Not that she could ever escape me. You’ll have the rest of forever to get used to our new reality. Aldo exits the house, the sound of the sliding doors alerting us to his presence. Siân sits up, trying desperately to hide the fact that she is indeed hungry. The closer he gets to our table, the louder her stomach growls, and she hugs herself as if it'll muffle the sounds.
“Buongiorno, signor Russo,” he says without greeting Siân. Good morning, Mr. Russo.
She looks at him weirdly for a moment. But he knows the rules. Servants, housemaids, and everyone else who works for us have been warned against speaking to her. Their only responsibility when it comes to her is to provide her anything she needs. If they cross that line, there will be consequences.
Aldo removes the silver lid. As always, he outdoes himself with an array of different choices; waffles, meats, and other traditional breakfast items. I expect Siân to continue pretending she isn’t going to eat. But to my surprise, she immediately reaches for the bread, tearing it in two and popping a piece in her mouth.
She loads her plate with other items, so focused that she doesn’t notice the tiny box sitting in the middle of the tray right away. When she moves the waffle from the top of the stack, and her eyes take in the black velvet box, her mouth falls open, the uneaten piece of bread falling to the ground.
Siân swallows a breath, but it doesn’t do anything in settling the wheels that are so obviously turning in her mind. “What’s that?” she darts her gaze to mine, her shoulders hiked to her ears.
“Your engagement ring,” I deadpan.
She stares between me and the box, dumbfounded. “Why are you doing this, Christian? Why are you trying to force me to marry you? It’ll never work. I'll never love you. You think bringing me to some fancy house after all the horrible things you've done and then putting a ring in front of me will make me love you? Well, that’ll never happen.”
“It's cute that you think you have a choice in the matter. We've already talked about this. And I've made myself pretty clear. You belong to me. And you always have.”
“You keep saying that. I always have—what the fuck does that mean? Does this have something to do with whatever you and your father were going back and forth about in Italian yesterday?”
For a moment, I allow her to go on as I watch her with my elbows propped on the arm of the chair and my fingers locked under my chin.
“Lower your voice, topolina.”
She’s seething, and I must say, it’s sexy as hell.
“No, I won't lower my voice. Why don’t you tell me what is really going on, Christian? Why did your father kill my family? Why did you take me? Why are you forcing me to be your wife? There's more to this story, and for whatever reason, you're trying to hide it from me.”
She pauses for a beat, only to start right back up again.
“And on top of all that, you've done nothing but mistreat me.”
“The only thing that you need to know, Siân, the only thing that matters is that we are getting married. I've already told you the only way to keep you safe from my father is for you to marry me. Unless you want to end up like your family. You want to see something happen to Cynthia? I suggest you put on the fucking ring and eat your food.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, she jumps up, sending her chair falling over with a loud thud. I can see her mood shift, and part of me likes it. There haven't been many times when she’s been this angry and stood up for herself. Yes, she has been feisty on and off with me. But that was more because she was flirting.
This pushback. This is who she is. This is who she's supposed to be. Not that it's gonna matter with me. At the end of the day, she will do what I say every single fucking time, but she shouldn't take it lightly. She shouldn't just sit back and allow me or anyone else to force her to roll over. But don't tell her that. Not yet. I need more time with her. I need to break her down a little more before she realizes that while she may have the power to stand at my side and be the reigning queen of Italy, she'll have to learn her place. She'll have to learn who's really in charge.
I’m on my feet, and in seconds I’m around the table, hovering over her tiny frame. “Where do you think you’re going?” I snatch the ring off the table.