Poison Heart (Toxic Hearts), page 13
“One day, you’ll beg for my touch,” I promised. The game was on, and there would be one winner.
I intended it to be me.
“You’re delusional,” she spluttered, but her fingers tightened around my shirt as I tried to give her space.
A glint of white distracted me. I looked to the side to see the Lady of Death, small green nubs on its side unfurling slowly.
“Anita,” I swallowed.
“No, you listen. You know the truth now, and I’m warning you to leave me alone.” She didn’t see the flowers, distracted by the fury I’d stoked in her. I caught her wrists in my hand.
“Anita, the Lady of Death.” I jerked my head to the plant, voice guttural. The anger melted, her claws softening. She made a soft hiss of excitement as she shoved past me, shaking as she struggled to put her gloves on.
“Quick, quick.” She thrust the metal pan into my chest. I moved it under the petals. “Hold this.” Her voice quivered as she reached out and snipped the petals. They fluttered into the pan. The smell of rotting flesh filled the room, and I choked on it. Anita clicked her tongue, her lip quirking upwards.
“Don’t tell me you can kill someone, but you can’t smell their likeness? I can’t be married to a man with a weak stomach.” She sighed as the last petal fluttered down. Using a small pair of tongs, she loaded the petals into a jar full of viscous liquid. My lip smarted from Anita’s ravaging, head fuzzy from the force of my wife. I pressed my finger to my mangled lip with a wince.
“If you expect sweetness from me, you’ll be sorely disappointed, Romeo.” Anita noticed the movement, finishing up her methodical process with the petals.
“When I promised Paolo I would marry you, I didn’t know who you were. As we courted, I spent a lot of time watching you. I never intended to lose my heart with this marriage. In my hands, I had this precious, breakable innocence. It destroyed me. I had to love you from afar because what’s in here?” I rubbed my chest. “Was too dark for you. I despaired at staining you beyond repair if I touched you. I thought if I could stay away, you could remain as sweet and innocent as you appeared. But I should have paid attention to what had made me fall for you. Not the smile you’ve perfected or the agreeable way you flattered me. It was the moments when you relaxed when you thought no one was watching you. I didn’t recognize what it was. You were letting your true self peek through. That was what made me fall for you. The kindred nature of our spirits was obvious to my unconscious all along. I won’t make that mistake again.” I promised.
“Your words mean nothing to me.” She shook her head, not believing me for a second. She focused on shifting her stored petals onto a shelf, fussing with the lid. The petals floated, and a niggle entered my brain.
“You killed him, didn’t you?”
Her shoulder blades jammed together, and her fingers splayed across the wooden bench.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Lanton.” I breathed. “You don’t have to hide it from me. I wanted him dead. It was the entire reason I married you. I wanted The Gardener’s…your help, to deal with him.”
She spun around, her expression inscrutable. It occurred to me how deeply this admission might hurt her. I’d lied, misled her with ulterior motives, and she overheard me telling horrible lies about her. I’d apologized for what I’d said, back when she proved she didn’t need me at all. But I hadn’t guessed the lengths of her devious nature. Anita saw so much more than she let on. There was no surprise or shock. She was a blank slate.
“You already knew.” I muttered under my breath. I whipped my head up. “Did you do it for me?”
“I need to clean this up.”
She dismissed me with her back. My jaw ached as I clenched it hard. It didn’t matter what I said. My words meant nothing to her. She needed to see that I meant them. I spun on my heel, undeterred. My gaze was feverish as I drank in the dark blanket swallowing the sky. I made a silent vow.
I would win my wife again.
16
Age 17
“Don’t you want to join me? It’s my birthday, I insist.”
My mom made a disgruntled noise. This was the first time I’d seen her today. She’d given up trying to make my birthday a civilized affair years ago. A present would have been an insult, and she knew it. My mother carried her beige suede handbag, and she held it like a shield against her chest. I offered her a plate, chuckling when she took a step back.
“Or do you have some pressing travel to attend to?”
The maid pressed past her, carrying Mom’s bulky luggage. I raised my eyebrows.
“I don’t know what you want from me, Anita, I can’t–I can’t do this with you anymore. Lord knows I did everything I could. But y-you’re made wrong.” Her lips flattened on her blunt admission. I cocked my head, a curious ache spreading through my stomach. She feared me, especially now that she knew there wasn’t a line I wouldn’t cross. I didn’t blame her. There was nothing in my chest but a gaping, black hole. It winnowed out any warmth, unfeeling since my father disappeared. But the ache pulsed as she looked at me and shuddered.
“Well,” I took a sip of my tea, relishing the bitter aftertaste of my added ingredient. “Enjoy your trip.”
She blinked, face scrunched as I continued my lunch. Her fingers dug into the handbag, leaving desperate marks.
“I’m leaving for good. I’ve managed to find a relative who will take you in. Remember your cousin Paolo? You used to love playing with him when you were younger.”
Paolo? I remembered him being brash, with a clash of freckles over his nose. We’d also been ten years old. My mom despised me so much that she was leaving me to become someone else’s problem. The ache intensified, and I pressed my palm flat against my stomach. Perhaps indigestion.
“I see. It would be too much to leave me unsupervised. The poor, innocent girl I am,” I snickered.
My mom stared at me, shaking her head. She rocked forward on her toes, as if considering coming closer. To what? Kiss me on the cheek and squeeze me in a hug? My stomach clenched. She decided against it.
“You can go now,” I said to her, and there was a strange warble in my tone. I flicked open my pad and noted my symptoms. The dosage needed adjusting for next time. It wouldn’t do me very well to poison myself before I found a way to sell my wares.
When I looked up again, she was gone.
I evaluated the table spread with a discerning eye. I’d iced the cupcakes before they cooled, and now the frosting slid off in unappealing globs.
My jittery stomach was to blame. The prospect of my husband walking through the door at any moment had set it a flutter.
I took a seat on the lounge, fanning out the peach folds of my dress. Fingers darted over my hair, ensuring there were no strands out of place. The clock chimed, loud and insistent. My stomach flipped, gaze trained on the empty doorway. It had been a week since the funeral and the explosive confrontation between my husband and me. The phantom grip in my hair tormented me, as did the memory of his commanding lips ravaging mine. Sleep eluded with those images running a loop in my brain. My heart pounded to a different beat. The dizziness of waiting to see what he would do with the knowledge of my identity.
Until last night.
He’d interrupted me while I was bathing. Ignoring the wobble in my voice as I covered my naked body from his roving eyes.
“You don’t need to fear, wife. Your secret is safe with me.” Romeo ran his thumb slowly over his lip as if the mark I’d left him with was still there. I hoped it held him in check. He wouldn’t get close to me again. I’d learned my lesson. Still, I shrunk in the bath, despising the vulnerable imbalance. He dipped his hand in the lukewarm water and clicked his tongue.
“You’ll catch a chill if you soak in this.” He turned the handle, sending scorching water into the tub. My eyes had narrowed, and he nodded as if he heard their sharp protest.
“We’re married, and I intend this marriage to become real. There are no more secrets between us now. There was a time you felt something for me, and I will do anything to be the object of your desire again. I want to celebrate your birthday with you, whatever you want, but we will be together. Do we understand each other?” He stood, graceful as a panther, and left before I could argue.
I thought of the secret I kept from him, about his mom. I didn’t like the way the weight of it crushed my lungs, but I couldn’t tell him without revealing too much of myself. But if he wanted this marriage to become real, all I had to do was prove how foolish and futile the desire was. I’d done it before, with my mom. It wouldn’t take long for Romeo to see that my monster was more vicious than his. I chose a midafternoon tea for my ill-fated birthday celebrations. The similarities to the hellish matchmaking afternoon teas mom had forced me to attend were not lost on me. They certainly inspired me as I sent Maria out of the kitchen and prepared each dish myself. She’d cooed at the sugary confections I’d whipped up, the memory of them coming back easily. I hoped Romeo might be too busy to attend. Matteo needed his presence after Lanton’s death. There was a vacuum in the Orazio hierarchy, and Romeo rushed to fill it.
Gentle, hushed enquiries to The Gardener had increased to a level that set Paolo on edge. I had him collect names, the growing list an interesting insight into who was happy about the younger Orazio gaining more power. Not everyone was glad about the change, which made it clear Lanton might have made promises as Matteo’s second that he could no longer uphold.
The subject of my thoughts cut my musings short. His long limbs ate up the distance to the small sitting area, and he threw himself into a singular armchair with a sigh. A sharp, strange disappointment flooded my stomach, and I tensed. He didn’t choose to sit next to me. I’d been sure he would, his hands mauling at my unwilling body, his lips seeking mine. I’d been prepared for the battle, throbbed with pent-up fight. Instead, his elegant fingers coasted through his thick, dark locks as he pursed his lips apologetically.
“You’re late.” I pointed out, reaching over to pour him a cup of red-tinged tea. A sharp bark of laughter escaped him as he reached for it and noticed the hue.
“I know, my dad waylaid me. Accept my sincerest apologies and birthday wishes, wife.” He pushed the cup away with a grimace. I inclined my head, determined to appear civilized. I picked up a plate and selected two almond tea cakes. Careful of the crumbs, I took a small bite. Noting the relief that flooded Romeo’s wary expression. He was right to be suspicious.
“How has your day been? How many deaths can I attribute to you?” Romeo teased, taking a generous bite of one of the messy cupcakes. His pink tongue poked out, mesmerizing me as he licked the mess on his fingers.
“You think you’re funny,” I scowled.
Romeo shook his head, chewing rapidly around another mouthful. His gaze shopped the sweet spread, and he plucked a slice of my pineapple upside down cake and slid it onto his plate.
“No, Anita,” he insisted when his mouth was clear. “Perhaps my attempt at levity was ill-placed, but I meant what I said. I want to know you. How you built this incredible empire and kept it hidden for so long.”
I pushed the plate of sugar cookies toward him, warmth twisting my insides as he took two. He would curse his appetite later, but at this moment, I could take advantage of it.
“So you can make it your own and leash me?” I accused, letting my hidden fear out in the open. Now Romeo knew who I was. He was surely going to destroy everything I’d built.
I was his wife. I belonged in the house, feeding and breeding. He hadn’t said those words, but he didn’t need to.
All the men who worked for the Orazios operated the same way. Women were chattel or gems, objects to be coveted and used. Not people. Wives were servants, draped in gold.
My upper lip curled with disgust. I’d tried to be that for him when he duped me into believing his ardent pursuit. It had been an uncomfortable fit to put aside everything I believed in and take on the ill-fitting mantle of a docile housewife. My mom had never been like that. She’d simpered and made all the right noises. But my father didn’t ask her to do that for him. I’d let myself be swayed, let the prospect of love steal my logic.
I’d betrayed myself for him, and I never would again. Not for him, nor any man.
I was The Gardener, and he should know the darkness inside of me would never dissipate. No matter how many aprons I tied around my waist. It lurked under my skin, hungry. Romeo wiped his forehead with a slight frown. He brushed a rain of crumbs from his lap that had fallen in his haste to consume the cookies.
“No,” he protested, leaning forward. “Wasn’t I clear the other night? All I’m asking for is a chance to prove myself. I don’t want to change who you are. I’m so damned proud, excited, and selfishly relieved. We are of one kind. Both sinners. I thought I would have to hide that from you. Instead, I find my wife understands what is under my skin, intimately.”
His eyes darkened with want as he spoke the last word. My shallow breaths echoed in my ears. I understood, it had been part of my attraction to him initially. His hands had touched death, as did mine. I’d put him on a pedestal, this dark, shadowed killer who had whispered endearments to me.
All lies. He’d manipulated me with such ease.
“Paolo said you don’t like to celebrate your birthday, and you refuse gifts.” Romeo continued to eat, unwittingly ingesting more poison.
My stomach clenched, and I smothered the ache that sprung deep in my tangled intestines.
“He is right.”
“Why?”
I didn’t feel things the way others did; I knew that. Emotions bounced off the concrete shell protecting me. But there were certain days when the shield around my heart was thin like a membrane. I wanted Romeo to relax, to drop his guard around me. That was the only reason the truth slipped out of my lips.
“My father used to say my birthday was like a celebration for him because the day I was born, he got the greatest gift. Imagine someone saying that to you for fifteen years, and everything else will pale. Everybody else will pale.”
I wanted him to know he would never fill the space my father left. But the empty space throbbed and ached for him to try, despite myself. Romeo brushed his fingers off and stared at me. There was no trace of pity. If there was, I would have snapped. His jaw clenched, and he pulled out a small package. He tapped it on his knee.
“I didn’t listen when Paolo warned me.” He shook his head, lips twisting in a self-deprecating smile. “My father keeps records on everyone who works for us, dossiers of information. It can be quite useful, as you can imagine. I looked for Antoni Bianco, and I found something you might want.”
He perched the box on the armchair, sliding back into his seat with a slight grimace. The light reflected off the sheen on his forehead. My pulse leapt at the mention of my father, and my fingers wrapped around the box before I could stop myself.
“Pretend it’s not a birthday present. Perhaps it’s an apology or a token of affection from a suitor who is utterly enamored with his wife.”
I flicked a look at Romeo, willing to suffer through this meal, but not his flowery declarations. I slid open the top of the box and bit my tongue at what lay nestled inside. A faded photograph. The blurred profile of my father filled the black-and-white frame. He was bent over an open crate, staring contemplatively at what was inside. Heat pricked my eyes at how young he was, skin smooth of lines. I traced the line of his shoulders, the familiar stoic stiffness. I opened my mouth and closed it. Words were heavy stones that sunk into the pit of my stomach.
“I’m trying, Anita.”
I couldn’t meet my husband’s eye. Not when my chest ached with curious pain. Guilt? Fool. Only fools tried to squirrel their way into my heart. It was too late for us, and I was too vindictive to stop the path I’d begun.
“I trained myself, you know.” I dabbed at the corner of my mouth with a napkin. “Once I committed myself to this idea. My father had done the same and even provided instructions.” I covered my smile as Romeo bit down on another cupcake. I would have to limit him soon, or he’d be dead before I had a chance to cause him the pain he deserved. His eyebrows raised, intrigued by what I admitted. I’d told no one this before. The admission wobbled, unsteady, and untried. My mom refused to acknowledge what I did, and I’d never been open with Paolo.
“I’m immune to most of the poisons I handle. It’s taken years of ingesting trace amounts. It’s a painful process at times. I can remember being almost catatonic once, over-ingesting through eagerness and arrogance. My whole body sweat through. I thought I was going to die. It was how Paolo discovered who I was, actually. I wanted to pass with a clean conscience.” I laughed softly, remembering.
I didn’t care about my conscience anymore. Paolo had been intrigued and had pleaded to assist me. But I had never let him know everything. Only the bare details, which I parceled out with ever-present suspicion.
Romeo wiped his forehead, freezing once he realized what he’d done. Sweat peppered his furrowed brow. There was no sun today. The sky was moody and loud, with a windowpane-shaking wind. Certainly not conditions that would create the stubborn sweat marring his brow.
Romeo lowered the dainty plate slowly, unbuttoning his jacket. He slid the black material off, folding it in half before draping it over the arm of his chair.
“How long did you continue this practice for, Anita?” His voice was low. I plucked a tart from the table and took a bite with relish. I hummed, chewing. Romeo’s chest collapsed with a violent exhale as he waited for my answer. I waved a hand as the sugar-coated my tongue.
“I never stopped,” my smile was sharp. “It’s important to maintain the same level for it to be effective.”
“Anita.” Romeo swiped a napkin over his forehead, groaning and clutching at his stomach.
“Are you well, husband?” I asked, eyes widening in mock surprise.
I folded my hands in my lap and watched with interest as he forced his hand away and wrenched his spine straight. It reminded me of my afternoon tea with Richard.
