19. Simone #3
But for some reason, this time, Tristan chose to walk away and relieve himself instead of demanding it from me.
I hear him curse under his breath, followed by a sound that might be his fist hitting the counter. My name falls from his lips, rough and desperate, and something clenches deep in my belly.
I should move. I should get away from this door before he comes out and finds me here. But my feet seem rooted to the spot, and before I can force myself to leave, I hear his footsteps approaching, his breathing harsh on the other side of the door.
The door swings open, and Tristan stands there, fully clothed again, looming over me in the doorway. His eyes find mine immediately, and I see the exact moment he realizes what I've been doing. His jaw tightens, and something dark and dangerous flickers in his green eyes.
"Enjoying the show?" His voice is rough, gravelly, and I can hear the edge of anger beneath the surface.
I lift my chin, refusing to be embarrassed even though heat is flooding my cheeks. "I was coming to find you."
"Were you?" He tilts his head, looking down at me. "You should have come in. I wouldn’t have minded.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt. Besides, you’re the one who ran away and hid.”
Tristan laughs. “That’s what you think? That I was hiding from you?”
I shrug, forcing my voice to sound calm, even, although my knees feel weak. "I think you walked away from me downstairs because you knew if you stayed, you'd end up fucking me on that desk, and you're trying to prove some kind of point."
He laughs again, but there's no humor in it. "Maybe I walked away because I'm tired of fighting for scraps. Tired of having to take what I want from a wife who acts like touching her is a punishment."
The words hit like a slap, and I feel my temper flare. "Maybe your wife is tired of being treated like a possession instead of a person."
"Then prove it." He takes another step closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin.
"Prove that I didn’t just marry a pretty face and a sharp tongue.
Prove that I should give you any credence at all when it comes to matters beyond fucking and giving me heirs.
Prove that you can hold your own in this world. "
My jaw clenches until my teeth grind together. “You want proof that I can handle myself? Fine. Come with me.”
I turn on my heel and start walking toward the stairs, not bothering to check if he's following. I can hear his footsteps behind me, can feel his presence like a weight at my back, but I don't slow down or look back. I’m actually surprised he’s following, but maybe he’s curious.
I’ll show him that I’m not just a decoration.
There’s a lot my father never taught me. A lot that I am ignorant of or have been sheltered from. But I did insist on learning one thing, and though I’ve always been surprised he taught me, I’m also glad that he did. Especially now.
"Where are we going?" he asks as we reach the main floor.
"You'll see."
I lead him through the mansion, past the curious looks of a few of the guards, past the kitchen where Nora is preparing dinner, and out the back door onto the sprawling grounds of the estate.
The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the perfectly manicured lawn, and I lead Tristan along the walking path, all the way to the back of the property where the firing range is located.
My father resisted my desire to learn how to use a gun, at first. I wore him down, eventually convincing him that if there ever was an attack, it was better for me not to be completely helpless.
There have been many times where coming out here and practicing my shooting has made me feel slightly more in control, less as if the world is moving me where it wants me, and more as if I might, at some point, have some small say in it all.
I punch in the code to unlock the door that leads into the cool, dark space, and then the door that leads to the room that houses the equipment and ammunition, ignoring Tristan's surprised look as it swings open.
"Your father taught you to shoot?" he asks, following me inside.
“I had to wear him down.” I select the gun I want and a clip for it, pushing past Tristan to walk to where the targets are. I don’t care about what he thinks of this—I want him to see that I’m capable.
I might even want him to be a little afraid of me.
I load the magazine with practiced efficiency, my movements sure and confident despite the fact that Tristan is watching my every move. When I'm satisfied with the weapon, I turn to face him.
"You want proof that I can hold my own? That I'm not some delicate flower who needs to be protected from the harsh realities of this world?" I gesture toward the targets set up at the far end of the range. "There's your proof."
Tristan crosses his arms over his chest, a smirk playing over his lips. He’s still not taking me seriously, but at least he’s here and not trying to take the gun from me. Given my recent plot on his life, I wondered if we’d get this far. "Show me."
I take my position, feet shoulder-width apart, arms extended, the gun steady in my grip. I take a breath, let it out slowly, and squeeze the trigger.
The first shot hits dead center.
The second and third follow in quick succession, both finding their mark within inches of the first. I empty the entire magazine, each shot precise and controlled, before setting the weapon down and turning to face my husband.
Tristan is staring at the target, then at me, his expression unreadable. "Where did you learn to shoot like that?"
I shrug. “I practiced a lot, once I convinced my father. It was a good outlet. And if we ever were attacked, I liked thinking I could protect myself.” I press my lips together.
“Especially with a man like Sal so close to my father. He made me uncomfortable, and I didn’t want to always rely on someone else to protect me.
I knew he’d never touch me—he’d never risk my father finding out, but still… it made me feel better.”
Tristan nods, looking at the gun in my hand warily. I smile sweetly at him, enjoying how unsettled he is now. There’s a glimmer of respect in his eyes, and that pleases me, too.
He runs a hand through his hair, and I can see something shifting in his expression. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"You never asked." I raise the gun again, sighting down the barrel. "You assumed I was helpless. Useless. A liability."
"I never said?—"
“You’ve made it clear that I’m only good for giving you the keys to the kingdom, getting you off, and eventually giving you heirs.
” I set the gun down, facing him. “But I’m not an idiot or incapable, Tristan.
I’ve been sheltered from a lot of the mafia world, but I’m not blind to what happens.
And I don’t want to be shut out. If you’re going to make decisions that affect me, then I want to be a part of them. ”
Tristan’s eyebrows rise. “Like you consulted me when you plotted with Enzo?”
“Are you never going to let that go?” I glare at him, and he laughs bitterly.
“It’s been days, Simone. No, I’m not letting it go.
You discussed killing me. And you’ve never apologized.
Never told me anything other than that I have to earn you.
But you’re not trying to earn anything yourself.
” He looks down at me, frustration in every line of his handsome face.
“You think you deserve respect, Simone, because of who you are. But you have to earn it, too.”
I press my lips together. “So you’re admitting you need to earn me.”
His jaw tightens, and he runs a hand through his hair. “Christ, you’re frustrating, célie .”
“So are you,” I reply evenly, and he looks at me, letting out a long breath.
“I don’t know,” he says finally, shaking his head. I bite my lip.
“What don’t you know?”
“Any of it. What to do next. What we’re going to do.” He takes a step back, looking at me for another long moment. “I’m glad I know this about you, Simone. I’m glad you showed me this. But I… I need to think. I need space. Maybe all of this was a mistake, from the start.”
And then, once again, before I can say anything, he walks away from me. Out of the range, out of the door, and into the twilight, leaving me there.
This time, I don’t go after him.
Because I don’t know what we’re going to do either.