16. He even cooks vegan food
For a week, I distract myself from thoughts of Andrea spanking me and making me come—again—by giving my all to my future baby. I start my day at Rouge early and come back late, eating on the go to avoid my husband. Being in the same room as him is dangerous, and I feel myself falling ever since he first touched me at the fundraiser. I barely have any reason to say no anymore.
Getting information on Addams is taking way longer than I wanted. Andrea, Nico and I have started looking for the missing nanny and maid Piper talked about, but so far, we haven’t been able to locate them or even find out if they’re alive.
I come home from Rouge’srenovations site one evening when I hear a feminine voice coming from the kitchen at the end of the hall. The rage and heat that travel through my body when hearing Andrea’s laugh right after something she says knocks the wind out of me.
I march to where they gathered, ready to tear her down with my bare hands and come face to face with an elegant woman in a wheelchair with the fiercest dark bob and reddest lips I’ve ever met.
Andrea, his brother and the woman are gathered around the table, wine aloft in their hands, talking fast in Italian, their hands moving animatedly. How wine hasn’t spilled yet is a fucking miracle. The language is close enough to Kalliste that I gather they’re talking about food. Gosh, he’s obsessed with cooking and eating. And why do I find that so endearing?
The resemblance between her and the two men who hang on her every word is unmistakable and my cheeks heat at the almost embarrassment I put myself through.
“Hi. I didn’t know we had company.”
I give a pointed look at Andrea, who has the decency to look sheepish. Nico, as usual, just shrugs and takes a sip of his wine. I walk to Mrs. Capaldi and hold a hand towards her.
“I’m Giulia.”
She places her wineglass on the table, then takes it in both hers, gifting me with a genuine smile I don’t feel worthy of.
“I know, my dear. I’m so happy to meet you.”
Her eyes sparkle with mischief just like Andrea’s when he’s up to no good, and I feel utterly outnumbered. “Andrea failed to mention how gorgeous you are. I’ll admit, when he mentioned an arranged marriage, I was expecting a shrew.” She laughs wildly, then turns the wheelchair, heading for the kitchen.
I understand she’s about to pick up another bottle of wine.
“Let me get it,” I say and walk to the small refrigerated cellar on the side of the island.
She doesn’t listen and continues, reaching for the wine and settling the unopened bottle on her lap, then turning on the wheels suddenly to face me. “I can do anything you do, sweet girl. I’m not in need of assistance from you or anyone else. I’ll forgive the mishap because we’ve just met, but don’t make the mistake of underestimating me, capisce?”
Her deep brown eyes are fierce and solely set on mine, and I gulp. “Of course, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… Yes, Mrs. Capaldi.”
I’ve grown up around made men my whole life but no one has ever made me cower like Catalina Capaldi does. I wholeheartedly understand why she could have been perceived as both Mario Capaldi’s strength and weakness.
The accident that took her husband”s life and put her in the chair did not break her spirit. If anything, I’m sure it even incensed it.
“Let’s eat, shall we?” She gestures for me to take a seat at the table. While she presides, both her sons flank each side and I feel like an intruder in their rehearsed dance.
Andrea and Nico get up and set up the dishes on the table, fish in a red sauce that smells of shallots and white wine, wild rice with lemons, and Andrea”s infamous roasted vegetables. Not that I’m complaining, that man has talent in the kitchen. Though I will complain to his face for sure. He knows I’m vegan.
He’s back at the dinner table almost every night now and I wish the silence would be suffocating, but I’m coming to enjoy the quiet evenings punctuated by genuine questions about how Rouge is fairing.
Andrea gets up to get a small pot of steaming sauce. “Vegan sauce. I wasn’t sure if you ate fish.”
“I… I don’t. Thank you.”
Another sweet thing my husband does for me. It tears the threads of the fabric I wrapped around my heart to protect it from being hurt years ago and threatens to unravel them completely if he keeps it up.
I can’t add another word and eat in silence, observing the family around me that makes me feel… part of it.
The meal continues in a more relaxed atmosphere than it started, and the glass of wine I drink warms my bones and heart. I watch Andrea interact with his mother, how he teases, smiles and ultimately serves. He’s attentive with her needs without being overbearing. He never offers to do anything for her, and answers all the questions she has about his week.
My own father doesn’t speak so freely with me. He and my brother Dom were always huddled together, thick as thieves, and it wasn’t until puberty that I understood I’d never be part of their club and moved my love and affection to my cousin.
Envy is a breathing beast in my chest that I’m trying and failing to tame, my smile coming more flat as the meal progresses. The only time I really feel as at ease as Nico and Andrea are is when I’m with Lana.
By the end of the night, the food has soured in my stomach but it’s not fair to me to put the blame on Andrea so I retire to my room and close the door behind me, stepping into the shower to calm the negative self-talk.
With steam billowing around me, I wrap a towel around my body and walk into the bedroom, eyes on my phone where I see a text from Lana and type a response.
LANA
We still can’t find Igor. Julian’s not the same.
GIULIA
We’re trying as well. Give him time. He lost his husband.
“Who are you texting?”
I jump out of my skin and drop the phone, almost dropping the towel. My husband is casually sitting on my bed, taking me in from ankles to messy bun and I heat up under the weight of his luscious stare.
I ignore his question, not ready to share more of me than necessary.
“Lana, not that it’s any of your fucking business.”
He doesn’t answer but continues to twirl a strange white card in between his hands.
“What’s this?” I flip my hand to his.
“You tell me.”
I frown. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m not in the mood to entertain your bullshit, tonight, Capaldi.”
He hands me the card and I read it.
My Giulia. Heed my warning.
My eyes widen. It’s the same white paper of the two previous cards I received before. A chill slowly climbs up my spine, and I gulp before raising my gaze to Andrea. His is already fixed on me.
“Where did you get this?” I ask, ants crawling all over my body.
“It was attached to a bouquet of wildflowers delivered to my office today. Who are they from, Giulia?”
It’s the first time my name doesn’t sound like a prayer but a threat.
“It’s not the first one.”
He drops his elbows to his knees, interlacing his fingers together as if not to pummel into a wall, and takes a deep breath. Somehow, that’s more intimidating than when he threatens or towers over me in an effort to make me cower. The show of restraint is terrifying.
“Tell me what you’re hiding, guerrieritta.”
Just like that, heat travels back into my veins.
“I’m not hiding anything, O baullo. Now please leave so I can sleep.”
Andrea stands and prowls to me. His hand comes up to twist a curl of hair around his finger and I’m assaulted by an image of him taking my whole hair into his fist for a very different reason. If I closed my eyes, I’d probably feel his skin on mine. But I don’t. My eyes stay fixed on his, burning with something I can’t quite place.
“I don’t joke around with your safety, guerrieritta. Now tell me about the cards. Who is calling you ‘my Giulia’?”
An order.
One I want to obey. I don’t question myself when the words leave my lips unbidden. He’s so close to me his scent invades my senses and probably fucks with my nervous system. Yes, surely that’s it.
“The first card was in the lingerie bag when I came from shopping that first day. I checked the shop’s camera and disregarded it as a welcome from the shop assistant. Then I received another a couple of days after our first dinner out. Nico ripped it to pieces and threw it away. I didn’t think about it. I didn’t think it was important. This is the first time it feels so… personal.”
We look down at the card at the same time.
Andrea raises my chin with a finger. His eyes burn bright like liquid fire and keep oscillating between my own and my lips. He imperceptibly moves down, but before our mouths can crash in a beautiful catastrophe, I stop him with a hand on his heart. It’s beating wildly against my palm. Despite the fabric between my fingers and his chest, the heat of his body travels from my fingers up my arm and all the way down to my toes.
What he sees in my gaze makes him frown and he straightens up again.
“You’re not anyone else’s. You’re mine, Giulia Capaldi. And whoever sent this will know it too soon enough.”
He leaves the room without a second glance and I plop face down on my mattress, ready to yell into the pillows. Of frustration because he did not kiss me, or because he wanted to, I’m not sure.