My stomach clenched, and I smothered the ache that sprung deep in my tangled intestines.
“He is right.”
“Why?”
I didn’t feel things the way others did; I knew that. Emotions bounced off the concrete shell protecting me. But there were certain days when the shield around my heart was thin like a membrane. I wanted Romeo to relax, to drop his guard around me. That was the only reason the truth slipped out of my lips.
“My father used to say my birthday was like a celebration for him because the day I was born, he got the greatest gift. Imagine someone saying that to you for fifteen years, and everything else will pale.Everybodyelse will pale.”
I wanted him to know he would never fill the space my father left. But the empty space throbbed and ached for him to try, despite myself. Romeo brushed his fingers off and stared at me. There was no trace of pity. If there was, I would have snapped. His jaw clenched, and he pulled out a small package. He tapped it on his knee.
“I didn’t listen when Paolo warned me.” He shook his head, lips twisting in a self-deprecating smile. “My father keeps records on everyone who works for us, dossiers of information. It can be quite useful, as you can imagine. I looked for Antoni Bianco, and I found something you might want.”
He perched the box on the armchair, sliding back into his seat with a slight grimace. The light reflected off the sheen on his forehead. My pulse leapt at the mention of my father, and my fingers wrapped around the box before I could stop myself.
“Pretend it’s not a birthday present. Perhaps it’s an apology or a token of affection from a suitor who is utterly enamored with his wife.”
I flicked a look at Romeo, willing to suffer through this meal, but not his flowery declarations. I slid open the top of the box and bit my tongue at what lay nestled inside. A faded photograph. The blurred profile of my father filled the black-and-white frame. He was bent over an open crate, staring contemplatively at what was inside. Heat pricked my eyes at how young he was, skin smooth of lines. I traced the line of his shoulders, the familiar stoic stiffness. I opened my mouth and closed it. Words were heavy stones that sunk into the pit of my stomach.
“I’m trying, Anita.”
I couldn’t meet my husband’s eye. Not when my chest ached with curious pain. Guilt? Fool. Only fools tried to squirrel their way into my heart. It was too late for us, and I was too vindictive to stop the path I’d begun.
“I trained myself, you know.” I dabbed at the corner of my mouth with a napkin. “Once I committed myself to this idea. My father had done the same and even provided instructions.” I covered my smile as Romeo bit down on another cupcake. I would have to limit him soon, or he’d be dead before I had a chance to cause him the pain he deserved. His eyebrows raised, intrigued by what I admitted. I’d told no one this before. The admission wobbled, unsteady, and untried. My mom refused to acknowledge what I did, and I’d never been open with Paolo.
“I’m immune to most of the poisons I handle. It’s taken years of ingesting trace amounts. It’s a painful process at times. I can remember being almost catatonic once, over-ingesting through eagerness and arrogance. My whole body sweat through. I thought I was going to die. It was how Paolo discovered whoI was, actually. I wanted to pass with a clean conscience.” I laughed softly, remembering.
I didn’t care about my conscience anymore. Paolo had been intrigued and had pleaded to assist me. But I had never let him know everything. Only the bare details, which I parceled out with ever-present suspicion.
Romeo wiped his forehead, freezing once he realized what he’d done. Sweat peppered his furrowed brow. There was no sun today. The sky was moody and loud, with a windowpane-shaking wind. Certainly not conditions that would create the stubborn sweat marring his brow.
Romeo lowered the dainty plate slowly, unbuttoning his jacket. He slid the black material off, folding it in half before draping it over the arm of his chair.
“How long did you continue this practice for, Anita?” His voice was low. I plucked a tart from the table and took a bite with relish. I hummed, chewing. Romeo’s chest collapsed with a violent exhale as he waited for my answer. I waved a hand as the sugar-coated my tongue.
“I never stopped,” my smile was sharp. “It’s important to maintain the same level for it to be effective.”
“Anita.” Romeo swiped a napkin over his forehead, groaning and clutching at his stomach.
“Are you well, husband?” I asked, eyes widening in mock surprise.
I folded my hands in my lap and watched with interest as he forced his hand away and wrenched his spine straight. It reminded me of my afternoon tea with Richard.
He’d cried in the end, curled in a little ball on the floor. His grasping fingers clutching his stomach.
There were no more afternoon teas after that. I had missed this. Romeo needed to understand the monster inside me would taint the love he supposedly cherished. I couldn’t be soft, norcould I let him in. This was what he had made us. I was the one to finish it.
I brushed my fingers over the photograph and pushed the box aside.
“Y-you…you…” He growled, eyes bulging. I wasn’t trying to kill my husband. The food I’d prepared was done with only trace amounts. But with his body unprepared, the toxins would hit him painfully. I watched with interest to see if he could maintain his composure. This was the consequence of loving me. Pain.
“Be careful what you ask for, Romeo. You wanted to know me. I’m giving you a firsthand taste.” I gloated, fluttering my lashes as he made another quiet groan. But it was a momentary lapse in discipline. He rolled his shoulders, wincing as the movement sent a ripple of pain. His dark hair hung over his forehead, and I’d rarely seen him so disheveled. The tendons in his arms flexed as he unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt and folded it below his elbow.
“Anita.” A voice I hated called down the hall, rounding the corner in all her uninvited glory.
“Mom, what are you doing here?” I didn’t conceal my displeasure.
How had she gained entry? I hadn’t been advised of her arrival. I whipped my head toward Romeo. He wouldn’t have invited her, would he? He shook his head, guessing my thoughts. Maria raced after my mother, two guards on her heels.
