“She stays inside,” I tell Val. “No one goes in. No one.”
Because I wouldn’t be surprised if my mother decided to pay a visit to my wife to be sure our marriage was consummated. That everything is wrapped up tight.
To be honest, I’m glad to leave Madelena there because this is fucking hard, harder than I expected. Not that I thought she’d be any different. She has claws—she always has—and bite. I wonder if she realizes that.
But what happened just then, the way she responded, the way she looked at me, clung to me, the way she came? It wasn’t what I expected or how I’d expected it to be. I took from her tonight, but she also gave to me, and I don’t understand.
I strip off the rest of my clothes in the room she’d stayed in last night. This will be her bedroom for the nights she’s not sleeping in mine. I walk into the bathroom and run the shower but turn to take in my reflection before stepping under the flow. She left rivulets of open skin down my back to match those on my chest. I don’t think I’ll ever forget her cry when I pushed into her. She’d tried to muffle the sound in my shoulder, but I heard it, felt it, and for one brief moment, it was her pain I felt.
But then the warmth of her took over, and everything else was background to that building of tension—of orgasm just there, just beyond. I gave myself over to the darkness because that is where all violence lies and sex is violence in its own way. A taking. But then her grip turned clinging. Her breathing shifted.
And when I looked into her eyes, I saw a darkness there. It’s different from mine, though. Hers is desolate, alone, and something about that makes my chest tighten.
I shake my head, remembering the blood on her thighs. I should have been more careful with her. I should have tried harder to stave off the beast at least this first time. But it is too strong and always has been. Even though the Commander has been dead for five years—even though all that time has passed—it is ever present, and to think it ever sleeps is a mistake.
I step into the shower, turning the tap so the temperature is freezing cold. It’s a small penance. I make myself look at the blood that washes off me. Her virgin blood. Why wasn’t I more careful with her? Just as when I sliced her palm to make the blood oath, I think about how I do not deserve her—and how she certainly does not deserve me.
After my shower, when I can’t stand the cold for another minute, I change into a different suit. I walk through the bedroom. Her things are here, mostly unpacked. Her tote is on the bed. I unzip it and look inside, finding her personal things, including her sketchbooks and the photos I remember from her room at the college. I leave it all alone.
She’ll live here. I won’t take her to the family house. I spend most nights here, too. I have for almost a year now. A few months after my father’s will was read, I’d half moved out. It’s not official, but it felt like the best thing to do.
What did my father hope to accomplish with that change? What did he think would happen when, apart from a stipend, he cut Caius off and left it all to me?
Then there was the sealed envelope. The executor had been instructed to unseal it before my brother, my mother, and myself. There was a single sheet of paper within, folded into a square, with one sentence written in my father’s hand.
I know what you did, and this is your punishment.
I hadn’t understood it. I looked at Caius, who appeared just as confused, then at my mother, but her face had been unreadable as ever.
“What does that mean?” I’d asked the executor, who was one of my father’s oldest, most trusted attorneys—now one of mine.
He’d looked at the back of the page, then at me, and shaken his head. He did not know any more than we did.
“Who is it addressed to?” Caius had asked.
“It’s not.”
I draw in a deep breath, preparing myself, and leave the apartment to head down to the ballroom. I am sure there will be speculation as to why the bride will not be attending her own wedding reception, but I couldn’t give a fuck.
As the elevator doors slide open onto the lobby, I adjust my cuff, touching one of the stones of the bracelet Caius and I both wear before tucking it back into the sleeve. Conversation quiets once I appear, careful not to make eye contact but aware of every person in here.
“Forget something?” my brother asks casually. He disengages himself from the young woman around whose waist he had his arm. She’s strangely familiar, although I can’t place why. She’s young, about Madelena’s age, but that’s not unusual for Caius. He has varied tastes and has never confined himself to one type. All those years when I refrained, when I wouldn’t touch the women the Commander had sent me as a reward for work well done, Caius enjoyed the bounty while I was busy carving lines into my skin.
The Commander. Fuck. Why the hell am I thinking about him now? He’s dead and rotting. Food for the fish.
“What?” I ask Caius, lost in thought.
“Your wife. Did you forget your wife?” he asks. “I think they’ll expect to see her.”
“Well, they’ll be disappointed then,” I say and walk past him toward the ballroom, the same one where I’d rescued Madelena from the idiots who’d cornered her two years ago.
Caius falls into step beside me. “Are you all right?” he asks as we stand at the entrance of the lavishly decorated space.
“Yeah. Fine. Just went differently than I expected.” I wouldn’t have undressed in front of her. I’d never considered that she’d see what was underneath the clothes. No one has seen my scars apart from my brother. Not even Dad had known what I did after the secret errands the Commander sent me on. Errands. As if people are just that.
“You got it done?” he asks, sounding uninterested, but I know him.
“The marriage can’t be contested.”
He turns to me and brushes something off my shoulder. He looks different since Dad’s death, more serious. Older. But then his eyes meet mine, and he gives me a wink. “I have a feeling in this crowd, you’ll get a few pats on the back for it.”
“For what?” our mother asks, her heels clicking. “Where is your wife, darling?”
Dr. Cummings follows her, and I still don’t like the look of him. He sets his hand on her lower back.
“She is indisposed, Mother,” Caius says.
She looks at him then at me. “What do you mean? They’ll expect to see her.”
“Tell them she can’t walk after a good, long fuc—”
“Hush your mouth,” Mom snaps at Caius, who gives her an innocent what did I say look.
“It’s fine,” I say. “Excuse us,” I tell Cummings and take my mother’s elbow. “Shall we?” I gesture toward the head table. “We don’t owe anyone an explanation.” Once we reach it, I stand behind my seat as the room falls silent. I take the microphone one of the staff offers me. “Welcome, one and all. We’re happy to have you with us to celebrate this precious day,” I almost choke on the words. Caius snorts. “Sadly, my wife was… unable to join us this evening.”
“Well done!” a man calls out from the back of the room and there’s laughter. Idiots. The only one not laughing is Odin, whose eye I catch. He’s at one of the front tables beside his father, who is possibly too drunk to follow what I’m saying.
“I invite you to eat and drink to your heart’s content.” I set the microphone aside and take my seat. Mom slides into Madelena’s empty chair so I’m flanked by my family, the weight of responsibility heavy. Suffocating. I miss my dad at times like this.
“Well done, darling,” she says and fills a champagne flute for me. I don’t touch it. The three of us watch the people of Avarice return to their conversations as wine flows, and waiters serve lobster and steak. How I hate them all, these pretenders, with their pleasant conversation and their money and their status and their posturing.
The waiter places our plates in front of us. I tell him to send a tray up to the suite for Madelena. Caius picks up his knife and fork and slices into his bloody steak.
“Eat, Santos,” Mom says. “They’re watching even if they pretend they’re not.” She smiles at someone at a table across the way. “We’re not there yet, remember.”
“Give him a minute, Mom,” Caius says. “He’s done his duty.”
“We don’t have a minute,” Mom snaps, and this close, I see through the brightness of her smile. “On to phase two, Santos,” she says, expression never changing. Sometimes, I think she is more predatory than my father was, even though she may be subtler. He cared less about being accepted and more about having those around him know who he was—not that she cares what these people think. My mother’s goals are different than my father’s were. She wants a seat at the table. He wanted to own the damn table.
Phase two. I shake my head, tempted to ask for a whiskey. She talks like this is some top-secret mission. I guess to her, it is.
“We need to cement our place,” she goes on.
“We are, Mother,” I say. “Give it a rest for one night.”
“She has birth control pills,” she tells me as she pops a bite of steak into her mouth and chews as if we’re discussing the weather. She uses her napkin to dab at the corner of her mouth.
“Did you go through her things?” I ask.
“Of course I did.”
“Did you take them?”
She swallows, then smirks.
“Where are they?” I ask.
“In my purse.”
“Hand them over.”
“Why?” she asks.
“Because I think she might notice if her birth control pills are missing.”
“That doesn’t matter. She’s ours. She does what we say.”
“Let’s be very clear on one thing. She’s not ours. She mine.”
My mother bristles, but I don’t care about that. She wants power. I get it. I want the same. She wants status within the group of snobs who have always snubbed us. I get that too. Generations worth of Augustines have only ever served at their tables and scrubbed their toilets. We’ve never sat at the head of a gathering.
But I meant what I said to Madelena. I know what needs to happen, but I will protect her. She is mine. She is not theirs, and I won’t see her hurt any more than she already will be. I won’t fail her. I swear not to fail her.
“Yours. Ours. Tomato. Tomato,” my brother says casually, digging for more lobster meat. “We all want the same thing. Let it go, Mom.”
“Give me the pills,” I tell her.
“Fine.” She opens her clutch and pulls out three packets. Three months’ worth.
I take them, shove them into my breast pocket, and look up to watch Odin approach our table. He’s not smiling. I wouldn’t be either if I were him.
“Where is my sister?” he asks without preamble.
Caius leans back in his seat and wipes his mouth. My mother watches Odin with disdain.
“I thought you’d be coming to offer your congratulations. To present a gift, perhaps,” Mom says.
He doesn’t bother with her, and I find I respect that. “Where is she? She was upset earlier. Why isn’t she here?”
“She’s fine. Just tired. You can see her in the morning.”
“I want to see her now.”
I pick up my knife and fork and slice off a piece of meat. I wonder if she’s eating hers now. I place it into my mouth, seeing Marnix De Léon just beyond Odin’s shoulder with this stupid gloved hand limp on the table as I address his son.
“You’ll see her tomorrow or not at all. Take your seat, Odin. Unless you’d like to give a speech letting us all know how happy you are that our families have finally joined.”
He grits his teeth. “If you hurt her—”
“I have no reason to hurt my own wife.”
His eyes narrow. “If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”
Grinning, I push my chair back and get to my feet. I wipe my mouth before tossing my napkin onto my plate. “I’ve now heard that threat from two members of the De Léon family. I’m trembling.” I signal to the orchestra to begin playing, then walk around the table to face Odin. I get just a little more in his space than I need to. “De Léons no longer give the orders. You take them. Now go sit like a good dog before I have to make you.”
His hands fist at his sides, and his eyes narrow to slits.
“Go on,” I tell him.
Caius gives a little bark from the table.
Odin ignores him. He draws a deep breath in, but he’s not stupid. He exhales, then backs away a step. I nod, not bothering to wait for him to do as he’s told. Instead, I walk out of the banquet hall and through the front room of the mansion, which resembles the lobby of a boutique hotel. I walk out the front doors of the building and around the cleared path toward the cliffs.