“Right back at you, asshole.”
I want to turn and storm out but her lips part and she’s breathing fast, her breasts rising and falling with each inhale and exhale, and I drop to my knees beside her little nook. She stiffens as I reach out and brush her hair back and her hand comes up to slap my fingers away, but I catch her wrist and hold it tightly, the touch like a thousand tongues licking along my fingertips, and I know she feels it too, she’s remembering what it feels like for my hands to slip between her legs, for my mouth to nibble at her neck, for my fist to grip her hair and pull.
“We need to make this work,” I say, inches away. I want to bite her lip hard enough to make her scream. “Do you understand me? There’s too much at stake, Olivia.”
“Maybe for you. But for me, I’m just a toy in your game.”
“That’s right, you’re a toy, and I can either play with you or I can break you. It’s your choice, my little princess.”
She stares into my eyes and I hold her tight before releasing her and stepping away. I feel her hate, but also something else: an undercurrent of lust, a dark river that passes between us. It’s always been there, even ten years ago at the height of our disagreement, that tone, that suggestion. It colors everything whether I want it to or not.
I leave the room and hesitate in the hall, my body trembling. I shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t want the added pressure and stress of dealing with her, because I know it won’t be easy. She loathes me, despite how badly she wants to give herself over to me again, and no amount of teasing or fighting will make change her mind. I should find another way.
But I don’t want simple. If that’s all I needed, I could have it.
No, this is my only option. I hate it, but I won’t stop.
Chapter 4
Olivia
I lounge around my room for the next day doing nothing but rearranging the furniture, organizing my clothes, and calling down to the kitchen. I eat whatever I can think up and basically act like a total slob. The cook is surprisingly good, and all I need to do is call down using the landline next to my bed and ask for whatever I want—so far they’ve been willing to accommodate me. I take several long baths and curl up by the window and think about digging a hole deep enough into the limestone and letting the rock make a tomb.
Better to burn out than fade away. Mostly because fading means the suffering lasts longer.
That’s dramatic, except right now it’s how I feel. The future seems bleak—stuck in Casso’s house having Casso’s babies and basically letting him bully me for the rest of my life. I want to disappear somewhere black and quiet, somewhere without pain, without Casso, without this house, without memory. I hate myself for my weakness, but if I could forget my brother—I would.
It hurts too much.
But I’m too antsy to hide forever. The next morning, I sneak out into the hall and check out the rooms around mine. They’re similar to my own, though a bit smaller and not nearly as well decorated, and obviously empty. They look like shells ready for humanity but not quite there. In fact, the entire wing is empty, like I was given an entire section of the house all to myself.
I don’t come across anyone in the family.
That’s perfect—if I can avoid them forever, I will.
I spot a few staff members who give me a wide berth and smile politely, and I nod back at them without trying to engage. I’m not comfortable enough yet, and having people wait on me never sat well even back home on my father’s estate. We didn’t have staff when I was growing up in America even though we had plenty of money and Papa sent me to an expensive private school. He used to talk about austerity, and living a comfortable but modest life, how only sinners flaunt their cash like they think it’ll buy them a spot in heaven. That changed over the years as Papa spent more and more money on gold chains, diamond-studded crosses, luxuries and comforts, but his early lessons stuck with me.
The downstairs is cool and comfortable. I find a gaming room with billiards tables and a big bar and the library and another office and a gym. There’s an indoor pool and a garden and a porch with huge slatted windows and long, low wooden benches covered in green hemp cushions. I drift and wander until I step outside onto the back patio, looking around at the desert landscape, and how the yard’s integrated into its surroundings like it’s all one thing.