CHAPTER TWELVE
FRANCESCAPLAYEDTHE perfect bride for the next few weeks. Sort of. She knew she was more bleak and bland than she should be, but she couldn’t quite pull herself out of the little fog of depression. Still, she refused to allow him to cancel any events, though he offered most nights, somewhat stiffly.
No. They would do everything they’d committed to. She would do her job. If there was one thing she’d always done, it had been that.
Even with the cold, icy distance between them. Even with her heart shattered—of her own doing. Because he had been clear, and she’d crossed his lines for her own gain. She couldn’t even hate him because she felt like too terrible a person to deserve the sweet anger that came with hate or blame.
They went to their dinners and balls and smiled and chatted and put on a good show. The stories in the press were even beginning to sway toward the story they portrayed. Just this morning she’d seen an article on one of those silly gossip sites titled “Could this Angel Really Have Tamed this Devil?”
But she did not feel like the angel she was supposed to be. She felt like a husk. In her darkest moments, she pitied herself enough to think she’d traded one prison for another, but then she reminded herself no matter how much her heart hurt, she was safe here.
She could not hate Aristide if she was safe. If she had been the problem that had pushed them away from easy companionship and blistering chemistry to this horrible glacial experience.
She could only hate herself. Which somehow made it easy to put on the role of Francesca Bonaparte. Make up stories about who she and Aristide were, because there was no hope there’d ever really be a them. So she might as well make up a fake version for the nights they had to spend together.
Because in the light of day, he didn’t eat meals with her anymore, and she didn’t go near a swimming pool or ocean. She didn’t bake or read.
They all felt like luxuries she didn’t deserve.
Before they were to fly to London, Aristide approached her as she choked down her breakfast. It was no doubt delicious, but it tasted like nothing to her. She wouldn’t have eaten at all, but there was still the possibility...
She tried not to think about how she might be pregnant. Tried not to look for signs. Tried to ignore it altogether.
And still there was a little flame of hope inside of her she couldn’t quite extinguish. Just like the sight of him still made her heart flutter when she knew he would only ever approach with pain.
“We are taking a little break and returning home,” he informed her stiffly and from a distance. “My mother insists on an introduction, and it doesn’t do to let something irritate her enough to complain to my father.”
Francesca nodded. It was only a small change of events. They’d had a few things organized in London, but a trip home would be an easy enough reason to change plans.
She tried very hard not to think about how easy it was to consider the castle home.
“Very well.”
There was the slightest hesitation, like he might say something else, but in the end he only turned away and left her there on the patio. Alone.
Exactly how you belong.
She knew this couldn’t go on. All this self-pitying nonsense. She’d survived worse than being rejected. Maybe there was something to that. She’d never really had the time to sit around and feel sorry for herself before. Never got to just marinate in her feelings of hurt and inadequacy and mistakes.
So, now she’d done so. She needed to go back to finding her own personal strength in the midst of feeling bad about herself or her situation.
She returned to her room and packed, kindly begging off any of Aristide’s staff who tried to take over the task. She needed things to do. Things that didn’t involve Aristide. Or thinking about... She frowned a little at the twinge in her stomach. A twinge that usually accompanied...
She inhaled sharply, then steadied herself before going into the bathroom.
Well, problem solved. There was no baby.
She blinked a few times, surprised to find tears already falling. When it would have been a disaster to be pregnant. When it would have caused so many terrible complications.
“This is good,” she whispered to herself. “An answer. Now you can stop being such a fool and get on with your life.” She wiped at her face, but the tears kept falling. She did not know what to do with this reaction. She hadn’t even lost anything. Just some fantasy possibility that had been nothing but a fairy tale.
And fairy tales were not for people like her. Survival was all she wanted. All she’d fight for. The rest was a joke.
She washed her face, finished her packing, and she met Aristide at the car that would drive them to the airport.
He studied her with that old intensity, and she pretended she didn’t notice. Didn’t feel it. Business partners didn’t care how the other was feeling. Because there were lines.
She had never expected the lines to feel suffocating. That her freedom would feel like just another version of prison. A nicer one, all in all, but one that kept her from truly being herself once again.
Once on the plane, she pretended to lose herself in a book, though not one single word penetrated the fog she could not seem to fight. She didn’t have to fake a nap on the ride from airport to island, because she was emotionally wrung out and exhausted.
When the car rolled to a stop, she awoke to find his eyes on her. She pretended not to notice, though she allowed him to help her out of the car as he always did.
The sun was setting behind the castle, and the soft sound of surf and the salty scent of it infiltrated that little fog. It felt good to be back. Maybe that little week they’d had here was just an illusion, but it had been an enjoyable illusion.
Something about being back at his castle, that she just...loved. Its ridiculous weathervanes and crazy sculptures. The tremulous sea in the background. It made her want to smile. It made her feel like she was home.
But it wasn’t hers and neither was he and there was no baby to bind them, and she had to find some way to be glad about that.
So she’d tell him. Flat out. She removed her hand from his, met his gaze with hers, there on the walkway up to the castle.
“You will be happy to know, I’m not pregnant.” A lump sat in her throat, threatening to choke her. It would have been terrible timing for a child, and still she wanted to grieve the fact that she was empty. Straight through.
He said nothing to this. Stood ramrod straight and so far away and she had known he wouldn’t comfort her—he made it very clear he didn’t want a child. But she still wished for some kind of warmth.
And then she heard...a bark. Aristide looked over his shoulder, and there bounded a dog out of the side door, followed by a scurrying staff member with a leash dangling from their hand.
“I bought you a present,” he said gruffly, not reacting to what she’d said at all.
The dog from the charity event in Nice, at that. More hair than brains. She wanted to launch herself at the adorable giant ball of fur, but she understood far too well what this was.
Some sort of...buy-off. A distraction. Just another wall between them, but built using her soft feelings and wants.
She ignored the dog, looked her husband in the eye. “I hate you,” she said, then turned on a heel and walked into the castle. Where she would lock herself in her room.
And if that was childish and unacceptable and all other things she’d never allowed herself to be before, well, then it was about time.
Aristide was glad to feel anger and frustration, because it was a nice change of pace from guilt and pain.
He had done something kind and she hated him? What sense did that make? He certainly didn’t want a dog who escaped leashes and barked incessantly at upended bowls. He’d seen it as a peace offering.
I hate you.
He could not wrap his mind around it in any way, shape or form. Particularly as he stared down at the hairy beast Luca was attempting to get a leash on.
Surely she was relieved about there being no pregnancy despite their carelessness. She should be thrilled. He was. Surely he’d feel thrilled if he wasn’t so confused by her behavior.
And surely her behavior didn’t make any damn sense.
“Uh, what should I do with it, sir?”
Aristide grimaced at the dog but held out his hand for the leash. “I’ll handle him. Thank you.” Luca scurried away as if he was terrified he’d be stuck with the animal if he didn’t beat a hasty retreat.
“You are supposed to be for Francesca,” he muttered at the dog, then felt foolish for talking to a dog. “Come,” he ordered, and began to walk toward the castle.
But the dog plopped its butt down and refused to move. Aristide frowned, tugging at the leash, but the dog didn’t budge.
“Come,” he repeated, through clenched teeth. He pulled on the leash once more and the dog did nothing but sit there and pant at him.
“Fine, then you can run away and see how you like fending for yourself.” He nearly dropped the leash, but... Francesca might hate him now, but she’d certainly hate him even more if that fool dog ran off and got itself killed.
And what does it matter if the woman who crossed all your lines and only cares what she wants hates you?
He tried to hold on to that personal narrative, but she’d gotten too many of her own hits in that night.
“What you want could matter if you would tell me. If you would be honest with me. If you wouldn’t lash out with these accusations. If you had a conversation instead of always watching me from a distance. I have tried to figure out what you want.”
And she had said that so earnestly, with such naked shock and hurt on her face that even all these days later, he hadn’t mustered up a way to fight it.
He didn’t want her to know what he wanted. He didn’t want to have conversations. He wanted a wife who served a purpose. Not one who became...something to him. He had made a life out of risks—in business, in his personal life—but Francesca had swept in and made every risk feel like...life-and-death.
Aristide scowled at the dog, whose tail wagged happily. He gave one last tug before he was determined to give up. “Would you please...” It was as if please was the magic word—reminding him of too magical a night he’d turned into a disaster—that got the dog moving. It leaped up and began to run forward toward the castle. So quickly and with such force that it nearly jerked the leash out of Aristide’s hand.
He managed to hold on and jog after the dog, but of course when he tried to finagle the dog inside, it only balked—and barked incessantly at the elaborate statue of a dragon that guarded this side door.
Aristide tried to use please again, though it rankled. Even more so when it didn’t work this time. Eventually, he grabbed the dog—though it was large and heavy—and picked it up and carried it inside.
By the time he was all the way inside, and put the dog down on the ground, he was mussed and sweaty and so angry he believed he might actually storm up to her room and toss that dog in there so she could deal with what he’d assumed was a very thoughtful gift that she apparently hated him for.
Grumbling as he tried to coax the dog toward the stairs, he heard voices from the front foyer.
His mother’s voice.
“You have wasted my entire evening away,” he muttered at the dog. Well, they were inside now. He dropped the leash. If the dog made a mess, Francesca could deal with it. And now he didn’t have time to fetch her for dinner.
Not that he was certain she would come.
He strode to the foyer where Vera was ushering Ginevra inside.
“Mother,” he greeted stiffly, running a hand through his hair when she looked at it quizzically. No doubt a mess thanks to that monster.
Which had happily followed him and now sat obediently at his feet, like it had been doing what he ordered all evening.
Ginevra’s eyes lit up and she dropped to her knees without so much as a hello to him. “A dog.” She sighed as though she were in heaven, ruffling her hands over the dog’s immense body as it pranced over to her. “It is my one regret, that your father is so against pets in his home. I’d love a dog or a cat or something to need me.”
Oneregret. In this horrible life she’d chosen, the lack of a pet was her one regret.
“You could move out.” Because why should she—who had kept it for over thirty years, more than half her life—consider it his home where she could not be allowed what she wanted? Why did she settle for so little when she could have everything?
She waved this away. As she always did. She got back to her feet then looked around. “Where is your wife? Have you already scared her off?”
Aristide tried to resist a scowl, but it was impossible. As though it was only a matter of time before he scared her off. When Francesca had created this strange little mess they found themselves in. Because he had been clear.
Shehad pushed.
“She...is not feeling well. She will join us if she...improves.” After all, Francesca lied easily and at every turn for their audiences, so why couldn’t he?
“She didn’t seem easily scared when I met her, but that was when she was planning to marry your brother, of course. All these stories about love whizzing about have your father in a tizzy, but I think it’s sweet.”
But Aristide could only focus on the first part of what she’d said. “You’ve met Francesca.”
“Of course. When Vale brought her over to introduce her to your father.”
She’d waited on them. He didn’t know why that felt like some kind of blow. Why hadn’t Francesca mentioned it? Had she not realized the woman pouring tea was his mother? Had she realized and not wanted to bring it up because she knew how he’d feel about that?
He hated to admit it, but the latter seemed far more plausible. Francesca knew the players in any room she entered. She was brilliant that way.
“I was a bit concerned you were doing this just to start trouble with your brother, but I saw a picture of you two. Some picnic. You looked happy.” She reached forward, touched his cheek. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen you happy, and you do not look it today. So, why don’t we sit down to dinner and you can tell me how you’ve messed it up already.”
She’d taken him by the arm and was leading him toward the dining room. She didn’t often venture over to his side of the island where his father was not welcome and refused to come anyway. Aristide had to assume the only reason she had this evening was because of his wife.
Who apparently hated him.
“She is...unhappy with me, I suppose. But it is hardly a mess and certainly nothing I can’t handle,” he insisted, pulling out a chair for her at the table.
She settled into it and waited until he took his seat. Then she leveled him with one of her motherly glares.
“You must tell her how much you need her.”
“I beg your pardon.” Was he that transparent?
“You are too independent. You never let anyone know you need them. What’s a woman to do if she can’t be needed?”
Not transparent, no. Just... “A woman could be her own person,” Aristide suggested through clenched teeth. All he’d wanted for his mother was that, and she never taken any opportunity he’d given her.
Ginevra rolled her eyes. “I know you have no use for me, but you must have some use for your wife, and she must know it. If she knew it, she would meet your mother. Not hide in her room.”
No use. There had been so many “uses” he’d had for his mother, but someone else had always come first. “I needed you,” he said.
She laughed, and he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
“You made very clear you did not. Even Valentino was a better student in my kitchens than you were. He listened. You resented.”
“He had his own mother.”
“And so do you.”
He liked to blame his father, but maybe this was why his mother rarely trekked out this way. They had the same circular conversations every time. And still he couldn’t help himself, because he couldn’t understand her. “I have... I have tried to give you everything.”
“No, you have tried to give me what you want for me. But I don’t want a house alone somewhere. I want to be with your father. He needs me. What would I do if I was not taking care of him? Certainly not take care of you. You wouldn’t allow it.”
“Why can’t you simply take care of yourself? Or no one at all and just enjoy your life?”
She looked at him as if the question didn’t even make sense. “What would there be to enjoy?”
Aristide shook his head. Perhaps he could just never understand her. Or Milo. Or Valentino. Or his own damn wife. Perhaps he was so alien he could not make sense of any of the people in his orbit.
Of course, there’d been a time when he’d thought he understood Francesca. Before they’d slept together. No. Before he’d told her it would not happen again. Before he’d told her...
“You love her, don’t you?”
He hated the gentle, knowing way his mother said that. Because the way she loved his father disturbed him and he wanted nothing to do with it. “Love is a parasite,” he returned, but that only made him think of Francesca.
He did not want her to need him. He did not want to need her. He did not like the version of love his mother explained to him. But there was something sharp and painful inside of him when it came to Francesca. Maybe his own version of a parasite.
His mother smiled indulgently. “That’s not an answer to my question, Aristide.”