59. Made You Look #2
“Whose house is this?” I should have asked when we arrived. I was preoccupied, admiring the old-world paintings on the ochre walls, along with the arched doorways, and the exposed beams, and the fresco accents.
“An associate’s.”
I rub my hands together, then press them against Lev’s shoulders, leaving matching prints, before smearing the white lotion across his skin.
“There’s normally staff here?” It’s not really a question since I’m sure of the answer. This place is too large and too well maintained not to have regular upkeep.
“Yes. They already had the week off, and I thought privacy would be preferable.”
“The week? We’re not staying here for two?”
Lev pauses before saying, “We can stay as long as you want.”
“Have you been here before?”
“No.” No hesitation this time.
“Oh.” I’m surprised.
It must somehow come through in the single syllable because Lev asks, “Why?”
“I thought maybe there was no staff because you’d … visited before.”
Muscles gather and shift, tightening beneath my fingertips. “What does that mean?”
I press harder. Literally and figuratively. My fingers dig into rigid tendons—I was right; applying sunscreen to wet skin is fairly pointless—and I admit, “I heard you have a thing for maids.”
Silence. It’s so quiet that I think I can hear the flap of wings as the same sparrow travels from the railing to land on the lounge chair I vacated.
My hands slide lower, over his obliques.
I took an anatomy class during my junior year at Albright Academy, and I remember the names of some of the muscle groups we had to learn for weekly quizzes.
Rhomboid major, rhomboid minor. Deltoid.
Trapezius. I found it fascinating, all the different functions that act in tandem to do something as simple as sliding a bow across strings.
Working in concert, like members of a symphony.
Lev still hasn’t said anything. I thought it’d be a relief, letting him know I knew, like pulling out a splinter.
Expelling the jealousy. He’s aware of parts of my romantic past, like Harry Pearson and Josh—no, Jeff, who he threatened in an alley, yet I’m oblivious to his.
He said he didn’t want to get married, and then he married me.
Were there other times, other women, when he considered changing his mind?
He turns to face me, dislodging my hands. I submerge them, wishing the water weren’t so clear as my fingers fidget beneath the surface. Swallow hard, seeing the annoyance on his face.
“My mother fired Anna months ago. I had no idea she was rehired until a few days ago.”
Betrayal stabs in my chest, sharp and hot, as I recall the evenings I spent embroidering with Elena. Her motivation is obvious and offensive.
“Anna found a letter, in our room, that you’d written to your father,” Lev continues. “She brought it to Igor.”
Cold dread slithers down my spine, plunging me into disparate sensations. Numbness and sweating. I convinced myself I’d misplaced the letter, forgotten which books I’d stuck the paper between, not bothering to search harder because it never occurred to me it’d been seized.
“She had no right to do that. It was private—”
“Nothing is private in that house, Carina. They are looking for reasons to distrust you, and you gave them one.”
“He’s my father, Lev. I know he’s horrible, but—and Enzo … I don’t even know if he’s alive.”
“He’s alive.”
“What? How do you know?”
“Because he sent a note with Andrea’s head. You missed.”
Bile bubbles in the back of my throat. I have to swallow three times before I can ask, “Andrea was your informant?”
Lev nods once, studying me closely. I’m too horrified to care that he’s likely assessing if I am sending secret communications to Salvatore.
Another person dead. Because of me. Tears sting my eyes that I blink rapidly to clear.
“Have you contacted your father?”
“No.” I repeat the word a second time, indignation breaking through shock. “No. I would have told you.”
“Would you have?”
The question is insulting. So is him acting like I’ve been dishonest when I know he’s kept things from me.
“Like you told me about Victoria?”
Lev looks confused. “What about her?”
“Maksim said she tried to marry you.”
He still appears puzzled. “So?”
“So, that would have been helpful information to know.”
“What would you have done differently?”
Nothing. I knew his loyalties would be torn regarding his family. I was already struggling to understand their dynamic. At least Victoria’s animosity has an explanation.
I don’t answer his question. I counter with one of my own. “Why didn’t you marry her?”
“I didn’t want to.”
I scoff. “Then why did you marry me?”
His immediate, “I wanted to,” was not the answer I was anticipating.
You know why or it was necessary would have been predictable, safe responses.
The shrill ring of a phone interrupts the silence that lurks in the wake of his reply. Lev skips the ladder or stairs, hoisting himself out of the water in one smooth motion and heading for the open terrace doors that lead inside.
I sink below the surface and contemplate staying where it’s calm and cool and uncomplicated forever.