37. Lucy
Lucy
I spend the next few days viciously fucking Adriano every chance I get and making doctor’s appointments for myself.
I ask him not to tell anyone about the baby yet—not until we’re past the first trimester at least—but he insists on letting Donatella in on our little secret. “She can help, just trust me,” he says.
And I’m happy I listened because Donatella reacts like we just promised her the cure for cancer is about to come sliding out of my uterus.
“I am so excited,” she gushes, squeezing me in a big, warm hug. “Oh, hon, I’m so proud! Another baby in this house? I truly can’t think of anything better.”
Life is strangely good. I know there are bad things happening outside in other parts of the city. I hear snippets of conversations and rumors, and I read the news. I know Adriano’s on the warpath. He comes home smelling like smoke and gasoline, his lips tasting like blood, and I don’t care.
I just want him.
Nothing pierces the bubble, at least until the doorbell rings in the middle of the afternoon one boring Tuesday. I figure it’s nothing special, but Donatella comes into the kitchen looking a little chagrined. “Your grandmother is here,” she announces. “I put her in the main sitting room.”
I stare like I don’t really know what she’s talking about. “Grandmother is here? Helena Willing-Morris just walked through the front door?”
“Yes, dear.”
“She’s in our sitting room?”
“Yes, right now. Do you want me to bring in tea?” Donatella fusses slightly. We’ve spoken about my complicated relationship with my grandmother on and off a little over the past couple of weeks. She’s likely aware of the shock I’m feeling.
“No, no, I mean, yes, please bring in tea.” I hurry to the nearest mirror and start adjusting my appearance.
I’m in an old t-shirt and a pair of sweats.
It’s the sort of outfit I never would’ve worn around my grandmother back when I was living at home.
But ever since coming here, I’ve started to put on whatever I want, whenever I want to wear it because it’s my life. I get to make my own choices.
Now though, I can hear Grandmother in my head. A lady must always be prepared for company, Lucille. Change out of that ratty little outfit, please .
I almost do it too. I’ve been conditioned for so long to believe that my grandmother knows best for everything, but she doesn’t run my life anymore.
She sold me to Adriano—the only good choice she ever made, honestly—and now I can make my own decisions.
Even about something as inconsequential as what I like to wear.
With my head held high, I walk into the sitting room.
Grandmother is perched on the edge of the couch, scowling at the coffee table. Donatella already brought in the tea and poured two steaming cups. Little pink cookies are arranged on a cute china plate. They’re delicious, but there’s no way Helena Willing-Morris is ever going to touch them.
She looks over sharply when I shut the door behind me.
“Hello, Grandmother.” I walk over to greet her. I sink down onto the couch and primly kiss her cheek. “This is a surprise.”
“Lucille, hello.” She frowns, leaning back to inspect me. “Did you do something different with your hair?”
“No, Grandmother. It’s exactly the same.”
“Ah, yes. I suppose that’s true.” Her frown deepens. “Are you experimenting with your makeup? Or perhaps a new wardrobe?”
I push back on my frustration and plaster a smile on my face. “I assume you didn’t come all this way to criticize my clothing choices.”
She scoffs lightly and waves a hand. “No, I most certainly did not.” She reaches down and picks up a cup. I leave mine where it is, which is against protocol. A good lady drinks when her guest drinks; it’s only polite . “I’m here to discuss your husband.”
That’s a surprise. It’s my turn to lean back and narrow my eyes. “Why would he be any of your concern?”
“Because he is making my life extremely difficult.”
I bark out a laugh. I can’t help myself. The idea is so absurd that this has to be some kind of sick joke. But if there’s anything I can be sure of in this world, it’s that Grandmother does not do humor.
“How is Adriano making your life harder, Grandmother?”
She smooths her skirt, scowling openly now.
“Have you heard what he’s been doing? That reckless fool.
This whole city hates him now, do you know that?
And by extension, they hate me. Can you imagine?
Marrying my only granddaughter to that Italian criminal was bad enough, but now he’s marching around torching any goodwill we might’ve gained by allying ourselves with his family. ”
“Slow down,” I say, standing from the couch. I pace away to give myself some distance from her, even though I know it isn’t polite. We sit still in the presence of company . “What does Adriano’s business have to do with you?”
She bristles, glaring at me. “He’s been destroying art. Can you imagine? Art! Of all things!”
“You’ve never cared about art a single day in your life, Grandmother.”
“Perhaps not, but I do care about investments. He’s ruining millions of dollars every time he goes out and burns down a new warehouse. Insurance can only cover small pieces of that! All of society is in an uproar about this, Lucille, and they’re beginning to turn on me.”
I grind my jaw. I knew Adriano had been taking the fight to Demir, but I didn’t realize exactly how he’s been doing it.
But that makes sense. Demir and his organization deal in auctions and art authentication.
They must keep hundreds of different pieces for various rich men and women all over the city, maybe even the whole country.
The fastest way to strike back against Demir would be to go straight at the heart of his business.
It’s almost impressive, in a way.
“And how does this affect you?” I ask slowly.
“Because we are married to him, and everyone knows it’s him and his people responsible. Oh, don’t give me that look. Just because the police can’t prove it doesn’t mean we don’t know!”
“Do you realize what’s been going on? Do you have any idea what nearly happened to me?”
She waves a hand in the air. “I’m sure it was horrible, darling, but you don’t get it.
Nobody is returning my calls. I’ve lost all my restaurant reservations.
My country club membership was abruptly discontinued.
And they aren’t even a good country club!
This has to stop, Lucille. I need you to discuss things with your husband. Put a stop to this madness, darling.”
I stare at her, unable to help the shiver of loathing that runs down my spine.
But a sick part of me wants to obey. I’ve spent my whole life following her rules and scurrying around like an ant to make sure I do everything she says.
It’s her voice still in my head, and I’ve only just started to get rid of it.
“No,” I whisper, very quietly.
She frowns and leans closer. “What was that?”
“No.” I speak louder, standing up straight. “No, I won’t talk to him.”
“I know you perhaps think you couldn’t influence a man like that. And I agree, you can be somewhat too soft?—”
“No, Grandmother, you don’t understand. I could talk to him, but I won’t. Adriano’s business is his own. If he thinks this is the right way to handle the situation, then I won’t get in the way.”
Her lips twitch. Her eyelids spasm. I don’t think I’ve ever said no to her like this before in my entire life, and it feels kind of awesome.
But also terrifying as hell.
“You must not understand me.” Her tone is ice cold now. Her eyes narrow as she stands. “Your husband is causing trouble, and it will not end well for him. Speak to him and make him stop. I am not asking.”
“And I’m not listening. Adriano’s business is his own. I’m not going to tell him to stop, not when he’s the only person that seems to care about my safety.”
“How dare you? You’re my only granddaughter.” She has the nerve to look offended. “I care deeply?—”
“You sold me to him. You did it purely because you needed money.”
“I did it because he can protect you from that monster Demir,” she hisses at me.
“What, you didn’t know? He didn’t tell you?
I promised you to Demir before I ever promised you to Adriano, thinking that the Turkish bastard would never come to collect.
But then he did, and I realized giving you to someone even more powerful was the only way to keep you out of his hands. I saved you, girl!”
Laughter bubbles up from my guts. I can’t help myself. I stare at her, and suddenly I can see Grandmother for what she is: old, over her head, miserable, obsessed with status, and willing to do anything at all to make sure our family name continues. Also, she’s more than a little racist.
“What in the Lord’s name is so funny?” she asks, enraged now.
“You sold me twice !” I cackle at her, shaking my head. “And you think somehow doing it a second time makes up for the first? Grandmother, you’re insane.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”
“I’m not going to say a word to Adriano. If anything, I’m going to encourage it. Please don’t come back here anymore. You’re not welcome in this house.”
Her eyes widen. “How dare you?”
“Get out, Helena. I’m tired of you treating me like your lapdog. I don’t take orders from you anymore. I don’t care how many clubs kick you to the curb. I’m not interested in your rich lady problems anymore. Just get out.”
She clutches her purse against her chest, eyes wide with fury. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like this before, and I love it. Though a part of me is worried her heart’s about to explode.
Assuming she’s got one. I’m not convinced.
“I knew marrying you to a man like that would corrupt you. I had just hoped that perhaps I instilled some decorum and manners in you, enough to counterbalance his peasant influence. But I suppose I was wrong. You always were a lost cause.”
“Thanks a bunch. It was a delightful visit.” I storm to the door and shove through it.
“I’m so disappointed in you!” she calls after me.
“Good,” I mutter to myself. “I’m disappointed too. Should’ve done that sooner.”
I stomp up the steps. Anger propels me toward Adriano’s study.
He’s been locked in there all morning taking calls and making plans.
I don’t even know why I’m going to him or what I want to say, but it’s like I need to wash the taste of Grandmother’s visit out of my mouth.
I need to see someone who actually cares about me.
Adriano looks tired when I barge into his office. But instead of being annoyed that I’m interrupting him, his entire face brightens. Some of his exhaustion fades when he sits up.
“Couldn’t live without me for a few hours?” he asks, teasing.
I slam his door shut. “Grandmother was just here.”
His smile fades. “Is she still here?”
“No, I sent her away.” My jaw works. “God, the nerve of that woman. She came in here and demanded that I talk you out of whatever you’ve been doing around the city because somehow it’s making her life harder.”
Adriano sits back, looking thoughtful. “I’m not surprised. I’ve made more than a few enemies lately.”
“It’s true then? You’re pissing everyone off?”
“Rich people don’t like it when you burn their fancy art to the ground.” He grins slightly, head tilted to the side. “Helena must be getting some real nasty calls.”
I stare at him, heart racing, and it hits me all at once. The way he’s smirking, clearly delighted by the destruction. Grandmother’s anger downstairs, her whole demeanor, how afraid she seemed.
This is serious. It’s beyond serious—it’s a very, very deadly game.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say softly, going toward his desk.
“Are you doing your grandmother’s bidding now?”
“No, I mean, screw her. I’m just saying, you married me to get my family connections, right? If you keep burning down their art, then you can forget about any of that.”
He pushes his chair back and stands. I watch him come around the desk, moving like a lithe, deadly panther. The man is so sleek and beautiful, his athletic body like a piece of oiled machinery. I shiver when he touches me and pulls me lightly against his chest.
“Fuck your connections,” he whispers. “I just want you.”
And it finally breaks in me. I realize with a jolt that he really doesn’t care about my family name anymore. Maybe our relationship started out that way, but slowly, as we’ve gotten to know each other more and more, it changed.
To the point where he’s torching any progress he might’ve made.
All because he loves me.
And he loves me , not the Willing-Morris name, not the WM Fund, not the big fancy house or the charity galas or benefit balls or any of that, but me . He’s lighting this whole city on fire because he wants to make sure I’m safe from Demir, and he doesn’t care who he pisses off in the process.
When he kisses me, I burst into tears. “I’m sorry!” I say, crying like an idiot as I bury my face against his chest. “I know it’s weird that I’m crying right now!”
He sounds startled. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, honestly, I’m really good. I just—” I cry harder. Oh my god, he’s sacrificing for me. I have no value to him anymore, and that doesn’t matter, because this isn’t about what I’m worth.
It’s about how we feel for each other.
“It’s alright,” he says, hugging me and rubbing my back. “I don’t know what I said, but everything’s alright.”
“It wasn’t you.” I manage to get control of myself and wipe my eyes. “I’m just happy, that’s all. You really don’t care about my name, do you?”
“Lucy? I mean, it’s fine and all?—”
“No, asshole. My last name. My family connections.”
He wipes another tear away. “Not a fucking bit.”
“Good.” I pull him down to me. I’m so hungry for his lips it’s killing me. I bury my mouth with his, drowning myself in his taste. “Because I don’t either.”
I stay in his office feasting on him, feeling freer than I’ve ever been, all the chains and shackles that used to keep me bound to a version of myself I thought I had to be finally loosening and drifting away.