I sigh, knowing I am not getting out of this. Luca Dalca is turning 65, and I will be expected to show my face. Maybe not bring a gift, but at least be at the dinner table and let them see who I have chosen to marry over their catalogue of boring virgins.
We will be there. Give Dad our best.
Fuck! I put my phone in my pocket and go into the dining room to find my wife eating an early dinner alone, a book next to her. She is deeply involved in it when I have to make a knocking sound on the wall to get her attention. She looks up at me with a noodle hanging partially from her mouth and then slurps it up, causing me to chuckle at her.
“You know, I am horrified to think that a guest could catch my wife, in a mansion like this, slurping noodles with both her feet tucked under her at a dining table that costs more than a month’s wages for some people.”
She glares at me and dismisses me with a fanning of her hand, but I know she knows I am just teasing her. And she likes that about me, that I tease her. It keeps us fun and young.
“You look stressed, should I be worried?” she says, reading me like that book she has at her side. I don’t exactly feel comfortable that she can do that. I am still getting used to all the things that having a wife means, and I am finding out I am a much more readable and emotional person than I ever could have imagined. I always saw myself as this psychotic criminal who loved to fuck women until they couldn’t walk and liked the drama of someone who’d didn’t follow the rules. But there is more to marriage than that that I like, but I can’t wrap my head around it enough to admit that.
“I have some unfortunate news for you,” I tell her, walking over and leaning against the empty chair next to her. “We are going to have to go see my parents tomorrow. It’s my father, Luca’s birthday and they are throwing a party. They demand that we are there. I have been trying to keep them away from us for as long as possible, but it’s time,” I tell her apologetically.
She stands up and walks past me, heading into the master suite where she has now moved all of her things as of two nights ago. We don’t exactly cuddle, but we have been sleeping in the same bed for a few days now. I follow her and listen to her call back to me as she rummages through the closet that’s as big as the guest room she used to stay in. I have had my assistants get her so many dresses and other clothes to wear over the last couple of weeks, wanting my wife to have the absolute best. “Hey, at least they still want to see us. I mean, my parents don’t even want that. Not that I can blame them since I took over the family business in an underhanded way, but I bet they’ll be angrier at Father once they find out what he’s done.”
She comes out of the closet with a dress in hand that is such a brilliant red it shines in the dim light streaming into the main room from the closet.
“Red again?” I ask her, and she only nods with a smile.
I shake my head at her.
“You know it’s my power color, and if I am going to meat these supposedly evil parents of yours, then I am going to need all the power I can get, she argues, hanging it on the back of the door so that it will be easy for the next day. “So, how old is your father, anyway?”
“He will be turning 65, though you won’t be able to tell from is looks. He has the salt and pepper hair going on, but that’s about it,” I inform her, watching her move back to the bed and flop down on it, bringing her feet up under her like she had them at the table. I love seeing the way her body moves no matter what she is wearing – even if it’s nothing at all. “And also, my mother is not evil. Though, she often goes along with what my father says because she would be punished otherwise. I think deep down she is miserable. That’s why they had me, to keep her company, and now she is alone in that big house with him – when he is home, anyway.”
She nods her understanding and just listens. She already knows that whole saga. We both have daddy issues, though hers make for interesting bedroom play.
I smirk at the thought but put it to the back of my mind so we can continue the conversation. “You have to be prepared for my father to be as cruel as possible. He doesn’t approve of this, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to split us up so he can swoop in with another option of his choosing. I can’t promise any good behavior.”
“I wouldn’t expect any, but thanks for the warning,” she says, her face serious. “So, we’re just going over for a party?”
“Yes, that’s all. It will probably be some champagne or wine, mingling, dinner, and dessert. They said a few friends and family would be there, but it doesn’t sound like a big production; just enough of the right people to make a scene without alerting anyone that would be angry at his behavior,” I add bitterly. I don’t know why I am so on edge, but I have a bad feeling about what he might say or do.
But I don’t think I can get out of it.
***
We sit down at a long table after a day full of festivities and celebrations. This day hasn’t been as bad as I expected yet, but I think with us all sitting down together, it is going to get much worse. It has been mostly cocktails and passed hors d’oeuvres with much of the house open to all the guests to mingle and roam free, many choosing to take a dip in the pool or soak up the sun and get a tan poolside. It is Brazil, after all, the perfect place for that. And my parents have remained on the subject of their trip to Costa Rica, only barely acknowledging Presley’s presence at my side other than my mother who keeps showing baby pictures to her like any normal mother would. But there is something off about this.
The table is dressed up to the nines, almost as beautiful as my wife whose ears are dripping in rubies that match her ring that I spent a pretty penny on. Her dress fits her skin tight and is gorgeous but conservative enough still to please the company. Everyone has mentioned how lovely she looks, even my father whose eyes wondered a little too much for my liking.
But that has been it until now.
Souffle is placed in front of each one of us as well as the finest champagne for toasting. I can tell by the scent of it that it has hints of strawberry and rose petals. They cracked open the good stuff for this.
My father, at the head of the table, raises his gold-rimmed glass in a toast to himself and family. It is total bullshit because he mostly loves to hear himself speak.
“I want to make this toast to our beautiful home here in Brazil. Even if this is not the place my wife and I envisioned on our wedding day, it is a gorgeous one with many beautiful things to love. I also want to toast to the many years of marriage she has stuck by my side and been the perfect wife. And I want to toast to the Dalca family and its legacy; may it continue throughout the generations until the end of the world and continue to grow in beauty and power,” he says, and no one even flinches at how offensive what he says is. I am almost certain it is aimed at me and my new wife, my wife who is Not Romanian. But for the sake of continuing the mood, I raise my glass as does my wife, and she is squeezing my thigh for a moment under the table as if she knows my anger might get the best of me without the reminder.
She is probably right about that too.
“So, you have to tell us, son, how the two of you met! It seems like such a whirlwind romance, and neither of us even knew you had gotten married. Your father didn’t believe it until he looked up your public marriage certificate!” my mother confirms with a laugh as if it is so funny and cute that my own father had to dig into public records to have confidence in what I said. Sure, the marriage was a fake when I mentioned it, but he should have known I do keep my word unless someone else breaks it first. So far, Presley has not forced that to happen.
“That’s because he had to marry a bratty slave girl instead of a nice, Romanian woman we picked out for him,” my father chimes in, and that’s when I put my drink down as not to choke on it. No one is supposed to know about that. I was more than careful, and I know for a fact Silva would never rat on me, especially to my father, which means my father has been having me spied on. I am not okay with this at all.
I look over
at Presley who is red in the face, and I will not have her embarrassed like this.
I stand up, throwing my napkin down on the table without taking even a bite of my probably delicious dessert. For all I know it’s poison at this point. My family certainly is. “I want to say a happy birthday to my father, Luca, who continues to prove that he is the king of the jungle.” I raise my glass, trying to control my anger as I ball my other fist at my side. “I would love to stay longer, but I don’t feel like having my wife disrespected when she is an amazing and beautiful woman who offers so much more than any of those boring women you wanted for me ever could. I hope you understand if there is a grandchild that comes from this union, you will have nothing to do with him or her.”
I knock back the champagne and pull out Presley’s chair, offering my hand to her. She is slow and in shock as she moves out of the chair, and it is enough time for my father to get more of his searing words in.
“Oh, I would stay if I were you, because I am willing to bet my son has not revealed the whole story to you, brat.” I pull the runner off the table, making everything spill into my family’s laps unless they are quick enough leaping away.
My mother leaves the room out of sheer embarrassment, not trying to defend me or my wife at all. No surprise there. “He is only angry because I am telling the truth,” my father baits, looking at Presley. Her body is situated towards the door, but her head is looking at him like she doesn’t know if she wants him to continue.
“C’mon, Presley, we can talk about this at home, you don’t have to put up with this.” She pulls her hand away and looks at me with an apology in her eyes.
“I want to hear it. And then I will go home,” she tells me before turning to Luca full on. “But I will not be disrespected. I am no brat and no slave. And I am not afraid of you nor do I care what you think of me,” she tells him, and while I feel proud of my wife, I know that if he knows as much as he is letting on, I may not get to take her home with me after all.
“My son is nothing if not predictable in his sick ways. He has orchestrated this whole thing, from the moment of your capture until now because he wanted you specifically. He thought you were someone he could manipulate and win over because of your family and your status. He had an associate drug and capture you and put you on that boat where you became a sex slave. He came only to buy you and never intended on telling you the truth, isn’t that right?” He is looking right at me with a smug grin on his face as the others at the table are in various states of shock. I am seeing red and pull out my knife as a threat. Not that I mean to actually harm my own parents, but this is so fucked up I can’t control my temper right now.
But then a woman comes around the corner out of the shadows, and I recognize her as Mrs. Richards; Presley’s mother.
“It’s time to come home, Presley,” she coaxes, and Presley looks at her and then looks back at me, tears welling up in her eyes. The world stands still at that moment because not only do I know immediately that I have lost her, but it is the first time my heart truly beats for her. I know now just as I am watching her walk away from me without looking back again that I love her and that she cared for me enough to be hurt by finding this out about me. And now I don’t know what I am going to do without her.
Chapter 21
Presley
I look out my office’s large windows, a corner office that is fit for the CEO of the company even though I have gone silent in the eyes of the company. I run it in the background, taking on menial office tasks while I let my brother, Nathan take a salary and the brunt of the public eye when it comes to this company. It was the only way to appease my parents and make this livable considering I am now back in the same state as them. Even being in the same country is hard, and I think it will probably stay that way for a long time.
The tabloids had a field day when the photos of my father leaked, but they were leaked on purpose by myself and my brother for a high price tag that I then took and put back into the business, though some of it went to a charity meant to rehome children displaced when they came out to their parents. At least Nathan has let me keep a few of my previous causes, though he often twists it to make our father look better than he should in all of this. My mother has threatened divorce many times, but they still technically live together for the sake of keeping up appearances; go figure.
Life is strange now. I unenrolled entirely from college when I came back, and there were plenty of fights with my father. But mostly I was embarrassed and angry about what went down in Brazil with my husband – a man who is still legally my husband. My father keeps telling me to file, but I figure I’ll let him eventually claim abandonment of the marriage or whatever. I just don’t want to have to face him again when I still don’t understand everything that happened.
I know what he did was bad, but my life is a mess here back in the states. It is too ordinary, and I am just scraping by with a routine that my heart is not in.
I will never admit to a single soul, other than the only one left I trust, that there was any point that my heart was in it with Stefan, but it was. Part of me worries it still is and always will be. You don’t marry someone and feel nothing.
That’s what I have learned is at the core of my truth.
It doesn’t matter that he has done horrible things even directly to me, somehow my heart has room for him anyway even when my mind and soul want to cast him out with the devil.
Maybe he IS the devil, and that’s the problem.
The devil never leaves you once he has possessed you.
A knock comes at the door, and I admittedly jump, startled until I see it is just my CFO and best friend, Paulo. He is smiling and waving at me, and I wave him in, knowing it is about to be lunch time. The day has moved by fast, my head deep in the menial tasks that any secretary could do simply because I feel I don’t deserve any of it. Not that my father does, but I guess it also has to do with Stefan. I don’t want to deal with him. Technically, he still owns the company and won’t give it up for any amount of money. My father has spent the past month trying to no avail. It was Paulo that negotiated my brother taking over certain tasks, but he was made to sign a contract that he knew he wasn’t actually the CEO and would never win the company. That is the only news I have heard of my former husband.
Well, legally he is still my husband, but I have not seen him in a month and don’t think I will ever see him again whether it’s because those that love me won’t let me, or because I won’t let myself.
“Hey, biatch!” Paulo says, always the energetic one. He has been my rock and my only motivation since being back in Texas. I have mostly felt like the dreary, stormy sky threatening to drop tornadoes down on us reflects my mood.
My life is a fucking mess. I can’t even date if I wanted to. I tried once only to find out the guy got in an accident-nearly fatal. I don’t have any proof, but I feel like Stefan had something to do with it.
“Right back at you,” I tell him, a little delayed. I know my smile is not reaching my eyes, and he will be able to tell something is up. I feel particularly down today and can’t explain what’s so different. I am so tired too and have been all weekend. I have done nothing but veg out, which even in this new life is not like me. I at least do something productive if I don’t go out. “So, where do you want to go to lunch today?” I ask, reaching for my purse.
“Well, there’s that new Asian buffet right down the road I was thinking about trying. They are still having a seven ninety-nine deal right now since they are so new.”
We do this twice a week; Mondays and Thursdays. We don’t usually do it on weekends because he is almost always down in Brazil with his new fiancé and his family who thanks me all the time for helping him find a man in their home country. I don’t exactly think I deserve the credit, but they are the closet I have to family now, so I always graciously accept the praise.
I nod in agreement. Not that cheap should really matter with the money we make, but a good deal is a good deal ei
ther way. Plus, I love Asian even if it might put on more pounds in the middle than I like. I don’t know why people think that kind of diet keeps you thin with all the rice and sweet sauces.
My phone goes off, and I pull it out. “Just a sec, and we’ll get going. It sounds good to me.”
I look at my phone and see it’s nothing but a reminder, but the reminder gives me pause.
Alert: Remember to log your period.
My period hasn’t even been on my mind since I left Brazil. I have had too much busy work, and now that I think of it, I haven’t had one. I am a week late.
“Woah, girl, that look on your face is scaring me. What is going on?” Paulo asks, noticing how I have frozen in shock, all the color draining from my face at the slight possibility that what I am thinking could be true. I don’t know what I will do, or what it means. I don’t even know what Brazil’s laws are about this considering I am still married to Stefan. But I am getting ahead of myself.
“Oh my god, Paulo, I have been in such a fog I didn’t realize I’d missed my period,” I confess to him.
“Oooh, girl, lunch is going to have to wait today. I think we need to head down to the convenience store down here and get you a test,” Paulo says, yanking me out of my seat.
I am now in panic mode but thankful that I am not facing this possibility alone.
“Okay, yeah, let’s rip of the band-aid here.” He nods his head.
“Let’s go buy it, and then we will order lunch in. You can take the test right here in the office,” he tells me, using his most soothing voice. He knows I won’t be able to wait until tonight at home or until even after I eat, for that matter, to know if my life is about to change in even more ways than it already has.
This is the last thing I need, and I really hope it’s stress that had me missing my lady visitor this month. But I know life often has its own plans that have nothing to do with us mere mortals.
Defiant (The Clans Book 6) Page 12
