Page 35 of Poison Heart


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“You can go now,” I said to her, and there was a strange warble in my tone. I flicked open my pad and noted my symptoms. The dosage needed adjusting for next time. It wouldn’t do me very well to poison myself before I found a way to sell my wares.

When I looked up again, she was gone.

I evaluated the table spread with a discerning eye. I’d iced the cupcakes before they cooled, and now the frosting slid off in unappealing globs.

My jittery stomach was to blame. The prospect of my husband walking through the door at any moment had set it a flutter.

I took a seat on the lounge, fanning out the peach folds of my dress. Fingers darted over my hair, ensuring there were no strands out of place. The clock chimed, loud and insistent. My stomach flipped, gaze trained on the empty doorway. It had been a week since the funeral and the explosive confrontation between my husband and me. The phantom grip in my hair tormented me, as did the memory of his commanding lips ravaging mine. Sleep eluded with those images running a loop in my brain. My heart pounded to a different beat. The dizziness of waiting to see what he would do with the knowledge of my identity.

Until last night.

He’d interrupted me while I was bathing. Ignoring the wobble in my voice as I covered my naked body from his roving eyes.

“You don’t need to fear, wife. Your secret is safe with me.” Romeo ran his thumb slowly over his lip as if the mark I’d left him with was still there. I hoped it held him in check. He wouldn’t get close to me again. I’d learned my lesson. Still,I shrunk in the bath, despising the vulnerable imbalance. He dipped his hand in the lukewarm water and clicked his tongue.

“You’ll catch a chill if you soak in this.” He turned the handle, sending scorching water into the tub. My eyes had narrowed, and he nodded as if he heard their sharp protest.

“We’re married, and I intend this marriage to become real. There are no more secrets between us now. There was a time you felt something for me, and I will do anything to be the object of your desire again. I want to celebrate your birthday with you, whatever you want, but we will be together. Do we understand each other?” He stood, graceful as a panther, and left before I could argue.

I thought of the secret I kept from him, about his mom. I didn’t like the way the weight of it crushed my lungs, but I couldn’t tell him without revealing too much of myself. But if he wanted this marriage to become real, all I had to do was prove how foolish and futile the desire was. I’d done it before, with my mom. It wouldn’t take long for Romeo to see that my monster was more vicious than his. I chose a midafternoon tea for my ill-fated birthday celebrations. The similarities to the hellish matchmaking afternoon teas mom had forced me to attend were not lost on me. They certainly inspired me as I sent Maria out of the kitchen and prepared each dish myself. She’d cooed at the sugary confections I’d whipped up, the memory of them coming back easily. I hoped Romeo might be too busy to attend. Matteo needed his presence after Lanton’s death. There was a vacuum in the Orazio hierarchy, and Romeo rushed to fill it.

Gentle, hushed enquiries to The Gardener had increased to a level that set Paolo on edge. I had him collect names, the growing list an interesting insight into who was happy about the younger Orazio gaining more power. Not everyone was glad about the change, which made it clear Lanton might have made promises as Matteo’s second that he could no longer uphold.

The subject of my thoughts cut my musings short. His long limbs ate up the distance to the small sitting area, and he threw himself into a singular armchair with a sigh. A sharp, strange disappointment flooded my stomach, and I tensed. He didn’t choose to sit next to me. I’d been sure he would, his hands mauling at my unwilling body, his lips seeking mine. I’d been prepared for the battle, throbbed with pent-up fight. Instead, his elegant fingers coasted through his thick, dark locks as he pursed his lips apologetically.

“You’re late.” I pointed out, reaching over to pour him a cup of red-tinged tea. A sharp bark of laughter escaped him as he reached for it and noticed the hue.

“I know, my dad waylaid me. Accept my sincerest apologies and birthday wishes, wife.” He pushed the cup away with a grimace. I inclined my head, determined to appear civilized. I picked up a plate and selected two almond tea cakes. Careful of the crumbs, I took a small bite. Noting the relief that flooded Romeo’s wary expression. He was right to be suspicious.

“How has your day been? How many deaths can I attribute to you?” Romeo teased, taking a generous bite of one of the messy cupcakes. His pink tongue poked out, mesmerizing me as he licked the mess on his fingers.

“You think you’re funny,” I scowled.

Romeo shook his head, chewing rapidly around another mouthful. His gaze shopped the sweet spread, and he plucked a slice of my pineapple upside down cake and slid it onto his plate.

“No, Anita,” he insisted when his mouth was clear. “Perhaps my attempt at levity was ill-placed, but I meant what I said. I want to know you. How you built this incredible empire and kept it hidden for so long.”

I pushed the plate of sugar cookies toward him, warmth twisting my insides as he took two. He would curse his appetite later, but at this moment, I could take advantage of it.

“So you can make it your own and leash me?” I accused, letting my hidden fear out in the open. Now Romeo knew who I was. He was surely going to destroy everything I’d built.

I was his wife. I belonged in the house, feeding and breeding. He hadn’t said those words, but he didn’t need to.

All the men who worked for the Orazios operated the same way. Women were chattel or gems, objects to be coveted and used. Not people. Wives were servants, draped in gold.

My upper lip curled with disgust. I’d tried to be that for him when he duped me into believing his ardent pursuit. It had been an uncomfortable fit to put aside everything I believed in and take on the ill-fitting mantle of a docile housewife. My mom had never been like that. She’d simpered and made all the right noises. But my father didn’t ask her to do that for him. I’d let myself be swayed, let the prospect of love steal my logic.

I’d betrayed myself for him, and I never would again. Not for him, nor any man.

I was The Gardener, and he should know the darkness inside of me would never dissipate. No matter how many aprons I tied around my waist. It lurked under my skin, hungry. Romeo wiped his forehead with a slight frown. He brushed a rain of crumbs from his lap that had fallen in his haste to consume the cookies.

“No,” he protested, leaning forward. “Wasn’t I clear the other night? All I’m asking for is a chance to prove myself. I don’t want to change who you are. I’m so damned proud, excited, and selfishly relieved. We are of one kind. Both sinners. I thought I would have to hide that from you. Instead, I find my wife understands what is under my skin, intimately.”

His eyes darkened with want as he spoke the last word. My shallow breaths echoed in my ears. I understood, it had been part of my attraction to him initially. His hands had touched death, as did mine. I’d put him on a pedestal, this dark, shadowed killer who had whispered endearmentsto me.

All lies. He’d manipulated me with such ease.

“Paolo said you don’t like to celebrate your birthday, and you refuse gifts.” Romeo continued to eat, unwittingly ingesting more poison.