Hate Like Honey, page 23
“Come,” Heidi says, entering the dining room and waving Sabella in. “You must be starving.”
Sabella stops dead in front of me. I cup her waist to prevent her from tripping. Her body is warm under the layers of clothes, her muscles tense beneath my palms.
The reason for her apprehension becomes apparent as I lift my gaze over her head. My uncles and cousins sit around the big table. They’re not in a hurry to get to their feet. Animosity hangs like a thick cloud of poison in the air. My uncles size my wife up with unfriendly stares while my cousins take her in with curiosity as they slowly stand.
“Uncle Nico, Uncle Enzo, it’s good to see you.” I nod at each in turn. “Toma. Gianni. This is my wife, Sabella.” I walk her deeper into the room. “Sabella, meet my uncles and cousins.”
Uncle Enzo steps up first. He doesn’t kiss her cheek or shake her hand. He scrutinizes her with shrewd eyes. “Welcome to Angelo’s home.”
Not your home.
The jab doesn’t escape anyone. Toma and Gianni exchange a glance. Sabella tenses more under my hold.
The hostile smile that curves Uncle Nico’s lips says he already despises her. “Yes. Welcome.”
“Thank you,” she says, lifting her chin.
Heidi is either oblivious to the strained atmosphere or pretending not to notice. “I’ll let you take care of the seating arrangement while I get the starters, Mr. Russo.”
I acknowledge her with a curt, “Thank you, Heidi.”
In the uncomfortable silence that follows when she walks from the room, I seat Sabella on my left before taking my place at the head of the table.
“As you were,” I say, indicating they’re free to sit where they please.
A bottle of rare red from my father’s cellar—not from our own vineyard—was opened to breathe and left on the table. I pour a generous amount of wine for Sabella and then serve everyone else.
“A toast,” I say, raising my glass. “To the new Mrs. Russo.”
Sabella flushes, hiding her face behind her glass as the men dissect her with their glares. Uncle Nico tips back his glass but barely wets his lips. Uncle Enzo mumbles something unintelligible.
The grandfather clock ticks in the background, counting down every awkward second.
“Oh, um.” Toma clears his throat. “I’m also marrying soon.” At the cutting look his effort to strike up a conversation earns him from his father, his enthusiasm slips. His voice wavers. “Um, in one year’s time.”
Uncle Nico scowls at him. Toma swallows a gulp of wine and hangs his head.
Heidi enters with bowls of asparagus soup on a tray. She convinced a few guards to play waiters. They follow behind her, carrying more bowls, baskets of freshly baked bread rolls, and dishes of salted butter.
I utter a silent sigh, wishing this night was over already so that I can take Sabella to bed.
Heidi went to a lot of effort with the menu. The main dish is her specialty—marinated wild boar in a red wine reduction sauce with young carrots and mushrooms on the side. It’s one of my favorites.
My uncles clean their plates. Sabella only picks at the food while the conversation turns to business—only the legal parts, that is—that doesn’t concern her.
By the time the chocolate fondant and crème anglaise are served, she’s yawning. We got to the hotel in the early hours of the morning. We only slept for a short while. It’s been an exhausting two days on more than a physical level.
The minute the dessert plates are cleared, I get to my feet, signaling that the dinner is over. I open my mouth to bid them good night, but Uncle Nico beats me to it.
“Cognac, Angelo?” he asks. “There’s a matter we need to discuss with you.”
I push back my chair. “It can wait.”
He smiles even as he clenches his jaw. “I’m afraid it can’t.”
Uncle Enzo adds with ill-staged regret, “We wouldn’t keep you from your wedding bed if it wasn’t important.”
Sabella stares at the place setting in front of her, two red circles growing on her cheeks.
“Fine.” I motion at the corridor. “You know the way.”
They file through the door, Toma and Gianni in tow. When Gianni twists his neck to stare at Sabella, I slap him upside the head.
On my way out, I stop next to her chair. Her chest stills with the breath she’s taken.
Kissing the top of her head, I whisper in her ear, “You may as well make yourself useful.”
She pulls away and tilts her face up to frown at me.
In case she’s unclear about my meaning, I clarify, “I’m sure Heidi can do with a hand in the kitchen.”
From how she glowers, I suspect she took the suggestion as an insult. My intention is good. Being useful made my mother happy. The sooner I involve Sabella in my household, the sooner she’ll integrate.
Her eyes burn holes in the back of my head as I walk from the room.
My uncles and cousins sit on the sofas facing the fireplace in the study. A fire already burns high, no doubt thanks to Heidi’s foresight. Cognac and cigars are set out on the coffee table. I pour and hand the glasses around, but I don’t touch the cigars. I’m not going down the same road as my father, not after what happened to him.
“Angelo,” Uncle Nico says.
I sip my cognac, waiting for him to continue.
“We heard BAC took your wife in for questioning in Marseille.”
I raise a brow. “That was fast.”
His stilted nod is placating. “It’s our business to know everything that concerns them.”
“Your point?”
The leather creaks as Uncle Enzo shifts to the edge of his seat. “How long did they keep her?”
I clench my jaw as I relay that fact. “A few hours.”
Uncle Enzo watches me with sly attention. “That’s a long time.”
“They put a lot of red tape in place.” My hold on the glass tightens in a reflex reaction. “It took my lawyer time to work through it.”
Uncle Enzo licks his bottom lip as he studies the rug before flicking his gaze back to me. “A lot can happen in a few hours.”
“I understand your concern—”
Uncle Nico cuts me short. “We need the tape of the interrogation.” He dips his head. “You know why.”
“They erased it.” I work my jaw. “My informant already tried to get his hands on it.”
Uncle Nico’s tone is laced with caution. “Then you can’t trust her.”
“You know what your father would’ve done,” Uncle Enzo says.
My rage ignites in a second. I don’t take the bait. I don’t ask what my father would’ve done because I know.
My flat voice doesn’t give the violence simmering inside me away. “I’m not my father.”
“You are the head of this business now,” Uncle Nico says, letting the unspoken meaning hang between us and making it clear to everyone in the room.
I pin him with a stare. “If you have something to say, say it.”
His docile calmness vanishes. Determination hardens his jaw. “He wanted her dead. It was his dying wish. He told you to deal with her the day he avenged your mother and sister’s deaths. Yet she’s alive.” His look is cunning. “And most probably working with the cops against you.”
The bang as I slam my glass down on the table makes my cousins jump. “She’s my wife. I’ll deal with her how and when I see fit.”
“She’s an Edwards,” Uncle Enzo says. “Giving her your name can’t change that. She is and will always be your enemy’s daughter, the man who killed your—”
“I fucking know what he did,” I say through clenched teeth. “You’d be wise not to bring that up now.”
Uncle Enzo stands. “You may not want to be reminded of the facts, but your father was our brother, and we know what he would’ve done in your position. What he would’ve wanted. He’d never take a risk. If there was the slightest chance of betrayal, he would’ve killed that spark long before it had a chance of kindling a flame. You and I both know that the most logical, safest decision is to get rid of her.”
Fury boils the blood in my veins. I’m about to reach over the table and grab him by the throat when I notice a movement in the doorframe.
Sabella.
She’s as pale as a ghost, supporting herself with a hand on the wall.
Fuck.
The men turn their heads in the direction of my gaze. Silence stretches as they look at her, branding her as guilty for nothing but standing there, for hearing something she shouldn’t have.
“I—” She swallows. “Heidi sent me to ask if you want coffee.”
“No,” I say, my tone harsh. “They’re leaving.”
Uncle Nico puts his glass on the table and gets up with a sneer. “Good night, Angelo. Congratulations again.” He doesn’t look at Sabella as he walks from the room.
Uncle Enzo follows his twin’s example. Toma and Gianni push to their feet, stealing uncertain glances at me before leaving without saying a word.
Sabella folds her arms behind her back and leans on the wall, watching me quietly. I want to pick up my glass and down what’s left of my drink, but I don’t. I’m volatile enough as it is. My uncles questioned my authority, and even though I’m respectful of their age, I’ll have to put them back in their place lest I lose mine in the hierarchy. Because if I do, God knows, I won’t be able to keep Sabella safe.
Her voice is soft, her question loaded. “So, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Are you going to kill me when I’ve served my purpose?”
On second thought, I grab that drink and swallow it down in one go. I school my features before I look at her, keeping my expression devoid of emotions. I can’t show her the turmoil in my chest. “Only if I have to, so make sure you don’t give me a reason.”
She digests the statement, taking a second to let it sink in. Then she turns on her heel and flees from the room.
That’s all right.
I let her run.
There’s nowhere in this house she can hide.
Chapter
Thirty-Three
Sabella
* * *
The thought of Angelo killing me has crossed my mind. Many times. I of all people know what he’s capable of. He never wanted me for me. He only needed my family name. Now that he has that, he’s going to make the best use of it he can. He won’t waste a minute in securing business ties. He may not kill me soon, but that doesn’t mean he won’t do it one day. Or that he won’t do it in a fit of temper. I have to tread lightly around him. I can’t lower my guard. Not for a second.
Wariness weighs me down as I walk down the long hallway toward the kitchen. I can’t help but glance over my shoulder as a shiver runs down my spine. The house is voluminous and basked in soft light, but the ambiance is dark. Despite the tasteful furniture and decorations, it feels empty and hollow, as if something is missing.
I quicken my steps, the echo of my soles chasing after me until I burst into the brightly lit kitchen where Heidi is loading the dishwasher. The housekeeper can’t protect me, not against the master of the house, but I do feel better for another human being’s presence, especially one who’s friendly and kind.
“They don’t want coffee,” I say, trying to keep my voice normal and not let her hear how scared I am. I can’t afford to let anyone suspect that I’m anything less than confident and strong.
She straightens with a smile. “Well, then.” After drying her hands on a kitchen towel, she drops it on the counter. “Why don’t I show you to your room?”
“I’ll help you tidy up first.”
“Nonsense.” She marches out ahead of me, her blond braid swinging between her shoulder blades. “You had an eventful time with the wedding, not to mention a long day of traveling.” She glances over her shoulder. “Of course, it’s your house, and you’re free to do whatever you like. I’m sure you have lots of instructions for me. We can talk about that tomorrow when you’re rested.” In the stillness of the house, our steps sound loud on the polished yellow stone floor. “We can start with the menu for the week if you like, unless you prefer to do your own cooking like the late Mrs. Russo.” We go up a staircase with a red carpet runner. “You don’t have to worry. I’m a fast learner.” She stops on the landing. “I’m good at mastering new recipes.”
I admit a little sheepishly, “I haven’t done much cooking, to be honest. My parents—” I quickly rectify, “My mom has a housekeeper who’s also a wonderful cook, and I mostly lived on ready-made meals when I moved out.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” she says, patting my arm. “Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll sort it out together.”
I offer her a grateful smile.
She waves a hand toward the left. “The west wing is where Mr. Russo’s parents resided.” She crosses herself. “Bless their souls. Mrs. Russo didn’t like to be on the ocean side because of the breeze coming from the sea. She preferred the rooms looking out over the vineyard.”
Guilt tightens my stomach at the mention of Angelo’s late mother.
“You and Mr. Russo are in the east wing,” Heidi continues.
She walks briskly down a broad hallway. I follow behind, taking in the paintings that depict wild cliffs and tranquil beaches or dense forests and snow-capped mountains.
I point at one of the paintings. “Are these scenes from around here?”
“They’re all landscapes from the property. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”
The house is stunning, but I had no idea the surroundings are so diverse and gorgeous. “How big is it?”
“The property?” She pauses in front of the second-last door on the right. “I don’t know exactly over how many hectares it stretches, but it’s vast. The farthest border must be about twenty kilometers away.” She opens the door. “This is your bedroom.”
I enter the large space that’s furnished with a king size bed and a small sitting area arranged around a fireplace. Sliding doors give access to a balcony. The night beyond the doors is dark, but I can make out the long line of lights running down to the beach and the water in the distance.
While Heidi fluffs out the pillows and turns the bedcovers down, I take in the rest of my new domain. The room is decorated in neutral colors. A writing desk and an antique armoire stand against the wall opposite the sliding doors. I stop dead as my gaze lands on the dress that hangs against the armoire, its hem sweeping the floor.
A wedding dress.
The classical cut with thin shoulder straps, a plunging V-neckline, and a narrow skirt is striking in its simplicity. The glittery, pure-white fabric adds texture and richness to the design. It’s without a doubt the most beautiful dress I’ve seen.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” Heidi asks in a wistful voice behind me.
Startled, I look over my shoulder to catch her studying the dress with a sad light in her eyes.
“I couldn’t get it over my heart to put it away,” she says, sounding far-off. “Mrs. Russo had it made for you.”
“She did?” I ask, simultaneously surprised and moved.
“For the big day. Adeline was so excited about it. The dress, I mean. The wedding also, but I still remember how she ran downstairs to tell Mr. Russo—Angelo—how perfect the gown was.” She smiles, focusing on a spot on the wall with a non-seeing gaze. “Mrs. Russo warned her not to spoil the surprise for her brother. He wasn’t supposed to know what the dress looked like. It was right before…” She trails off, getting lost in her own thoughts, and then shakes her head as if trying to dislodge the memory. “Never mind.”
The dress draws my gaze again. I can’t look away from it. I can’t stop thinking about Angelo’s mother and sister, about their fates.
“It’s terrible what happened,” Heidi says, more sadness spilling into her tone. “Such a tragedy.”
In my mind’s eye, I see Angelo’s mother telling her daughter it’s bad luck for the groom to see the dress before the wedding. It’s something my mom would say, something she did say when I got ready to marry Colin. It already feels so long ago.
Tearing my gaze away from the stunning creation, I turn to look at Heidi. I can’t help myself from asking, “Did Angelo see it?”
“The dress?” Heidi shakes her head again. “After what happened, he just locked everything up, left their rooms exactly like that. He couldn’t go in there. Wouldn’t let me. The dress was in Mrs. Russo’s workroom. I just thought you deserved to see it.”
Not sure what to say to that, I remain quiet.
“Anyway,” she says, wiggling her shoulders. “I aired your room and put sheets on the bed.” She points at a door in the corner. “Your suitcase is in the dressing room.” Motioning at another door on the side of the bed, she continues, “That one gives access to Mr. Russo’s room.”
I only nod.
“I took the liberty of stocking your bathroom with toiletries.” Heidi brushes down her skirt. “Just shout if you need anything. I can always send a driver to Bastia to pick up supplies.”
I clutch my hands together in front of me, accepting the hospitality I don’t deserve. “Thank you.”
If she knows why Angelo’s sister and mother are dead, she’ll want to throw me over the balcony herself.
“I’m sure you’d like to get some rest.” She walks to the door. “I sleep in the apartment next to the kitchen. If you want anything, you can use the phone on the nightstand to dial me. My extension is marked as housekeeper on the phone. If I don’t answer, try the kitchen.”
I follow her to the door. “Thanks again for the delicious dinner.”
“You’re welcome, dear,” she says before slipping into the hallway.
I close the door and stand there for a moment, not sure what to do. When the door opens again, I assume it’s Heidi who forgot to tell me something, but a gasp escapes my lips when Angelo enters.
He opens his mouth and freezes when his gaze falls on the dress. A spectrum of emotions washes over his features before settling on something disturbingly dark. The anger that tightens his eyes and hardens the line of his jaw scares me, because this anger is fueled by grief, and I’m the person responsible for that grief. My family. We’re to blame.
