Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“This place gives me the creeps,” Caius says as if feeling the same thing I am. “And it’s fucking freezing. You’ve seen it. And I will agree that the view is something else, but can we go? Besides, I’ve got a sweet piece waiting for me,” he says with a waggle of his eyebrows.
“The woman I saw you with. What’s her name?” I ask, wanting to lighten the mood.
“Ana something. Don’t much care,” he says, and he starts to descend the stairs.
“You’re an asshole, you know that?”
“Yep. And I’m okay with it.” He stops when we get to the bottom and turns to me. “Don’t worry about Mom. I’ll keep her off your back. She’s just anxious to get things finalized.”
“Finalized. You make it sound like a business transaction. We’re talking about a baby.”
“And you have to keep thinking of it that way too, brother.”
“Not to mention the woman who will have to carry the child of a man she hates.”
“An heir,” he says, making a point of using the word. “An heir cements our place no matter what happens. Besides, she could have done worse. It could be me in your shoes, and I can tell you I wouldn’t be half as considerate.”
We stand like that in the aftermath of his words, each of us studying the other. I think how sometimes, it’s as though I don’t know Caius. There’s a side of him he keeps from me. From everyone.
“Let’s go back, brother,” he says, turning from me to walk toward the stairs. I watch him go and think how little I like the idea of him in my shoes where Madelena is concerned.
18
Madelena
By the time I hear the key in the lock, I’m not sure if I’m angry or just anxious.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the window, watching the snow fall. It’s beautiful. I’ve always liked the snowstorms here, how they obliterate everything in their ferocity. Their sheer power.
The bottle of wine is empty at my side, and the thought of sex as a weapon is at the forefront of my mind. Can I do it? With him? He’s so much more experienced than me in absolutely every way.
The brothers had returned over an hour ago, but I guess Santos went back to the reception. I get it, though. I’m sure it’s more fun than being with me. I wish I could walk away from myself some days.
Santos pushes the door open as I finish the last of the wine in my glass. He stops when he sees me. He’s in the middle of undoing his tie. I guess he’s surprised I’m not passed out after that fucking. He scans the room, which is a mess because the longer he was away and the more I drank, the more brazenly I went through everything.
But if he’s going to lock me in his bedroom, he should expect no less. I’m not apologizing. We’re enemies, whether or not we fuck. Because fucking is just fucking.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” he asks me, stripping the tie over his head and tossing it onto the back of a chair. He drapes his jacket over that.
I expect him to be angry, to question me about the room and the mess I’ve made. But he just walks over, undoing his shirt buttons and reminding me of the map of horrors beneath.
“Not tired,” I tell him when his gaze is back on mine. I tip the wine glass back again but barely get another drop.
He shakes his head, stopping when he reaches me. He bends to take the bottle and holds it up to the light.
“Where did you get this?”
I point to the dinner tray. “You sent it,” I hiccup. My tongue feels numb.
“No, I didn’t. Did you drink all of it?”
I decide to stand up. It takes me a few tries, and I am so wobbly that he has to grab my arm to steady me when I stumble backward.
“Who else?” I ask, tugging free and gesturing with my arm but realizing my comeback was too slow. I haven’t had a single drink in two years. Not one. Sister Catherine had made sure no one slipped me so much as a schnapps. So, this wine has definitely hit me hard.
“Christ, Madelena,” he says, taking the empty glass from my hand and setting it and the bottle down on the tray. He then lifts the lid off the dish to see if I’ve eaten, and I get another shaking of his head. It seems I can only disappoint him. “You should have eaten.”
I wonder for a minute if he’s going to make me eat now, but the meat and lobster look kind of gross after so many hours.
“I drank,” I say. “I figured the bottle was a wedding gift. Hey. Aren’t you supposed to give me a wedding gift?” Either I’m swaying or the room is as I make my way to sit on the edge of the bed. It takes me two tries to plant my butt on it. “Pretty sure the muff wasn’t from you.”