Chapter 13
Eleanor
Isit on the edge of an oversized sofa in a vast, empty room, reading and re-reading the same paragraph.
The words slip from my mind without even touching it.
My thoughts run to Leonardo instead, my husband in name and title, and I wonder why he keeps leaving me alone in our bed.
Every night, he sneaks in beside me and I roll into him like a heat-seeking missile, half asleep.
But in the morning, he is gone. I want to ask him, but that would mean losing.
Instead, I pretend not to care, pretend to read.
He is not like I imagined, this hotheaded boy-king of the Rosetti family.
More bark than bite, more kindness than cruelty.
He demands everything but never insists, setting out rules with a grin that invites defiance.
When I test him, little lies to see if he is paying attention, he punishes me in tiny ways, by not letting me snuggle with him as long as I want to, by gifting me extravagant diamond necklaces and not waiting around so I can thank him.
That’s not punishment at all. And still, it stings, his refusal to play by the script.
I want him to be like my father. I want him to be cruel. I want to know how to hate him.
I turn a page, aware I haven’t read the last, and a cat jumps into my lap. It’s small, orange, like the fuzzy toy Carmela has on a keychain. This is her pet, I’ve seen her playing with it, but I want nothing to do with it.
“Go away,” I tell it, brushing fur from my blouse.
The cat pushes its head against my palm, a wet little nose, purring like a machine.
I push it to the floor. It jumps back, fearless and foolish.
“Go away.” I push it harder this time, then cross my legs so it has no lap to sit on.
It is relentless, but I am even more so, and eventually it gives up and wanders away.
I press the two thin gold bands around my fingers, one on each hand, one my mother’s, the other my husband’s, turning them until they leave a red mark.
He has three rules, all about staying close to him. I’m glad he doesn’t have a rule that I can’t sleep in his bed. He knows this is where I feel safest, warm and lost beneath sheets that smell of him. When he leaves me every morning, I tell myself it doesn’t hurt, and sometimes I almost believe it.
The cat is back. It stretches against my leg, small claws pressing through my skirt.
I push it again, gentle but firm, and I hiss to make it fear me.
The sound scratches at memories. I remember a cat like this one, small but so important.
It was everything in the world to me and Juliet, our reason for getting up and our reason for smiling, until father gave it away to a visiting sheik who admired it.
“Handsome cat,” he’d said.
“It’s yours,” father said, extending his hands in generosity, giving away a piece of my heart.
The lesson was clear, and I learned it well. Don’t let anyone get too close. Don’t love. That way, nothing can break your heart.
I pick up my phone, calling Juliet. She doesn’t answer. She and I speak every day, but she hasn’t answered my calls or messages in days. Something must be wrong.
I stare at the screen, willing it to flash her name. There is nothing. The walls press in.
She’s left alone with father, and I am as helpless to save her now as I was when I left.
It was supposed to protect her, this marriage, this bargain.
I thought my body would be enough to barter, to keep her free of his rules.
But maybe I’ve made a mistake. Maybe I’ve put her in more danger.
I never should have left her alone with him.
I dial again, watching the cat watch me. “Fine,” I say, my voice high and tight when she fails to answer, a half-choked whisper. “I’m coming.” I let the phone fall onto the marble floor, hard enough that the case cracks.
I left Juliet alone with a monster. What was I thinking? I have to reach her. Now.
There are voices in the hallway, more brothers than anyone needs, and I open the door to see which ones. Raffaele is there, talking to Emilio. “Rafe,” I say, catching the one I think is listening. “I need you to drive me somewhere.”
He looks at me like I’ve said that trees are pink. “Where?”
“Home.”
He shakes his head, gloved hands in his pockets, and I wonder how much blood they’ve seen. “Leo said no.”
Emilio speaks then, a quiet smirk in his words. “I guess that’s a no, then.”
Heat rises to my face, anger and desperation, and I know they see it. I know they don’t care. “You can’t keep me here.”
Rafe shrugs, turning away. “Looks like we can.”
The cat is behind me again, rubbing against my leg, persistent little beast. “What is with this thing? It keeps rubbing and purring.” I kick it gently aside.
“It’s a cat,” Emilio says. “That’s kind of their deal.”
Carmela’s cat. It’s Carmela I need, not them, her softer heart is more likely to help me. I find her in the kitchen, three rooms over, talking to the staff.
A cook is at the stove, stirring marinara.
Carmela picks at a loaf of fresh bread, tearing it apart piece by fluffy piece.
“Don’t tell Papa,” she says. “He’ll give me a lecture on carbo-loading.
” She swaps conspiratorial winks with the kitchen staff.
This is her sanctuary, flour and sugar and laughter, and I imagine her brothers avoid it like the plague.
Her eyes go wide when she sees me. “Damn it. You caught me.” She wipes her face, swallowing down the evidence. Her voice is light, bouncy as a child’s balloon, but then she looks at me. Really looks. “Eleanor?”
I can’t pretend everything’s ok, can’t hide the panic in my voice.
“Carmela,” I say, sharper than I intend, “Juliet isn’t answering. I need you to take me there.”
She bites her lip. “Leo said—”
“I don’t care what Leo said.”
She nods, pretending to understand, pretending to be kind. At least she has the grace to look ashamed. “You have to stay. He’ll let you leave soon, hon, but he said not yet. I can’t go against his wishes. Sorry.”
In that moment, I hate her as much as I hate her brother. “She’s my sister. I just need to check on her, then I’ll come straight back. You can chaperone me the whole way. I think she might be in trouble. She’s family, Carmela, you understand that, right?”
“We’re your family now, hon.” The words cut deep, more cruel than Carmela could know.
Her voice is soft, like she’s breaking bad news, and her eyes hold pity for me, but I don’t need her damn pity.
I need her car. I need to be on my way to Juliet before it’s too late, need to know I haven’t doomed her to that man’s control.
Carmela doesn’t know what it’s like to give up everything you love.
She doesn’t know what it’s like to live in a world where everything you care for can be taken in the blink of an eye.
I was eight when I figured it out. Old enough to know it wasn’t just the cat.
Old enough to know I was next. I thought I got free when I let father sell me, thought I won when I let him trade me like an unwanted pet.
I thought a wedding band would keep them both at bay, my father and my husband.
Wrong about the first, maybe wrong about the second. How close will Leonardo keep me when he’s done with me?
She’s too innocent to get it, this girl, too used to a world where family actually means something. I hate her for a moment, as much as I’ve hated anyone, hate how safe she is, how secure.
The decision comes easily. My shoulders relax, and I give a long, slow sigh. “Fine, you’re right, I guess. I’ll wait till Leonardo gets home and talk to him about checking on Juliet.”
Carmela smiles like I’ve let her off the hook. I saunter back to the main rooms, acting casual, but I sashay right out a side door and into the garden. Only the cat sees me go, giving me a slow blink like we’re in on this together.
The afternoon air is warm, and as I dive into the wooded section of garden, I hear noises behind me. Men talking. Are they following me? They seem to be moving quickly, but I’m faster, fueled by fear and recklessness and the need to get to Juliet.
I run. Past the bare trees and high fences, skirting the cameras and guards. I reach the wall and clamber up, not looking back. Or down. I pull myself up and over. I fall, a graceless, lucky tumble, to the other side. To Juliet. To freedom.