Chapter 10
ANDREA
Igo still at the softly spoken threat. My brother’s life? “What are you talking about?”
“What do you think would happen if it somehow gets leaked that La Fiamma isn’t actually dead, but living a happy life just two hours away in Brattleboro as none other than Ezra Beaufort?”
I gape at him, my mind racing. I know exactly what would happen. While I’m not sure exactly what kind of work Ezra did while working with the Moratti family, I know it’s not something as innocent as sorting files or maintaining their finances. He probably did terrible, horrific things, making a lot of enemies in the process. What would happen if anyone finds out he’s still alive?
Both my brother and our entire family would be in danger, I suspect. Not to mention Charlie and his precious unborn babies; the thought makes me sick. Not even the Beaufort name would be enough to protect us from the rage of the New England mafia families and any other low life he had offended over the span of ten years.
“You wouldn’t,” I breathe, staring up into his hypnotizing green eyes.
“Wouldn’t I?” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb up and down my wrist. Tingles shoot down my spine. I snatch my arm out of his grasp and take a few steps away from him.
“I’m listening.”
“First, you’re going to eat.” He nods at the food on the bedside table. My stomach growls in anticipation. “See? You’re starving. While this little protest of yours is admirable, it’s not sustainable.”
He’s right, of course. I had already been thinking about how I could give in without seeming like a weak-minded woman. I’ve never gone this long without food in my life; I feel like I might pass out. To be rational, I need to keep my strength up if there’s any possibility of an escape.
I glare at him as I make my way to the bed. I try to caution myself, but, fuck, I’m so hungry that I practically inhale the French toast and eggs. I start to slow down when I get to the fruit. And oh my God, the pie. It takes everything in me not to moan at its sheer decadence, melting over my tongue.
When there’s not a single scrap of food left on the plates, I unscrew the lid of the bottled water and take a long drink. I let out a sigh of contentment as I pick up the smoothie. My stomach is already filled to bursting, but the smoothie looks so inviting that I can’t resist taking a sip. Yup, it’s incredible too, nothing like not eating for a few days to make a girl really appreciate a meal. I glance up to see Hudson staring at me intently, a fascinated gleam in his eyes.
My cheeks heat as I blush, a little embarrassed at how fast the food disappeared, but he seems more pleased than anything.
“You’re so beautiful.” He starts to lean toward me but thinks better of it and takes a step back instead. “Are you ready to talk?”
“Excuse me,” I whisper, covering my mouth with my hand as I burp quietly and as lady-like as humanly possible…while not missing the smirk that crosses his face. The asshole sure makes it hard to enjoy myself; the look of satisfaction washing over his features is enough to make the food in my stomach turn sour. He wins this round, and he sure as shit knows it too. “I’m ready now.” Even as I speak, I yawn loudly. I had a long night, sleeping in fits and spurts, waking up at random hours from hunger pangs. Now that the hunger is satisfied, I’m overcome with exhaustion.
“Did you not get enough sleep last night? Plotting my murder?” Hudson teases but his gaze stays sharp.
“You better sleep with one eye open. You just might wake up with a knife at your throat. Or buried in your chest if you’re not fast enough,” I deadpan, and he fucking chuckles. He’s so arrogant that it makes me sick. I’m just a toy for him to see how far he can push me before I snap. He might think I’m harmless, but I wasn’t kidding. Not really. If I get a chance to escape again, that won’t compromise Ezra’s safety, I’ll grab it. I don’t care whose blood is on my hands because of it.
I yawn again as he turns away from me and starts walking. “Where are you going?” I call after him.
“Take a short nap. I’ll be back,” he stammers as he shuts the door behind him and locks it. I slide to my side of my bed–not that I know where Hudson likes to sleep. My eyes close easily, and I succumb to the need to sleep.
* * *
My eyes snap open,my heart pounding fiercely. A pair of green eyes meets mine, and I shoot up on the bed. Hudson has shifted the armchair in front of the fireplace to face the bed; he’s lounging on it like a king on his throne as he watches me.
“You look so innocent when you sleep.”
“How long have you been watching me, you creep?” I ask as I rub the sleep from my eyes.
“A while,” he answers cryptically. “Do you feel well rested now?”
“Hmm-hmm.” I cover my mouth as I yawn.
“Good. Now, what did you do to my closet?” he asks easily enough but there’s a fire in his eyes that warns me to tread carefully. I frown as I try to remember what he’s talking about. His closet? I…ohhhh…his closet!
I raise my chin, refusing to be cowed. “I simply helped you rearrange some stuff that needed rearranging.”
“You mean after pawing through my clothes, you decided to mess up the neatly arranged items?” he growls.
“You shouldn’t have left me in here unsupervised if you’re neurotic about things like that. One thing you should know about me is that I’m a snooper.”
He stands up, his muscles rippling like a caged animal as he runs a hand through his dark hair. “It’s one thing to snoop through people’s things. It’s another entirely to purposely destroy the arrangement!”
Whoa, he’s becoming agitated. I swallow, starting to feel bad but I shake my head. Snap out of it, Andrea, he kidnapped you!
“You made me mad,” I tell him, and his head snaps to mine. There’s something feral in there. He inhales sharply like he’s trying to get control of himself, a muscle jumping in his forehead.
“Don’t touch my things again,” he growls. I nod in response. My acquiescence seems to calm him, and he sits back down.
“If I don’t touch your things, what am I supposed to wear?” I have no intention of ever disrupting his clothes again, but I can’t wear the same thing every day. I need to change.
He walks to the closet. I remain on the bed, and he glances back at me impatiently. He demands with a wave of his hand, “Come.”
“You’ve been calling me pet for so long that you actually think I am one now,” I bark. “I’m not an animal who will roll over or do whatever you want just because you say so.”
He studies me quietly for a moment and demands louder now, “Come here, Andrea.”
It’s the first time I”ve heard him say my name; for some ridiculous reason, it makes me squeeze my thighs together. I climb out of bed in a daze and walk to him. I gasp when I see his stuff has been rearranged to make space for more clothes: female clothes.
I walk over to them, fingering the high quality materials. “They’re all in my size,” I realize.
“Of course.”
How long did I sleep? Was that how he was able to purchase an entire wardrobe for me? There are different tops. Summer dresses. Fancy dresses. Jeans. Pajamas. etc. There”s even a separate drawer for underwear.
“Hudson…”
“It was all in your room. I just had Diane bring it in after I saw the havoc you wreaked in here,” he explains gruffly.
I go still and spin to face him. I have a lot of questions but only one seems to slip out. “Diane?” He has a girlfriend?
“She’s the housekeeper. I don’t fuck my staff, so you don’t have to worry about a jealous ex-lover in our household…if that’s what you’re thinking.”
That is exactly what I was thinking. Maybe not in those exact words. “I don’t care,” I say dismissively, but his mouth twitches with a smile. He doesn’t believe me?
“I don’t,” I insist.
“Okay. Okay.” He raises his hands. “You don’t need to get all worked up.”
“I’m not getting worked up.” I glare at him and say, “And what did you mean you had it brought over from my room? I have my own room?”
“Had,” he corrects. “You had your own room, but not anymore. You sleep in our bedroom or nowhere else.”
“So what? You’ve had these clothes all along and didn’t deem it fit to inform me?”
“You were in the middle of your fasting protest. What if you protested the idea of clothes in your own size?” His lips twitch as he speaks.
Is he mocking me? This fucker. “Do I even want to know how you guessed my size correctly?” I raise a hand up before he can answer. “You know what? Never mind. Just tell me about this deal you were presenting to me before I fell asleep.”
I walk out of the closet and into the bedroom. My chest was starting to do funny things. Am I going insane from having no human contact with anyone but him? Why should I find it sweet that he bought clothes for me? He kidnapped me and now he’s trying to force me to become engaged to him.
“Are we actually going to go through with the engagement and get married?” I ask.
“So, you’ve accepted my proposal then?”
“I need to know a few things before I can fully accept.” I pace in front of the fireplace. It’s not as if the bastard gave me much choice. He has me hemmed firmly in place with his threat to my brother.
“Yes, we’re going to go through with the engagement and we’ll marry within the month,” he answers.
“A month?” I gulp. “That’s too fast.”
“Ezra got married within a week,” he points out, reminding me again that he seems to know everything about me: my family, my clothing size, my favorite body care products while I know next to nothing about him.
“Oh,” I reply for lack of a better response.
“And while you can be your prickly self when we’re in private, in public you have to play the part of a loving fiancée, and later, wife,” he states, with no room for argument. “As my bride, you will be expected to attend events, where you will dress and act the part of my devoted companion. You will look delicious enough to eat, but no one will dare touch you without risking losing their hand, so you have nothing to worry about. But if there is so much as an inkling that you do not worship the ground I walk on, our facade is broken. Your eyes will be glued to me at all times; you will hang off my arm like your life depends on it all while showering me with all the love and respect a man of my position demands.”
He stares me down, challenging me to protest, then adds, “If the past few days are any indication, I know you don’t cower to threats, so you will surely earn the respect of the other families.”
I gulp again. Pretend to be in love with him? I glance at his handsome face. He already haunts all my private moments, so that shouldn’t be too much of a hardship if I didn’t genuinely loathe his very existence. I don’t know what he reads on my face, but it makes him give me a victorious smirk. He infuriates me…the power he holds over me and how helpless I am.
The anger propels me forward; and before I know what I’m doing, I raise my hand at him.