by Emma Slate
“Would you like another slice of cake, Sterling?” Beatrice asked.
I shook my head and stood. “No, thank you. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll head up to bed.”
They both watched me, their eyes drilling into my back as I retreated.
I entered the house and heard laughter from the sanctuary. I took the servant’s staircase to the second floor and slipped into my room, locking the door and sliding to the ground.
When the house had been quiet for hours, I was finally able to sneak out of my room undetected. The night was cool, my senses in tune with my surroundings. There was enough moonlight to pad my way to the stables. When I arrived, I waited to see if a sleepy stable master would appear and alert Angelo that I wasn’t in my bed, but no one came.
As I walked through the stalls, I took an instant liking to a sorrel colored mare with white socks and patches of white on her flank. I saddled her, sending up a thought of gratitude that Hadrian had introduced me to the world of riding horses.
I guided the mare from her stall and out of the stable. After quickly mounting her, I urged her to a trot, leaving behind the vineyard. Once we had trotted clear of the stables, I brought her to a canter, and when she fell into a rhythm without hesitation, I knew I could trust her. The light of the moon lit the path forward and after a moment, a surge of adrenaline pumped through me and I brought her to a gallop, soaring across the hills of my ancestral home.
The wind tore through my hair and cut at my cheeks as hooves left their marks in the soil beneath us, beating a pattern into the earth that resounded in my eardrums as I rode. I breathed in life in all its glory—shoving away the anger and sadness, knowing those two useless emotions wouldn’t bring back the dead, or change the outcome of tomorrow.
After a while, I slowed the mare to a canter and then to a trot, allowing her to catch her breath. Sweat had formed beneath the saddle, and the smell of wet leather struck my nose. We came to rest on a hilltop, and then I turned my face up to the sky to stare at the stars.
I looked at the moon, wondering if my mother could see me. If she knew that I was here in this place. I was more connected to her in death than I’d ever been in life.
Reluctantly, I guided the mare back toward the stables, prepared to meet the wrath of the stablemaster or one of my cousins, but still, no one came to greet me. I removed the saddle and brushed the mare down while she was still damp. Then I gave her a few carrots and held my head close to her, offering her a whisper of thanks.
I trekked to the house; the sound of my boots muted from the dirt of the earth. When I arrived at the back door, Angelo stood there, waiting for me. He was my enemy, a traitor, and I would not hide my disdain for him.
“Do you know what would’ve happened if it had been your fiancé who found you riding instead of me?” he asked, his voice dangerous in the shadows.
“But he didn’t, did he?” I snapped.
“You could’ve broken your neck.” His tone was menacing. “You risked everything we’ve been trying to accomplish between our families for twenty-five years, all for a midnight ride.”
“Don’t worry, your precious legacy is still protected.”
I swept past him and padded quietly up the stairs. I slipped into my room and closed the door. I was just about to remove my riding shirt when I saw a silhouette on my bed, and I nearly let out a yelp.
But the moonlight poured through the doors of the balcony and as my eyes adjusted to the light in the room, my heart slowed when I realized it was only Gisella.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” I said, hand to my chest.
“Sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry.”
I knew she was apologizing for more than just startling me. I nodded. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”
She got up off the bed and gestured toward the bathroom. I followed her. She flipped on the light and when I entered after her, she shut the door.
Gisella was wearing a pair of satin pink pajamas with her initials monogramed at the breast pocket. She reached up to her neck and removed a dainty gold chain from around her neck and then held it out to me with her palm closed.
“What’s this?” I asked with a smirk. “My something borrowed for tomorrow?”
She flipped her hand open. On the gold chain was a small, rectangular emerald pendant, the size of nickel.
Gisella paused, looking pensive. “It’s poison.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
Without hesitation she continued. “In this pendant there’s a secret cavity that contains a liquid neurotoxin that’s found in the spines of a certain exotic fish. Once ingested, it will enter the bloodstream, paralyzing the diaphragm within minutes. The victim will die of respiratory failure,” she explained. “There’s no antidote, it’s more potent than cyanide, and it doesn’t show up on a tox screen.” She took my palm and set the necklace into it and closed my hand. “All you have to do is unscrew the top and then—”
“Are you suggesting I poison Raphael?”
“No. I’m suggesting you take it.”
“What?” I breathed.
“Getting rid of Raphael won’t solve anything—not for you,” she said. “Papà will just marry you off to Lorenzo, and your baby will suffer the same fate. Make no mistake, Sterling, any man you wind up with will kill Hadrian’s child. Your child.”
My eyes narrowed. “All this time, I thought you were sweet and naive. Where did you get this?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m giving it to you. What you do with it is your choice.”
“But if I take it…” I said slowly. “Then you will have to marry him.”
“There are some things worse than death, Sterling. He won’t hurt me like he’ll hurt you. I’m not Violetta’s daughter, and like it or not, in his eyes, my blood is pure.”
“All this time, I thought I had to protect you. But you don’t need my protection at all, do you?”
Gisella flashed a sympathetic smile and then left. She’d entered the room a girl but left a woman.
I slipped the necklace over my head and contemplated my choices.
After a moment, I left the bathroom and tread softly to the bed. Climbing under the covers, I curled into a ball. I stared out the windows and waited for the dawn.
Beatrice entered my room a few minutes after sunrise, followed by three female servants who would help me dress for my wedding.
One of them went into the en suite bathroom and drew me a bath, liberally sprinkling the water with citrus and vanilla essential oils. With a hand covering my mouth to shield a yawn, I padded my way into the bathroom.
“What did you do? Stay up all night?” Beatrice asked, looking me over. Her pudgy fingers clasped my chin as she turned my head for her inspection. She leaned forward and sniffed. “And you smell like horse sweat and leather.”
“I went for a midnight ride,” I said with a wide smile.
Her mouth pinched into a formidable expression. “Explains the smell—and the clothes.” Her grip was strong as she began to undress me.
Servant’s hands guided me into the bath. I closed my eyes and let them wash my hair and body. They scrubbed me until my skin gleamed and then they had me stand. They wrapped me in a towel and dragged me to the vanity.
Beatrice noticed my necklace and lifted the emerald vial for inspection. I cursed my stupidity for wearing it but remembered that the poison inside was hidden from plain view by the colored stone. But still, what if she—
“This is beautiful,” she said. “Where did you get it?”
“Gisella lent it to me. It’s my something borrowed for the day.”
She nodded. “It’s good that you’re wearing something from a family member. I’m glad you’re settling in.”
I let out a slow exhale and my heart rate began to return to normal.
Beatrice orchestrated the women to curl my hair and pin it up away from my face. I hadn’t bothered asking about my wedding dress, assuming it
would be something beautiful, white, and lace.
I was surprised when Gisella entered my bedroom carrying a purple satin gown without a train.
Purple. A symbol of Roman royalty.
Gisella hung the gown up on the armoire door and then turned to face me. Her dark hair had been schooled into a sleek side ponytail and curled. She wore a rose-colored dress that was feminine and youthful. To think, if my family hadn’t discovered my existence, she would’ve had to marry a man over two decades her senior.
Her gaze dropped to the necklace she’d given me, and she met my eyes. “Raphael wanted me to give you this,” she said, handing me an earring box. I opened it. On black velvet lay a pair of heavy gold chandelier earrings accented with brilliant diamonds. It was another adornment for his soon-to-be trophy wife.
An hour later, I was standing in my bedroom, alone. I looked in the full-length mirror.
A Roman empress.
I’d never wanted to be an empress.
I just wanted to be Hadrian’s.
Thoughts of my own suffering dwindled when I thought of the man I loved.
What happened to you, Hadrian?
The gold earrings were heavy at my ears. My different colored eyes glistened with unshed tears. I only had to be strong a little while longer…
A knock resounded on my door and then it opened. Angelo stepped inside.
I had no father to give me away, to walk me down the aisle and entrust my life to another man. No mother to dab the tears at her eyes as she wept with joy when I said my vows. I was alone on a day that should’ve been one of the happiest of my life.
“It’s time,” he said, and then extended his arm to me.
I glanced at it but didn’t move to take it.
“Sterling,” he said softly. “Come.”
I took his arm reluctantly, the core of my being solidifying in hatred.
Angelo and I left the room and took the stairs before venturing down a long hallway to a set of doors that led outside. Raphael and I would be married outdoors with the scent of the hills and the vineyards surrounding us.
When we stepped into the bright daylight, I could make out Raphael’s tall blond form at the end of the aisle. He stood with Lorenzo next to him. A priest in traditional ceremonial garb waited with them.
A wedding between the Foscari and the Moretti would finally commence. Both families had waited twenty-five years to form an alliance, and there seemed to be a collective holding of breaths that wouldn’t release until the union was complete.
I was surprised to see only about thirty guests sitting in folding chairs on both sides of the aisle. I looked at Angelo inquisitively.
“Why are there so few people here?” I asked. “Isn’t this the wedding of the generation?”
“The wedding is intimate, and only close family from both sides are here. When Raphael takes you to his home after you become his wife, there will be a reception with hundreds of people, full of prominent guests. It’s the way of things.”
I took a bouquet of white and purple roses from Gisella.
A stringed quartet lifted their instruments and began to play a tune I didn’t recognize. Gisella walked down the aisle ahead of me, and when she’d made it to the altar, she took her place across from Raphael’s younger brother.
With a deep breath, I let Angelo guide me down the aisle.
If only the people watching me knew that I was pregnant with Hadrian’s baby…
My gaze remained focused on Raphael. I couldn’t detect any emotion on his expressionless face. He looked solemn and commanding. For once, no cruelty graced his distinguished features.
It was a lie.
Angelo took my hand and placed it in Raphael’s, and then he went to his chair in the front row next to Luca.
The priest began the ceremony, and after a few short minutes of speaking, we all took Communion. We recited our vows, and Raphael’s hands tightened on mine as he slipped a wide gold band onto my finger.
Bringing my knuckles to his lips, he then turned us to face our families, who’d been grave and proper. They suddenly cheered in a decidedly inelegant and highly emotional fashion.
It was done.
I was now Sterling Foscari.
“Now we feast,” Angelo stated, standing up and waving his hand toward the wedding tent and the tables lined with red and purple tablecloths, wine glasses, and bone china inlaid with gold.
Raphael escorted me to an isolated table which had only two seats so we could speak to each other privately, yet its position allowed us both to remain a centerpiece for our families to observe. Raphael pulled out my chair for me and I took a seat. When he was settled next to me, a wedding attendant poured us two flutes of Prosecco.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” I asked him. “I need to use the restroom.”
When I made a move to stand, he reached out to grab me with his injured hand. “Serve me first, and then I’ll think about allowing it. Or, I might let you piss yourself in embarrassment.”
I thought of the power that dangled around my neck, and my thoughts went to my mother.
We were the same, she and I.
She’d ended her life to save mine. And now I was going to do the same. Better my child and I went together, than be forced to endure the cruelty of Raphael Foscari.
If I lived, Raphael would take Hadrian’s child from me. He’d give me another, an heir of his own, but that child would never be mine. It would be a Foscari, nurtured on savagery.
I’d married the devil, and Hadrian hadn’t appeared like a knight in shining armor to rescue me. For all he knew, he was dead.
I was truly and completely alone.
There was no longer a choice. I’d go to the bathroom, and when it was clear I’d been gone too long, Raphael would come in search of me.
I thought about the expression he would wear on his face, his cheeks mottled with anger when he found me dead on the bathroom floor on our wedding day.
A small dish of seasoned olives rested in the middle of the table. I reached for it and scooped out a spoonful and placed the olives on Raphael’s plate. When I set the bowl down, I looked at him. “Do you want me to cut your meat for you too, little boy? We could play the airplane game—”
Raphael’s rage got the better of him, and he grasped my wrist in an unrelenting grip. When he did, my lips perversely curved with pleasure, knowing he could only hurt me for a few more minutes.
“Get out of my sight,” he spat. “And when you come back, you will control yourself, or I’ll make damned sure you never misbehave again.”
With a bold gesture, I took Raphael’s flute of Prosecco and took a long swallow.
Liquid courage for what I was about to do.
I was just about to take my leave of the table when someone strolling through the vineyard caught my attention.
My heart drummed in my ears when I recognized a familiar form. A genuine smile of relief flitted to life on my face, and the hair on my neck stood up.
Hadrian Rhys had come for me.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Conversation and laughter ceased as Hadrian strode between the tables of the wedding feast. He was underdressed in black trousers and a white button-down shirt open at the collar and rolled up to the elbows, showing off fair skin and muscular forearms. I watched intently, and immediately noticed that he was moving slowly, seemingly unwell.
I heard nothing over the sound of my own rapidly thumping heart, and it was little more than good fortune that I remembered not to squeeze the flute in my hand. I set it down on the table, my hand shaking.
A few of the Foscari men rose, ready to pounce on Hadrian as he strolled by, looking decidedly unconcerned.
“Sit down!” Angelo barked at his family, and when the Foscari made no move to listen, Angelo spat again, “Hadrian Rhys is not to be harmed!”
Hadrian placed his hand on his heart. “Angelo, I’m touched.”
The Foscari lowered themselves back into their chairs one
by one but remained alert and watchful.
When Hadrian came to our table, he stopped. His gaze raked over me, hungrily. And then he arched a brow, an appreciative smile drifting across his face.
I bit my lip to stop my answering grin and then said, “You’re late.”
Hadrian laughed as we continued to ignore the wedding guests. “I had a wee bit of trouble getting here. I had a horrible allergic reaction to the tranquilizer, and I’m still not fully recovered.” He turned, and when he saw Luca, his gaze halted. “It’s a good thing you didn’t accidentally kill me. My dead man’s switch was nearly activated.”
Hadrian’s focus came back to Raphael. He plucked the flute I’d abdicated and raised it in the air and then took a sip.
“Crisp. Light. Expensive. Perfect for a fall wedding.”
My eyes continued to drink him in, finally noticing that he was thinner than he had been eight days ago. I wanted to ask how he’d gotten through security and into the wedding. I wanted to reach out and touch him, to assure myself that he wasn’t a dream.
But I recognized the cold mask of indifference he wore on his face.
He was livid.
Raphael took my hand in an unconcealed show of dominance.
I struggled to breathe, trying to force air into my lungs to keep myself from fainting.
Hadrian set the empty flute down onto the table and studied me. “Are you all right, yarta?”
My heart warmed from Hadrian’s Shetlandic endearment of sweetheart, and I nodded. He’d said it to me once in the throes of passion and explained later as we were falling asleep what it had meant.
Hadrian surveyed the wedding guests, turning his back on Raphael. I wanted to warn him that Raphael was the kind of man who wouldn’t hesitate to stab someone in the back, but Raphael made no move.
Hadrian and Angelo stared at one another coldly. They were calculating, weighing their options and studying each other’s facial expressions, trying to discern if one had an emotional advantage over the other, wondering who would act first.
