Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chiara
I blink the last remnants of sleep away and look around the room.
I am lying alone on the bed, the spot next to me is cool to the touch.
Even though the drapes are drawn, I can’t miss the sunlight streaming in through the gaps.
My sluggish mind is struggling to catch up, and I stare blankly at the ceiling for a while.
‘If you but knew what my love for you is! ’Tis fire, melted lead, a thousand daggers in my heart.’
Lucas’ quote comes crashing back into my consciousness and I can’t suppress a shudder. In the novel, this had been not love or affection but dark, deadly obsession. Would Lucas hurt me if I kept pushing him away?
No, never. The man I know would never hurt me.
But do you really know him? a quiet voice whispers in my head. The old Lucas would never have accepted to marry for duty. But here we are.
‘See it as our duty, if it makes it easier.’
I press my palms to my eyes with a groan. This man is messing with my mind. Every time I think I have him figured out, he proves me wrong.
Every muscle protests as I push myself upright, my legs unsteady when I swing them over the edge of the bed.
My body feels boneless and every inch is sore.
Lucas was relentless last night, pulling me back from sleep every time exhaustion dragged me under, ripping blinding pleasure out of my drained body until he became the only reality my mind yielded to.
I shudder from the lingering memory of his touch.
It’s as if he managed to imprint himself in me, under my skin, marking me.
I shake my head. Get a grip!
I get up and pull the drapes. It’s not early morning anymore, bright daylight streams in through the high windows.
I make my way to the shower and let the hot water run over me to alleviate the ache.
Steam is coiling up around me, warm and grounding, filling the space until my thoughts blur along with the mirror.
I stand beneath the spray longer than necessary, my hazy mind trying to sort all the emotions weighing down my heart.
The grief over Father’s death doesn’t feel so acute anymore, somehow it has dulled into a void hollowing me out until all I feel is a numb ache.
I had been too distracted to mourn properly, and somewhere in the recess of my mind, I fear that when this is over and things settle, it will all come crashing down, crushing me under its weight.
Is it normal to feel so detached? Shouldn’t I feel more?
I push the guilt down for now, I’ll deal with it when the time comes.
When I return to the bedroom, wrapped in a towel, I stop short.
A tray sits on the small table by the window.
There’s a porcelain cup and a teapot from which wafts up the unmistakable scent of Earl Grey tea.
Beside it lies a neat arrangement of sliced fruit and crackers.
My heart kicks in my chest. Who…? Lucas.
He must’ve arranged for the tray to be brought in.
Even away, he is showing his absolute control over what I do and what I eat.
Is it control, though? Or…care? My breath stutters and my heart lurches in my chest. No, he needs to be in charge, he shows his hold over me, that’s all.
I chide myself for even entertaining the thought.
He needs to control every aspect of his life, and now that I have become a duty entrusted to him, he needs to rule over me, too.
I slowly sip the tea while getting dressed, letting the familiar taste settle my nerves. There’s no rush today. The meeting with our family lawyer isn’t until in the afternoon, and for once, time feels like the only thing I’ve got left.
Someone had moved my whole wardrobe from my family’s villa into the walk-in closet of Lucas’ mansion.
And worse, I even see items from my other wardrobe, the one I had been wearing when I was Cara Bailey.
I shudder. Nothing is escaping Lucas and his absolute control.
I should be used to it by now, but seeing signs of his obsession still sends shivers down my spine.
When I walk down the stairs an hour later in my black dress and nude pumps, I am more composed.
I stop short at the bottom of the stairs when I spot Lucas standing by the window in the living room, facing the glass.
He is wearing a navy suit, his hair is tousled and his eyes flash like blue flames in the light coming in through the windows he is staring out.
He turns my way when he hears me and we lock gazes for a beat.
I stand frozen under his stare, heart thundering in my chest. Then he strides up to me and pulls me into him, slowly kissing my lips.
When he pulls back his eyes are searching mine.
“Cara mia…”
I suddenly feel flustered under his heated gaze and turn to take in the room I hadn’t really seen when he carried me upstairs yesterday.
The living room opens up in front of me, the light pouring in from the tall windows make the floor gleam. Sheer linen curtains move faintly with the breeze, giving the place an airy feeling despite the century-old massive fireplace dominating one wall.
Low, modern sofas sit arranged over a thick rug, making a striking contrast with the weathered stone walls.
There are no pointless decorations. It’s so different from my parents’ home, where an abundance of knick-knacks made it hard to breathe.
This house isn’t just beautiful, Lucas has taken something old and immovable and reshaped it to fit himself.
He didn’t erase its history, he warped it, or rather, made it bend to his will.
And standing here, surrounded by stone and light, I can’t help but fall in love with the place.
“Come, cara mia. Lunch is waiting,” Lucas murmurs quietly against my temple, making me jump.
His hand settles at the small of my back, as he guides me to the dining room at the end of a sunlit corridor. Here too, the room is bright and airy, the light flooding in is reflecting on the heavy polished walnut table.
Lucas sidesteps me when I stop and pulls out a chair for me at the side of the table rather than the head, close enough that his knee brushes mine when he sits beside me.
The plates are already set. The food is simple, grilled chicken with roasted vegetables, yet it smells delicious and I am suddenly aware that I am ravenous despite the light breakfast I had in the bedroom.
Lucas lifts a forkful.
“Eat,” he says softly, and brings a bite to my lips.
I hesitate only a second before opening my mouth.
He watches me as I chew, his gaze unwavering and unreadable.
Every time I finish a mouthful, he does it again, offering me a piece of chicken or a morsel of bread torn from the slices lining a bread-basket.
Each time, his movements are sure and unhurried, the possessiveness behind each gesture unmissable.
And each time I comply. I tell myself I should pull away.
I should bristle, argue, remind him that this isn’t how things are supposed to be.
But the truth is, I don’t have the strength for resistance right now.
My mind feels scrambled, as if someone shook it hard and the thoughts are flying around like the flakes in a snow globe, without ever settling.
My father is dead. The family heirloom hangs over me like a blade waiting to fall.
I woke up married to a man I once loved, only to be told another man believes I was promised to him like some property.
Every certainty I had about my life has been stripped away, one by one, until all that’s left is chaos, ache and exhaustion.
But the only constant my mind hangs on is Lucas.
He seems immovable, like an anchor. He navigates through this chaos as if he could control it and keep it at bay.
When he feeds me, when his hand brushes over my jaw or my thigh, a part of me recoils at the control in it, but another part, the part that’s so tired it scares me, clings to the relief of not having to decide anything at all.
If I resist, I’ll have to think. I’ll have to choose.
I’ll have to feel. And right now, I don’t trust myself to do any of those things without breaking.
So, I let him set the pace. I let him watch me eat.
I let him touch me like I belong somewhere again, even if that somewhere might break me later.
When we’re done, he wipes my mouth with a napkin, his thumb lingering over my lower lip for a fraction.
“Good girl,” he rasps and leans forward to brush his lips over mine in an achingly tender kiss that makes my heartrate speed up. Then he straightens. “Come, it’s time for your appointment.”