Most of the rest of the night is dedicated to planning our course of action in the morning. The plan is relatively simple. Liam and I will arrive an hour early, release Mitzy’s drones, and poke around the house; specifically, Marco’s study.
Once our food arrives, the four of us sit down in front of the television, where we argue over what to watch. We settle on some shoot ‘em up, smash ‘em up movie. I last through the first half, then find myself yawning.
Shortly after that, Liam carries me to my room, where he shows me how inventive he can be. I reward his efforts with the first item on my list and spend the rest of the night tied up and subject to his mercy.
42
MARIA
I stand on the threshold of my uncle’s study, shivering as the icy-cold, recycled air gives me goosebumps and lifts the fine hair on my arms.
The study looks like it should be warm and inviting. Massive leather couches fill the room. They accent the heavy mahogany furniture and bookshelves that fill the walls. The heady aroma of cedar, leather, and old books mingles with the faintest scent of roses.
Pretty blooms fill the vases to overflowing. Plucked from the expansive estate gardens, those are my mother’s signature touch. Maybe it’s my mother’s touch that turns warm and cozy into cold and frigid?
“Nervous?” Liam presses his hand to the small of my back. It’s meant to be reassuring, but it feels like he’s shoving me into the room.
I naturally push back. I have reservations about this room. As for the shivering, I’d like to think the chills racing up and down my back are from the cool air, but there’s more to it than that.
“It’s an interesting room.” Liam stands slightly behind me as we stand at the threshold. “It looks warm on the surface, but it definitely doesn’t welcome visitors.”
“You’re right about that.” I try to see the study through Liam’s eyes, as someone who never visited here as a child—someone not traumatized as a child. “I’ve always been afraid of this place.”
“Why’s that?” He steps around me, seemingly oblivious to my hesitation, and scans the rows of books lining the shelves. His fingers trail over the polished wood. Every now and then, he grabs a book by the spine, tilts it out to scan the title, then eases it back in place.
He’s searching for something. That much is clear, but for the life of me, I don’t know what it could be.
“I don’t know. It was just forbidden.”
“Really?”
The thick carpet beneath my feet swallows all sound, hiding my transgression as I step fully into the room. This is the one place that always filled me with dread when I was a child, and an ominous foreboding hovers over me now. I instinctually hunch my shoulders, wary and more than a little frightened.
“Yeah, and forbidden made me curious. That didn’t end well.”
“So, you peeked?” His tone is light, teasing, but the expression on my face pulls him up short. “What happened?”
Tiffany lamps illuminate the dark space, casting puddles of soft light, which makes the furniture glow. Normally, such an esthetic should make the study welcoming, but it only makes me want to curl into myself even more. I make a quick circuit of the room, knowing my mother and uncle will be here soon.
I’m nervous. Beyond nervous.
“I think we should leave.” I glance toward the hallway outside. I feel jumpy. It’s evident in the lightness of my steps, my stooped posture, and in the way I keep looking toward the hall. I want to be out there.
“The few times we traveled to New Orleans, my father would take me aside before visiting here.”
“Why?”
“He told me I needed to be on my best behavior and follow all the rules. That it would be really bad if I broke any of them. The way he said it scared me.”
“What was he worried about?” Liam doesn’t understand the dynamics of my family.
“Like I said, his relationship with Marco was never quite right. All I knew was I needed to be on my best behavior and follow all the rules. Mother demanded it, of course, and I rarely disobeyed her, but my father desperately wanted me to be perfectly behaved. Looking back, it’s like he had something to prove to Marco. Regardless, since that’s what my father wanted, I wanted it too.”
“And you never broke the rules?”
“The one, and only, time I disobeyed was the last time I stepped foot in this house as a child. I mean, I’ve been back. Obviously …” I gesture vaguely toward the hall. “But that was only after my father died and after I moved to New Orleans for good. Since then, it’s been Sunday brunch at noon like clockwork.”
“What happened when you were a kid?” His expression darkens, revealing his protective side.
“My mother dragged me outside, screaming about disrespecting her privacy.”
“Her privacy? I thought this was Marco’s house?”
“It never made sense to me.”
“Are you sure that’s what she said?”
“I was seven, so my memory might not be perfect.” I shrug, although I’m certain about what she said.
“Or maybe, your memory is spot on. What did she do?”
“She grabbed a switch from one of the rose bushes and whipped me with it. The thorns cut and left gouges in my skin. I still remember the little trails of blood dripping down my legs.”
“That’s horrible. Your mother abused you. I have to say it, I hate your mother.”
“I don’t hate her, but there’s definitely little to love. And it’s not like it happened again.”
“How so?”
“My father heard my screams. He ran out, stopped my mother, and rushed me to the emergency room. It was the last time I ever came here as a kid.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He continues with the books, tilting them out one by one.
“My father took me back to the Hampton house. Left my mother here. They didn’t speak for weeks, and she didn’t return home until after school started in the fall.”
“She stayed with Marco?”
“Yes.” I glance around the room, looking for something, anything that feels out of place. “I don’t know when they started their affair, but things are different now when I look back.”
“I bet.”
“Sorry, my life’s a bit of a mess.”
“With all that history, why do you come here for brunch every Sunday?”
“Because Mother demands it, and it makes sense.”
“In what twisted universe does it make sense?” Liam’s fingers curl and his muscles bunch. With no one to direct his anger at, some of it slips toward me.
I respond defensively as tension builds.
“Because I have to work with my uncle. The Belvedere is mine, but the family business …” My voice trails off as I listen to the words coming out of my mouth. How easy it is to fall back on old habits, believing Rossi family holdings are nothing more than a series of jointly held companies? “Well, it used to make sense.” I spin in a slow circle, taking in the dark study. “Nothing makes sense now, and I don’t know what we’re doing here. I will say this …”