I shouldn’t have been so honest about what I didn’t want, but it slipped out before I could think. His stroking hand was soothing as he dried me off and the warmth of his naked body was so close to mine, I felt almost relaxed. Especially after that incredible orgasm. And naturally I said something I shouldn’t, and his reaction…
He’d been so very emphatic about what our marriage would be and then about love, and yes, that had made me angry. Firstly, I’d never wanted to be married at all, let alone to him, and at no point did I agree to any of the nonsense he said about children and ruling at his side. Secondly, I don’t know why me saying I didn’t want to be unloved and unwanted had made him suddenly go off about not wanting love in our marriage. I hardly know him, let alone love him, and he’s not the kind of man I want to fall in love with anyway. He may be hot, but he’s everything Idon’twant, no matter how many orgasms he gives me.
You really liked that orgasm, though.
I push the thought away hard. I may know nothing about sex, but an orgasm doesn’t mean love, and this is about more than sex anyway. I don’t want a man telling me what to do again. I refuse. I won’t be his trophy wife, safely locked away behind glass, and I won’t be his brood mare, giving him a child whenever he asks.
So, I ignore his outstretched hand, get up off the sun lounger, and walk straight past him, over to where I dumped my underwear. I wring them out then pick them up, before heading to where I left my green dress, and pick that up too. All the while ignoring him completely. Tossing the green dress over my shoulder, I turn my back on him and start walking up the stairs to the villa.
‘Caterina,’ he says, impatiently.
I keep walking.
‘Stop, Caterina.’ His voice is harder this time.
But I don’t stop.
‘Caterina!’ he roars as I reach the top of the steps.
Again, I ignore him, trying to walk sedately to the villa so he can’t tell how furious I am. But my walk has turned into a stalk, so he’ll probably guess anyway. My skin prickles and my heart begins to race as I feel his gaze boring into my back, and part of me clenches in anticipation. It wants him to chase me again, catch me again, lose control again, fall apart with me again, because it felt so good and so powerful.
But I don’t hear footsteps and the only thing I feel are those prickles, not his hot hands, and the part of me that wanted him is bitterly disappointed.
I push that feeling away too, as I stalk naked past the guards, all studiously looking the other way, because no, I’m not disappointed. He gave me my first taste of sex, and while it was good, I’m sure it’s not as good as he said it was.
‘That was fucking poetry…’
A shiver goes down my spine and something aches inside me, a longing I don’t want to feel. His gaze had burned when he’d told me that, gripping my jaw tightly, as if it was important that I understand. And he meant it, I could tell. The way he came after me, the way he kissed me, the way he held me, as if he was starving for me, that was all real.
‘You are not unwanted.’
I don’t want that to touch me, but it does. Since my mother died, I’ve never felt wanted by anyone, and my father giving up my life as if it meant nothing to him felt like yet more confirmation of my worthlessness. Yet the Wolf wanted me, and that healed a small part of my soul.
But then he’d gone and spoiled it all by raving about ruling with him and children, and having my freedom curtailed, and how love will never be part of our marriage.
You shouldn’t have walked off. You should have stayed and made him discuss it.
How could I? When he’d been very clear he didn’t want to talk about it?
I go upstairs and slam the bedroom door hard to get that snide thought out of my head, then I go into the bathroom. Dumping the wet clothes in the vanity sink, I then turn on the water in the huge white marble walk-in shower, and stand under the flow. The heat loosens my muscles, but it doesn’t do anything for my fury.
You kind of did this to yourself. If you were the good little girl your father wanted you to be, maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult.
I squeeze some shower gel onto my skin and angrily wash myself, even as the truth sits, sharp and cold as ice in the pit of my stomach. Perhaps it’s true. Perhaps if I’d been the compliant child Dad wanted, none of this would be a problem. I’d be as happy to be Carlo’s wife as I would to be Vincenzo Argenti’s, wanting nothing more than to raise children, manage a household, and sit gossiping with the othercosa nostrawives. I’d be blind to the bars of the cage. It would only be a villa, protected by guards, nothing more.
Maybe your father was right. None of this would be a problem if you’d died along with your mother and Alessio.
My throat closes, but I swallow hard, refusing to acknowledge the pain that thought brings with it. Plenty of times I’d wished the Wolf hadn’t saved me, that Mama or Alessio had been saved instead. If they had, maybe my father would have been kinder, happier… But there’s no point thinking about all of that, because that’s not what happened. I lived and my father never got over it.
I turn off the water and dry myself, before walking into the bedroom.
I’m suddenly exhausted and it’s very late, and now my anger is ebbing, I’m inexplicably on the verge of tears. I need to go to bed and forget about the Wolf and my father for a few hours, and hopefully dream of nothing.
There’s only diaphanous, silky nightgowns that are almost transparent in the drawers, so I settle for a new pair of knickers and a T-shirt to wear to bed. And I’m just about to slide under the covers when a note is pushed under my door. I scowl at it for a bit, because no prizes for guessing who pushed it there, but eventually I pick it up. Maybe it’s an apology and a good faith offer to give me a new identity and a new life far away from here.
But of course it isn’t.
On the white paper, words are scrawled in forceful blank ink:How would you like your father to die?
