55. Daniela

The next morning, I wake to Antonio fully dressed, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. He’s not reading a paper or scrolling through his tablet. He’s watching me sleep.

“Good morning,” I murmur, stretching. “I’m surprised you’re still home. But I like it.”

“I want you out of my house before the end of the day. Take Valentina with you.”

What? I bolt upright in bed. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought I made it pretty clear. But maybe I was wrong. Get out of my house. Take your daughter. I want you both gone before the sun sets. Is that better?”

My brain is still addled from sleep, and although I hear the words, I can’t wrap my head around any of this.

Last night was amazing. Not just the sex—that’s always pretty amazing. But the intimacy that swirled, in and around us, made the physical act magic. We’ve never been closer. What could have possibly happened since then to make him like this?

“What’s gotten into you?” I ask softly. “I don’t understand.”

“Life’s too short to spend it stuck in a marriage that neither of us wanted.” He says it matter-of-factly, like one might say, Life’s short—buy the shoes and eat the cake. “You know exactly why I married you, and you married me because I didn’t give you a choice.”

This is such bullshit. He’s pushing me away. Either for my own safety, or to protect himself from any more tragedy. That’s what this is: Antonio being Antonio.

I won’t indulge it.

“If you don’t want to live here with me, stay at your apartment at the lodge. I’m not going anywhere.”

“This is not a fight you’re going to win,” he says, striding to the door.

“Where do you expect me to go?”

“Quinta Rosa do Vale.”

He’s sending me home. The bastard is sending me home. But I have news for him. This is now my home. And my daughter’s.

“Up until now, my parents’ house hasn’t been safe enough for me to visit, but all of a sudden it’s ready for me to move in with Valentina? Antonio, what’s this really about?”

“In balance, you’re more trouble than your worth.”

Asshole. Liar.“So—everything—last night was a lie?”

“You have a sweet little cunt that can persuade even a powerful man to follow you anywhere. And I get distracted by the tight squeeze, like last night. But once the afterglow fades, it’s still just another cunt.”

He’s full of shit, and his disgusting words bounce off me without landing a blow. I don’t dignify his filth with a response.

“I’ve signed some paperwork,” Antonio says from the door. “I’ll deposit a monthly sum into a bank account for you. It’ll be more than enough for you and Valentina to live well, but you’ll also get the proceeds from any income derived from Quinta Rosa do Vale. Although I’ll keep the property. I earned it.”

“You earned it?” I snarl. “Fuck you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“We’ll see.”

“I’m tired of listening to this little fantasy you’ve concocted, because that’s all it is. You won’t convince me differently. But I’m done,” I say, throwing up my hands. “Get out.”

He’s quiet for a moment, considering my reaction to his nonsense. That’s what it is.

I didn’t cry or plead. I’m sure that’s what he was expecting. But I shut it down, using a page from the Antonio Huntsman playbook. Not intentionally. It just came out.

He taps his hand on the doorframe. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Princesa. But you’re the one who will be getting out.”

I might have surprised him, but it was a fleeting victory.

“I don’t believe last night, or anything we’ve created together, has anything to do with my irresistible pussy. You don’t believe it either. But it was one of the meanest things you’ve ever said to me, and there have been plenty. I expect an apology. Our fate is entwined. It always has been. You’ve said so yourself.”

He gazes at me from the doorway.

There’s something in his expression. Empathy? Sadness? Regret? I’m not sure.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” It’s almost a heartfelt plea. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

He leaves without another word, which is fine by me. I’ve heard more than enough.

I have a twelve-year-old who handles grief better than this man. While I don’t believe for a minute he was being sincere about it being over between us, I am worried about his state of mind. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde had nothing on him.

Antonio spoke to me in a clipped tone, with a veiled threat or two sprinkled in. But he didn’t raise his voice. There was no snarl, no anger in his tone—or his expression. He was completely in control—as though it was rehearsed. I can’t decide if that’s good or bad.

But this wasn’t the end of him pushing me away. That I am sure about.

Bring it on, my dark prince. Do your worst.