Chapter 22
ENZO
My plan is materializing. I've started noticing a slight change in Allegra, and for a few weeks now our confrontations have evolved from purely hostile to teasingly antagonistic. Considering how bad our arguments would get in the past, I'd say it's a vast improvement.
Maman Margot's advice to let her see my softer side worked, and after we'd come back from visiting Catalina, I'd even noted a change in the cadence of her voice—no longer accusingly bellicose, but now with a sweetness to it that was previously missing.
And I like it. A lot.
My little tigress has a quiet demeanor that shines through even when she's not sharpening her claws on my hide.
And so I find myself increasingly closer to my goal of making her more receptive to my will.
The door to my study opens, and I see her hesitantly move forward until she's in the center of the room.
When she'd found out that the library she'd loved so much was in fact my personal study, she'd been a little stubborn, refusing to set foot in it again. But after much coaxing, I'd managed to convince her that there was no harm in stopping by and borrowing a book.
Little does she know that the night she'd been here, she'd only made it inside because of a fluke. I'd forgotten to lock the door to the study when I'd gone to bed.
Since the room houses my extensive book collection—most of them priceless—no one is allowed inside. Not even the cleaning staff.
She's the first person to enter here and the only person I'd allow to handle my treasures. Not because she's that important, but because I can see the care she has for books, the way she handles them as if they are invaluable—just like I do.
"What's it going to be tonight?" I step next to her, joining her in her perusal of the titles.
"Hmm," she starts, lifting her finger to stroke her jaw pensively. "I don't know. What do you recommend?" She looks up at me, her eyes shimmering in the dim lighting of the room. They say brown is the most common eye color, but when I look into her eyes, it's like I'm seeing it for the first time.
I clear my throat slightly, realizing I'd been staring.
"What are you in the mood for? Romance?"
She shakes her head.
"History? Philosophy? I think I even have some plays…" I drift off as I see her stop in front of my Machiavelli collection.
"Why do you have so many of these?"
"Have you read it?" I ask, picking up one of the copies. She nods, coming closer to me to look at the book.
"Then you know what it is about. It's a guide to being a strong ruler."
"Yeah, I know that. I still don't understand your obsession with it." She scrunches up her nose in confusion, and the small gesture is adorable.
"It's to remind myself that power does not belong to the individual, but to the people."
"What do you mean?"
"I may stand to inherit an empire, but I am nothing without the people at the foundation of this empire. The prince should be on friendly footing with his people," I quote the passage, watching the little wheels inside her head working.
"Like the Leviathan?" she asks, and my mouth pulls up in a secret smile. I hadn't imagined she'd be so versed in political texts, but she always finds novel ways to surprise me.
"No. There's a central difference between Machiavelli and Hobbes. The former advises a strong rulership, but in tandem with the people—never make them hate you if possible. The latter… make them fear you; it doesn't matter if they hate you along the way. Rule with an iron fist."
"I'd think the Hobbesian approach would work better, wouldn't it? If people fear you, then you don't have to worry about them betraying you."
"You're on to something, little tigress. But fear only works to a certain extent. In our world, fear rules everything but loyalty. Loyalty is earned through love and respect."
"So you're trying to be a fair ruler, that's what you're saying." She seems to ruminate over this, choosing her words carefully. "I guess I can see how fear would limit your options. But isn't it harder to get people to like you? Fear is easy; it's instinctive. Love? That takes work."
"And because it takes work, the end result is much more satisfying."
"Sometimes I forget I'm dealing with a narcissist. Of course you'd rather have their adoration than fear," she mutters under her breath.
"Itching for a fight, little tigress?"
"Not now." She waves her hand dismissively at me.
"Maybe later. Now I just want a good book.
" She turns her back to me, moving to the other wall to peruse the titles.
Eventually, she settles on a Darwin volume and makes herself comfortable in a chair.
I keep watching her, wondering if she picked up on the subtle context.
I could have easily ruled her with fear. And there was one pivotal moment where the dynamics of our relationship could have irrevocably changed.
I'd had her sprawled on the bed and naked under me. It would have been so easy to push inside her body, take her innocence, and brand her as mine. I would have been a brute doing it, and while she might not have struggled, she would have hated me afterward.
I don't know if it's because of my history with women, but I couldn't bring myself to do that to her. Not when it would have meant seeing her expression change from mild trepidation to hatred.
Yes, it's difficult to gain someone's love. But I find that I'd rather put in the effort to see her smile at me than bare her teeth.
We spend the rest of the evening in companionable silence, and I sneak a glance at her now and then, hoping to catch her doing the same. But she's entirely immersed in her book. It's like I don't even exist.
In the beginning, I would have categorized it as refreshing, but now it's starting to make me worry. What if she really doesn't find me attractive?
Women and men alike have been all over me since before I even knew what attraction was.
More often than not, I found myself in situations where people couldn't take no for an answer.
I never thought I'd find someone so immune to me.
But then again, I've never wanted someone to find me attractive before.
It's also the first time I find myself thinking what it would be like to let go…
Allegra's fingers caress the edge of the page, her teeth nibbling at her bottom lip in concentration. I watch, transfixed, as she turns the page, her eyes focused on the words.
Sexy. She's so damn sexy.
And that's a problem.
Anyone who'd look at her for the first time would find an unassuming woman with nondescript features.
It only takes one interaction with her to see how her entire face lights up in the face of an argument, how the proud jut of her chin shows her silent dignity, or how her eyes sparkle with intelligence.
Her looks might be ordinary, yet her character is anything but. There's a strength in her that belies her frail appearance.
And that makes her beautiful.
"What?" She looks up to see me staring. I'm ashamed to admit that I find myself briefly flustered by the direct challenge in her eyes, but I quickly collect myself, baiting her with another perceived taunt.
"I was just watching a beautiful woman."
She scoffs, as I knew she would, shaking her head and redirecting her attention back to her book.
She doesn't believe me. Because she only trusts those who mean to put her down.
And I vow to myself that someday she'll see the truth in my words.
Carefully placing the notebook back under the mattress, I start planning my next move. I would have never pegged her for a diary type of girl, but once I'd realized that all her thoughts were laid down on paper for me to read, I couldn't resist the temptation.
Not when it means that I can move past those strong walls she's put up.
Her entries since we got married haven't been very detailed, hinting at discomfort and a fear of the unknown. She hadn't trusted even her precious diary with her feelings about me—good or bad.
The main reason I'd resorted to snooping had been to see whether I was making any headway with her. Instead, there's barely a mention of my name inside. Not reassuring in any way. It just confirms my theory that she couldn't care less about me.
As usual, the prospect that Allegra is truly immune to me makes my blood boil, and I briefly close my eyes, trying to regain my control. I have a few other aces up my sleeve, and soon she should succumb to my charm.
Although her feelings for me hadn't made it inside her little notebook, her deepest desires had. She's carefully crafted a bucket list—things she's always longed to do but never could. And luckily for me, I can give her some of those things.
Heading to her closet, I start sorting through her new wardrobe, looking for a classy dress suitable for the occasion I have in mind. I find a creamy white gown that seems acceptable, and I pair it with a pair of pumps.
"What are you doing?" Allegra bursts through the door, hands on her hips as she narrows her eyes at me.
"I'm taking you out. Here," I toss the dress into her hands, "put this on and meet me downstairs in ten."
I don't wait for her to argue as I close the door behind me and head downstairs.
I'm already dressed in a tux, so I make some phone calls while I wait to make sure everything will go smoothly.
I have a box booked at the Met Opera for every season.
I usually attend with maman Margot, since she's always been an opera lover, but as I've been away more often than not, she's taken to going by herself or with whatever lover she has at the moment.
Tonight, though, it will be only me and Allegra.
Allegra, looking exquisite in the gown I'd chosen for her, makes her way down the stairs. I turn to offer her my arm, but she regards me suspiciously.
"Come on, I don't bite," I start, but I can't help myself, so I add, "for now."
She rolls her eyes at me but takes my arm.
"Are the shoes bothering you?" I ask, looking down at her awkwardly trying to walk in the pumps.