The chime of the grandfather clock warned me I was running out of time. I rushed through the front door, too distracted to recognize the change in Romeo or the weapon he tucked into the back of his slacks.
“You’ve been keeping secrets, wife.”
Romeo’s clear eyes pinned me, something in the depths making me pause. He untied the knot in his black tie and flung it to the ground. The tailored material of his jacket also forgotten on the tiles.
I made to move past him, but he reached and wrapped his fingers around my elbow. I jerked, wanting release, but he only bundled me closer, pressing my back against the wall. He smelled of spice and cigars, the intense scent matched his energy right now.
“I don’t have time for this.” I frowned. Tonight, I needed to harvest The Lady of Death. To prepare my space. I’d already wasted precious time watching a worthless demon be lowered into the ground.
It didn’t matter how many young girls he slaughtered because he cleaned up his mess. It didn’t stop hordes of the Greenich Bay underbelly from creeping out to pay their respects. I’d stuffed down all of this all day, but my placid mask was faltering with exhaustion. Being around the crowds, seeing them all mourning someone worthless. It had drained me to my bones.
There had been something off about Romeo since he heard the news of Lanton Vani’s death. He insisted he wanted to know me more. He made any excuse to touch me. Including now as he reached out and undid my hair, methodically pulling out the pins. They slipped through his fingers and bounced off the floor with a ping. The amount of hairspray needed to keep my hair neat stopped it from tumbling down like it usually did. But the tightness eased.
“You need to play with your little plants?” He dug his fingers into my hair, massaging my skull. Repeating the dig my mom had made earlier.
I bristled at the reminder of her. Of this day of hypocrites, including myself.
“She never approved of anything I enjoyed,” I huffed. His fingers dug deeper into my head and my eyes fluttered. I hadn’t ever been touched this way before. It was more intimate than both our wedding nights. The veil between who I was and who I pretended to be lurked close to the surface.
“But your father taught you all about them, didn’t he? You were very close to him. He was a go-to for making people disappear, quietly, did you know?” Romeo’s lips pressed to my forehead like a seal, but his comments made me jolt.
I’d never told him that. Never spoken to him about my father. Those memories were too precious to sully. As for whether I knew about his reputation. I couldn’t comment on that without revealing too much about myself.
“My father was everything to me,” my voice was rawer than I intended.
“Tell me about him,” Romeo coaxed, his insistent fingers melting me. I should pull away, push him off. But the touch unlocked something in me. Against my better judgment, I was honest.
“He was the only one who ever saw me for what I was. He never denigrated or judged. Under him, I could be myself. To everyone else, I was supposed to be a lady, to host dinner parties and find a husband.”
Romeo hummed, his chest a whisper away from mine. I closed my eyes as his fingers massaged my skull. Tingles effused every inch of my skin.
“He taught you to love gardening?” His voice was light, and I made a noise of agreement.
Romeo’s fingers tightened. Coiled in my hair until my eyes flew open from the sting. His bulk pressed me flat against the wall. Stars sparked across my vision, and I hissed through gritted teeth. He dragged my head back so I couldn’t move, my head locked by his iron grip. His eyes blazed with fire. Anger, excitement, insanity. I couldn’t tell.
My lungs pinched in the small space he allowed me, body completely under his control. Romeo was stretched taut. Tension hummed through the tight grip of his fingers. He could snap at any moment and break my neck.
“And when did you decide to use that knowledge to become The Gardener?”
I had thought of myself as The Lady of Death. But all along, I’d been the prey.
15
Anita’s eyes widened, her bottom lashes flooding with a deceptive shimmer. Her bottom lip wobbled. God, she was incredible. If I didn’t know any better, I’d believe this brilliant acting. She made herself seem so fragile, so breakable.
It was all a bold lie.
“Romeo? You’re hurting me,” she whispered, unable to move with my fingers locked in her hair. My nostrils flared as I let out a disbelieving breath. Her hair had a sharp, chemical scent from her hairspray. But I wanted to sink into it.
“Answer the question.” I squeezed, and she winced. A tear shook loose and coasted down her cheek.
She’d done this at the funeral. Conjured up a singular tear.
I didn’t trust them. There was no fear in her eyes, no matter how she tried to pretend.
“I-I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered. It was too much.
I’d been choking on the knowledge of her identity for days. The weight of a pendulum. I swung between cursing my stupidity and obsessing over the glorious genius of my wife.
