“You’re being dramatic,” I snort. “This garden alone is a dream. You live an extravagant lifestyle, Rosalia. What could possibly be wrong with your life. Where are the bruises? You claimed you were being abused.”
“I said no such thing,” she lies. “Sometimes, pain is invisible. My life will never be mine. I’ll be lucky to survive our wedding.”
“Again, why the theatrics?” I scoff. “Speak plainly.”
“You don’t deserve my truths, dramatic or not. We don’t need to talk,” she says, a cough wracking her body as her voice becomes strained.
She allows the gun to drop to her side, and I remove the knife as I hold her in place with my hand necklace, feeling every shudder as she lifts her arm to her mouth as she coughs. It’s a deep, painful hacking sound, and I watch her closely to see if it's contrived or not.
“Are you ill?” I ask, frowning.
“If you,” she gasps, resting her head back on the bush, “keep your face like that, it’ll stay that way.”
“I’m not worried about how pretty I look,principessa. I want to know why you sound as if you smoke two packs a day.”
“Maybe I do.” Her delicate shoulder lifts and falls without care, and I find myself becoming invested in this woman. “My health doesn’t matter, Nicolai. You simply need me for my ability to walk down an aisle while appearing beautiful and my cunt to bear you children. Everything else is window dressing. I suggest you not look too closely, for none of it is particularly pretty.”
Her language is odd as I continue to frown at her. I despise the way she weaves as she struggles to breathe, and I have no idea what could cause this. Her eyes are glassy with pain, though they’re determined to get through whatever other bullshit tonight might bring.
“It’s just Nico,” I groan. “Please don’t fuck with my name.”
“I plan to fuck with you as little as possible.”
Mmhmm. Fuck my life. I suppose I’m going to need to bring forward the date of this wedding so I can ensure my bride-to-be lives through it. The only caveat Don Accetta has is that Rosalia turns twenty-one before it happens. I am exactly ten years her senior.
God, I feel old under the mantle of my own responsibilities.
“You’re very vulgar,principessa. Is this part of your not-so-pretty parts?”
“Perhaps. I grew up with men who use women as commodities to be used up and thrown away. My own mother and stepmother are buried beneath these rose bushes. Now,bel ragazzo, we need to keep moving or I won’t be able to later. Don’t break the bride-to-be that your inheritance is riding on.”
“Since I need to ride you to be able to cash in on said inheritance, I suppose we should.” I’m purposely crude as I step back, and her cheeks flush pink as she returns her gun carefully to her thigh holster. “For the record, everything that comes out of your mouth is highly concerning. I need to know how difficult you’re going to make this. Are you attracted to men at all?”
The way she speaks about men tells me more than anything she could say. I don’t know anything else about who or what she’s attracted to. Rosalia hasn’t perfumed for me, nor has she shown me anything other than abject contempt when she reacts at all.
Now, I’m not saying I’m an insane catch, but I do tend to turn heads. I need to know if she thinks I smell bad or if she prefers the company of women. This is bruising my ego a bit, despite my own preferences for cock over pussy.
“What I prefer doesn’t matter when people insist on taking things not freely offered,” she says simply, fluffing out her skirts.
My veins fill with ice as I crowd her space again. I may prefer my hot stepbrother to the little omega in front of me, but protective instincts I didn’t know I had are welling up inside of me.
What the fuck is going on in this family? I know all about shitty family dynamics, but this one might take the cake.
“Put the knife away,” she reminds me, ignoring my close proximity. “Remember to smile as if I’ve done something to please you. I really don’t care if my father thinks I sucked your cock. Your sour face is going to?—”
“I dare you to finish that statement,” I growl, my pheromones surrounding us as my anger sparks.
Rosalia raises her chin in defiance, without a single ounce of fear. She seems completely unbothered by the heat of my anger, but then, she is her father's daughter. Living day in and day out with Don Accetta means she experiences scary shit every day.
I probably don’t even rank in the top three.
“Move,” she says simply. “That’s the only thing I need from you.”
“You’re fucking impossible. Is this what you’re going to be like as a wife?”
“I plan to be worse,” she replies. “I hope you enjoy sleeping with one eye open, Nicolai.”
“Nico,” I growl.
