Chapter 8

Hailey

Waking up in an unfamiliar bed, wearing a borrowed silk nightgown, my bottom still sore from being spanked, I rolled onto my side and wept useless tears at the confirmation it hadn’t all been a dream. The worst part was the ache between my legs that wasn’t painful but a throbbing, tingling reminder Giacomo had made me feel good as well.

He’d left me wanting.

He’d made me call him Daddy.

He’d touched me… everywhere.

I couldn’t touch myself, though. Not after what he’d done to me. Not knowing I’d be thinking about him the whole time. If I did, I’d never be able to look at him again.

I’m going to have to look at him for the rest of my life.

No.

No, I refused that fate—rejected it utterly—not that it mattered. I was a trapped bird, fluttering uselessly against the bars of its cage. How the bird felt about the cage didn’t matter to anyone but the bird, and I doubted there would be anyone in this house with sympathy for me, much less a willingness to help. They all thought I was where I should be.

I don’t know how long I laid there, hugging the pillow. Long enough for the tracks of my tears to dry before someone knocked on the door. I didn’t answer. There was the sound of a key turning in the lock, then the door opened.

Since I was facing the door, I opened my eyes to stare at them, my expression as unwelcoming as possible. A plump, kindly-looking woman stood there, the very image of an Italian nonna, the kind of grandmother I used to daydream about when I’d been forced to live with my grandfather.

“Good morning, bella,” she said cheerfully, crossing the room to the window and drawing open the curtains. “You must get up now. You are late for breakfast.”

I sat up slowly, my stomach already grumbling. She turned away from the window, warm sunlight now streaming into the room, and smiled at me before turning away to head to the wardrobe. For the first time, I got a really good look at the room.

It was feminine, furnished with delicate wooden furniture and floral prints, soft tassels, a gilded mirror, and a rose-pink rug I already knew would be soft under my feet, even if I hadn’t paid any attention to the color the night before. I had come in, changed out my dress, and thrown myself on the bed to cry and grind my teeth in frustration at the pulsing heat between my legs. I hadn’t been able to lie on my back, much less sit.

Now, I sat gingerly, despite the softness of the bed, but at least I was able to. My stomach growled again while I watched the woman open up the wardrobe. It was full of clothing. My clothing.

“Is that…” I threw back the covers, getting up from the bed. I’d assumed the nightgown I was wearing was borrowed, but when I approached the wardrobe, I could see a mix of clothes. Some I recognized, some I didn’t, and it occurred to me the nightgown fit me perfectly. My lips pressed together, my temper rising all over again. “He stole my clothes?”

“Stole? Oh, no, no, bella.” The woman patted my arm consolingly, a touch of reproach in her voice that almost made me feel bad about my outburst. “Jack had your things packed up and brought here. Now, you do not have to do it. He’s such a good boy. Now, what should you wear today?”

“Who are you?” I asked, turning to her and crossing my arms over my chest. The nightgown was made of silky material and showed far more skin than my usual choices, but I did my best to stare intimidatingly at her. She was unmoved, ignoring my glare and rifling through the mix of familiar and unfamiliar clothing.

“I am Mrs. Valachi, the housekeeper,” she answered me, voice still cheerful. “Ah, here we go. How about this?”

She pulled out a frock I’d never seen before—emerald green with a fashionable drop waist, a wide collar edged in gold-trimmed lace, and a skirt that would go down just past my knees. Torn, I bit my lower lip, distracted from my vendetta. I didn’t want to wear anything Giacomo had given me. On the other hand, this dress was far nicer than anything I had.

It was the kind of dress a woman of confidence would wear, a woman who was in control of her own destiny. Would wearing it make me feel a mockery, or would it act like a suit of armor against the man who kept discomposing me whenever we met?

Jack

“Staring at the doorway isn’t going to make her appear any faster.”

I turned my gaze back to the table, making a face at the amusement in my mother’s voice. She was just as impatient to meet her soon-to-be daughter-in-law as I was to see Hailey again. Even though the wait between now and when she’d be mine was shorter than ever, my impatience had reached new levels of agitation.

Knowing she was in the same house—aroused, wet, and wanting—had tried my willpower. I’d relieved myself twice last night using my own hand after she’d been securely locked into her room, and even then, my dreams had been full of her.

Her screams. Her sighs. Her pleas. The satin feel of her skin against my hand. The clenching of her holes around my fingers.

Uncomfortably aware of my mother’s gaze, I quickly shifted my thoughts before I became aroused again.

“I thought she’d be down by now.” Though it didn’t surprise me that she was dragging her feet. Perhaps I should have gone to get her myself, but I had hoped she would come more peaceably to the breakfast table if Mrs. Valachi fetched her.

“Perhaps she needed some extra time to ready herself.” My mother gave me an arch look, and I wished my father was here to share some of the burden of her disdain. While she was glad I was getting married, she did not entirely approve of the manner we’d arranged the betrothal.

As far as I knew, she and my father’s marriage had been arranged in a similar fashion, so I didn’t know what the problem was. They were happily in love to the point that, as soon as I was old enough, I’d preferred to spend time in my own home because I was tired of seeing them canoodling all over the house.

Once Hailey and I were married, I anticipated I’d be spending even less time here because I planned on doing much more than canoodling with her all over my house.

Just as I was beginning to think I should assist Mrs. Valachi in fetching my bride, the staccato sound of heels clicking down the hall before they hit the rug and were muffled caught my ears, and something inside my chest relaxed. She was coming.

When she appeared in the doorway, chin up, hazel eyes blazing, I suppressed a grin. The green dress looked as stunning on her as I’d anticipated, providing a dazzling contrast to her auburn hair and bringing out the green in her eyes. Our gazes met. Held. Her lips parted, no doubt with some kind of scathing recrimination.

“Finally!” My mother’s outburst stalled whatever Hailey had been about to say. Leaping to her feet, she went to greet Hailey.

I enjoyed watching my fiancée’s determination falter in the face of my elegant mother, who pulled her into a hug. No matter how angry she was at me, Hailey’s manners were faultless, and she wasn’t the type to injure one person just to get to another.

“I am so glad to meet you, my dear.”

“I… ah…” Hailey’s gaze skittered my way again, this time with a hint of panic. Even though she might not particularly like me at the moment, she still looked to me for assistance. I got to my feet, so I wouldn’t be scolded for remaining seated while the ladies were standing. I needed to be going soon, anyway. There was much to do today, and Hailey had taken longer coming down than I’d hoped. Leaving her to fend for herself with my mother seemed like a fitting reprisal.

“Hailey, cara, this is my mother, Serena DiNardo.” I walked around the table to them, Hailey watching me with wary eyes as I advanced. The edges of a smile curled my lips. “Mother will be spending the day with you.” Her eyes widened, and I took advantage of her surprise to lean over and brush a kiss over her cheek before turning to do the same to my mother. “I will see you at dinner. Enjoy yourselves.”

Hailey

Giacomo’s mother was an unexpected whirlwind. She had me sitting at the table, eating breakfast before I could spend any time thinking about the way Giacomo had just abandoned me to her mercies. Ranting and railing at him would have been easy, but doing so to his elegant, properly polite mother was another story.

I didn’t even know if she knew the circumstances behind our wedding, and for some reason, I found myself reluctant to bring them up, especially since I would have had to interrupt her chattering stories about ‘her Jack.’ Like Mrs. Valachi, she seemed intent on talking him up to me, so maybe she did know I wasn’t there willingly.

No sooner had I finished breakfast than she had me up and moving again, showing me the wedding preparations she’d undertaken—a sample invitation, linens for the tables, centerpieces.

“Your bouquet will arrive tomorrow morning.” She waved her hand airily, beaming at me as though she wanted my approval, and I finally hit the end of my rope.

“Mrs. DiNardo, I’m sorry. I think there’s been a mistake.”

“Call me, Serena, please, and no, dear, there’s no mistake.” Surprisingly, she smiled at me, which didn’t help when I saw both the sympathy and the pity in her eyes. “These DiNardo men, once they know what they want, they get it, and my Jack wants you.”

“Well, he can’t have me.” Frustration began to bubble up again.

“Oh, you do remind me of myself,” she said with a little laugh, surprising me even further. “The wedding will happen, so you may as well make the most of it. There will be a photographer, and one day, you may find you enjoy looking at the pictures.”

“You didn’t want to marry Mr. DiNardo?” I asked, blinking with shock. Then why was she helping her son do the same thing to me?

“Not at first, but back then, women had even less of a choice than they do now. It was all for the best, though.” She reached out to take my hand, patting it consolingly. Throughout it all, her smile never wavered. Worse, it was entirely sincere. If it had been fake or deceitful, I would have found it easier to brush off. “Once I stopped fighting him, I realized how wonderful my Lorenzo was, and we fell madly in love. Oh, there’s the doorbell. Your dress must be here for your fitting.”

I pressed my lips together as she dropped my hand and hurried out of the room. If I was under any delusion that it would be easy to run with her distracted, a goon stuck his head through the doorway, quickly locating me before he shifted back into his position as sentry. Mrs. DiNardo had taken me to the second floor to show me everything, so there was no easy escape out the window.

I wandered around the room, touching the soft table linens, looking at the invitation, and cringing when I saw my real name under my parent’s names, both described as deceased. If only they’d been alive…

Uncertainty wavered through me. If they’d been alive, I would have been with them, right at the heart of the Family. My parents had doted on me, loved me in a way my grandfather never had. I would have never run away from them the way I had from my grandfather. Would they have fought to let me have the husband of my choosing? Or would they have thought I should do what was best for the Family?

What had been their story? I had always assumed they’d met, fallen in love, gotten married, then had me, but what if they were more like Giacomo’s parents? What if they’d fallen in love after?

It didn’t matter. I wasn’t them. They weren’t me and Giacomo.

I might have to play the game, but at the end of the day, the marriage vows were very specific—”til death do us part.