by Bethany-Kris
Calisto.
And then she lost the child.
She didn’t want to lose this one, too. But if it happened, if the pain and blood came again when she wasn’t expecting it to, at least she wouldn’t be so emotionally dependent on an unborn child for her happiness.
It wouldn’t kill her.
At least … not as badly.
Well, Emma hoped so.
It was her piss-poor plan.
She felt useless.
Finding her reflection in the mirror of the vanity, Emma sighed. She grabbed a facial wipe from the glass top, and began removing the mask that had become a part of her morning routine. She hid her fear, all of the anxiety, the sleepless nights, and her sadness with concealer, foundation, blush, and bronzer. She covered up the puffy redness from lack of sleep and her silent tears with green and red tones, perfectly blended in just the right spots. She contoured away the weight loss in her face that was caused by her stress and lack of interest in food.
She thought the bright green of her irises was a lot duller than it had once been. Her hair didn’t wave like it used to, and her skin wasn’t as soft as before.
Or maybe she was just seeing things.
Something to make her less than perfect.
She was trying.
Surviving was good enough.
Wasn’t it?
Emma pulled back the thick duvet on the king-sized bed, and began tugging off her silk robe. She had just hung it over the bedpost when the bedroom door slammed open with enough force to send it barreling into the wall with a crash.
Sucking in a gasp, Emma spun on her bare feet. She faced a very drunk, and clearly angry Calisto Donati. He stalked forward, tossing his suit jacket to the side and loosening his tie. Emma stood stock still and frozen, unsure of what to do.
The master bedroom was on the second floor level of the home. No one probably heard the door crash into the wall, but she didn’t want to take the risk of being caught unsupervised with a man in her bedroom.
Especially not a man she had already fucked three times.
Calisto came toe-to-toe with Emma, his gaze burning into hers with enough heat to melt a fucking icecap. She could feel his anger radiating off him. His hands shook at his sides where he balled them into tight fists. His clenched jaw ticked, reminding her of what it felt like to have his three-day scruff scraping across her sensitive skin. His soul-black eyes held his pain, whatever it was, while the rest of him just shuddered with total rage.
She took another breath.
It didn’t help.
The ache started between her legs the same way it had months ago when she seduced him, invited him to her bed, and then let him fuck her raw for an entire night and then again the morning after. She couldn’t think clearly when Calisto was close.
She had been mad over his distance for the first little while when they returned to New York, but that quickly faded. She understood his reasons without him even needing to tell her. They had crossed a line—a very thin line.
He didn’t want to do it again.
“You,” he growled under his breath.
Emma tried to step back, but bumped into the bed instead. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“You know what,” he spat.
“You smell like whiskey, Cal.”
“I drank a bit.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Very,” he agreed. “It is the only way I can handle my own nonsense right now, not to mention the way he parades you around like you belong to him. You’re just another one of his pretty things, Emmy. He takes you out, shines you up, and shows you off. Drives me fucking crazy.”
Never once did he take his eyes off her.
Then, Calisto reached out and grabbed her. He tugged on her arm, forcing her away from the bed like he didn’t want her touching it or something. The force of his fingers biting into her skin was enough to make her whine.
“You’re hurting me,” Emma said, pulling on her arm. He didn’t let go. “Stop it, Cal.”
Calisto dropped Emma’s arm instantly, took a big step back, and threw his hands high. Pain and remorse washed over his features as he took yet another step away from her. Oddly, she wished he was closer.
“I’m sorry, Emmy. I would never hurt you. I didn’t mean to—”
“What is wrong with you?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, choking on the last word.
“About what?”
“The baby you lost after the wedding. The goddamn baby, Emma!”
Emma’s heart clenched painfully, and she shot a cautious look at the open doorway. “Would you lower your voice? It’s bad enough you’re in here, but you don’t get to barge in and demand answers at the same fucking time, Cal!”
“It was mine, wasn’t it?”
“Calisto, don’t.”
“Wasn’t it?”
Emma pressed her lips together, wanting to hide her frown and her own pain. “How did you know about the miscarriage?”
“Cynthia.”
“I don’t understand. How does Affonso’s daughter know anything about that? She wasn’t home when it happened.”
Calisto waved a hand like it didn’t matter. “She overheard something. She told me tonight. I figured it out myself. I’m not a fool, Emma. I can do math. It was mine. And you didn’t tell me.”
Emma wished the dull pain stabbing at her lungs and heart would go away. She didn’t like how Calisto’s grief was hurting her. She didn’t want to see that. It wouldn’t make her life or choices any easier.
“Go back downstairs. Get someone to drive you home,” she told him.
Calisto shook his head. “No. You answer me.”
“You’ll get me beaten black and blue if Affonso finds you in here with me.”
“He won’t hit you.”
“I don’t want to find out if he ever will,” she hissed. “Get out!”
“He won’t,” Calisto repeated, slurring slightly. His eyes were glassy, and he didn’t seem entirely focused as he stared at her. Emma couldn’t remember ever seeing Calisto drunk, and they had drank alcohol a few times in Vegas. “He did enough damage the first time that he knows I won’t stand for him to do it a second time. He’s a fucking coward, but he won’t do it again, I know.”
Emma’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Tell me the baby was mine.”
“What difference does it make?”
Calisto rubbed a hand over his unshaven jaw. “You could have told me.”
“You weren’t around for me to tell you that I was pregnant,” Emma finally whispered.
It was the only thing she could give him.
It was the truth.
“You left me to fend for myself. You stayed away. I had to lie again. Where were you, Cal?” Emma scoffed, loud and hateful. “Now you care? Get out.”
“You’re right.” Calisto wet his lips, turned on his heel, and grabbed the suit jacket he had discarded when he first came in. “I fucked that one up, huh? I thought staying away would be better for you, or …”
“For you,” Emma said. “You stayed away for you. Not for me. Say it like it is, Calisto.”
“Yeah, for me. I’m a selfish bastard, Emmy. I never pretended to be anything different.”
“What does it matter? It doesn’t, Cal. What happened, happened. And now it’s over. Please get out of my bedroom. Don’t make me ask again.”
Thankfully, he listened.
Through the sting of fresh tears wanting to fall, Emma watched Calisto go. She held back from asking him to stay, from telling him more.
How she missed him.
How she thought of Vegas.
How she remembered …
At the doorway, Calisto glanced over his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Emmy.”
“Are you?”
“Yeah.”
She wished it made a difference
.
But it didn’t.
All over again, her heart splintered and broke. It was a damned good thing she had quickly learned how to perfect her mask every morning.
Tomorrow would be no exception.
Emma
“You smell like a man.”
Emma stiffened in bed, grabbing a fistful of the sheets at the same time. “Pardon?”
She had been half asleep when Affonso finally came into the bedroom to ready for bed. Her husband hadn’t exactly been quiet as he walked from one end of the bedroom to the other, kicking off his shoes and tossing his clothes wherever they fell.
“You smell like a man, Emma.”
She didn’t get the chance to respond before Affonso’s hand landed on her shoulder, and spun her around in the bed. Under the dim light of the bedside lamp, Affonso’s features darkened in his jealousy. Her heart raced.
“Why do you smell like a man?”
Emma struggled to come up with an appropriate excuse. Calisto had grabbed her and brought her close enough that his woodsy cologne must have lingered. She hadn’t thought anything about it.
“Calisto stopped me before I came upstairs,” Emma said as her brain finally caught up with her mouth.
Affonso’s lips drew into a thin, grim line. “Oh?”
“He gave me a hug. Congratulated me on the pregnancy. I only changed into my chemise and jumped into bed. I didn’t—”
“Well, at least he congratulated you,” Affonso interrupted.
Just like that, his hand released her and he fell back into the bed. Emma’s heart climbed back down her throat and took its rightful place in her chest once more.
She had come to find that Affonso’s jealousies could and would flare at the smallest, most insignificant things. Men couldn’t look at her for long without Affonso questioning them. She couldn’t have male friends at all. His blame and jealousy, when they did come out, were almost always pinned on Emma.
It was disconcerting.
“He didn’t congratulate you?” Emma asked.
“I barely talked to him all night,” Affonso dismissed, waving his hand.
Emma stayed quiet as Affonso dug through his bedside table, finding the things he wanted. He rested back against the plush headboard with a book in hand, his attention gone from Emma for the moment. Even still, a dozen and one questions plowed around in her head, wanting answers.
“You’re chewing on something over there,” Affonso said, never looking away from his book. “Spit it out and get it over with.”
“Safe zone, right?”
Affonso nodded, saying nothing.
For as many things about Affonso that Emma didn’t like, the man did have a few half-decent qualities. Their private space being one. He never let her ask questions or talk about private things, except in the safety of their master bedroom where they wouldn’t be overheard.
It was, quite literally, the marriage bed clause. The one thing someone couldn’t use against Affonso were the things he told his wife in private.
“Why have Calisto as your right-hand if you two clearly don’t get along?” Emma asked.
Affonso chuckled dully. “Oh, we get along. He simply doesn’t like me. There’s a difference.”
He had a point.
“Huh.”
“And he’s good at what he does,” Affonso added, shrugging. “He spent the majority of his life under my feet, making sure I was pleased and doing my bidding. As a boy, nothing made him happier than when he could make me happy. When he became an adult, it was second nature. I had already groomed him for it.”
“What changed?”
Affonso’s flingers froze over the page he was reading. “He became older. His mother died. It was a rough year all around.”
Emma was pretty sure it was more than that. Affonso wasn’t giving her the whole story. He was leaving bits and pieces out. What parts were they?
“Maybe he’ll come back around. The baby and—”
Affonso laughed, cutting Emma off. “I doubt it, sweetheart. Calisto burned that bridge. Or I did. He has no intention of repairing it. I still think he would make a good boss, but because I want it for him, he won’t do it.”
Emma had heard that same statement before, straight from Calisto’s own mouth. She wondered if he had told Affonso that, too.
“He does care for my children, however,” Affonso said like it was an afterthought.
Emma glanced down at her hands. “I noticed. He looks after the girls. They’re very close to him.”
“My bastards, too.”
Ouch.
Emma tried not to cringe as she asked, “Your illegitimate daughters, you mean?”
Affonso hummed his agreement. “I have three other daughters. Calisto watches over them, makes sure their mothers are provided for financially and whatnot. He doesn’t have to, but he has a good sense of duty. He gets that from his father.”
The way Affonso twisted the final word drew in Emma’s attention. He’d said it almost snidely, like there was more to that statement.
“I thought his father died before he was born.”
Affonso didn’t say a thing back.
“He seemed happy about the baby,” Emma lied.
Calisto didn’t seem happy at all.
Affonso did smile that time. “Good. Maybe that will bring him around more often. I don’t like it when he stays away, even if when he does come around, his attitude is unbearable.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Sometimes, he stays away to punish me. He does the bare minimum of what he needs to for his work, and he keeps me at bay. But I would rather have him where I can keep track of him, and deal with his attitude at the same time, than see him keep me at arm’s length.”
Emma was stunned.
Entirely speechless.
Affonso was still looking at his book, unconcerned and cold as he always was. But a sadness lingered in his downturned lips and the browns of his eyes.
He cared about Calisto.
Loved him, even.
“Would you ever tell me about the things that happened when the bridges were burned between you and him?” Emma asked.
Affonso shook his head. “No. As I keep telling Calisto, the past is better left where it is. Behind us all. As it is, he doesn’t let me forget. That’s more than enough. I don’t need yet another person to hold it all over my head, too.”
Emma didn’t press Affonso for more. Her curiosity, on the other hand, was burning as bright as it ever had. She wondered what, if anything, she could find to tell her more. Something had happened between the nephew and uncle that separated them, despite their strong bond.
After all, Affonso had practically raised Calisto.
Carefully, Emma tried to prod for information on a slightly different topic. “Were you close to your brother growing up?”
“Richard was my father’s pet. But yes, mostly.”
“Oh. After he died, his widow must have appreciated that you stepped up for Calisto.”
Affonso barked out a laugh, startling Emma. “Camilla?”
“Yes, Calisto’s mother.”
“God, no. Camilla despised me.”
Well, that left Emma confused again, and with more questions than answers.
“That’s too bad,” she said, unsure of what else to say.
Affonso smirked and turned another page. “That woman always hated me, and the closer I was to her precious son, the more her hatred grew. She didn’t have much of a choice, though.”
“Why not?”
“She had no man to raise her son, and I was the only one who could give Calisto what he needed. She didn’t want me around him, she didn’t want him in the family business, but she wanted him to have a man in his life. None of her family was around after Richard died because she was useless to them without him. She had to depend on someone for her son—that happened to be me.”
“Like a double-edged sword?” Emma asked.
“Sort of. You ask too
many questions.”
That was Emma’s cue to shut her mouth. Turning in the bed, she pulled the duvet high enough to cover her shoulders, and hoped it was enough to let Affonso know she wasn’t in the mood to spread her legs and act like she gave a damn that evening.
“You have that doctor’s appointment tomorrow for bloodwork, don’t you?” Affonso asked.
“Sì.”
“Maybe I’ll come along.”
“Sure.”
Emma felt Affonso’s hand pat her hip a second before the lamp was turned off. Affonso shifted around in the bed until he found a comfortable spot.
Then, in the dark, Affonso said, “Should Calisto happen to come around more often because he feels like he needs to keep an eye on you now, I’m going to let him.”
Oh, God.
Emma chewed on her lower lip, not quite knowing where to begin. Affonso had no idea what he was letting in by doing that. Her own husband could very well lead her right back into the temptation she had tried to stay away from once, and failed miserably.
“Is that so?” Emma asked.
“Yes. And if I know Calisto like I think I do, he’ll feel like he owes the child something. He’ll want to be around to make sure everything is fine, even if the baby isn’t born just yet. You’re to encourage it, Emma. I prefer Calisto close, as I told you already.”
Fucking hell.
“You want me to manipulate him. Is that what you’re asking me?”
“I never used that word,” Affonso murmured.
“You didn’t have to.”
He reached back and patted her ass lightly. Emma grit her teeth, said nothing, and waited until his hand was away from her backside.
“Do with it what you will, but I want him close. If that means you use the pregnancy as a way to keep him coming around more often to check up on the baby and things around here, then so be it.”
“Fine,” Emma managed to say.
“Dio, Emma. Don’t sound so sullen. It isn’t you Calisto will care about, it’s the child. My child. He can’t help it, he’s obsessed with caring for his family. He thinks where I fail, he has to pick up the slack.”
Except with you, Emma held back from adding.
“Why do you think I let him handle my daughters? They don’t need me, they have him.”
