’t think of anything other than that she must be connected to all this in some way.

I just don’t know how.

I push off the bed and walk to the window.

Tucked in the shadow of the trees, a lavish table is set for lunch next to the pool.

There’s Sylvia, and also a woman I don’t know who could be her accountant.

There’s an older gentleman who is too old to be a suitor––he has a cane propped against his chair.

They sit around the table and casually talk.

Giorgio and Flavia talk to each other a few steps away from the table, for sure not within earshot. They’re also standing, as if it’s an urgent matter.

A shiver goes down my spine.

Things don’t look good. Not in the slightest.

I spin around and look at Rory.

“Have you had lunch?”

She shakes her head.

“Good,” I say, pacing back to her. “We’re having lunch together. Just give me a second to put something on.”