Page 143 of Freed
He watches me. “Are you saying your relationship with him is?—”
“A ruse? Yes. We’re friends. That’s it.”
The air in the kitchen goes deathly still. His face empties in that dangerous way it does when too many emotions hit him at once and he chooses to show none of them.
“A marriage of convenience,” he says at last, his voice flat. “To protect you.”
“Yes.”
“And he agreed to raise my child as his.”
“He agreed to help me survive.”
Something flashes in his eyes then. Not gratitude. A male,brutal sort of offense that makes me want to slap him all over again.
I fold my arms tighter over myself. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like he stole something from you.”
His laugh is short and vicious. “Didn’t he?”
“No.” My voice sharpens. “Because I’m not a thing you get to lose and find again, Lorenzo.”
His jaw locks.
I can see him trying to recalibrate. Trying to fit this new truth into the version of events he has been carrying around like a blade. But the old wound is still there, and men like Lorenzo don’t let go of a grievance just because a bigger one has appeared.
I take a breath and force myself to say the next part.
“And what about Francesca?”
His gaze snaps to mine.
I press on anyway, because someone has to say the ugly part out loud. “How do you think your wife is going to feel when she finds out you’ve got your pregnant mistress hidden blocks away from her?”
His face darkens. “Elizabeth.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s a real question. What exactly is your plan here? Keep me in this penthouse forever? Play house with me while Francesca waits politely on the side with your other child and pretends her husband hasn’t humiliated her?”
My voice cracks on the last word, and I hate that it does.
Hate that part of this hurts because I can imagine it too clearly—Francesca hearing the whispers, piecing it together, realizing she was traded for me without ever being asked what she wanted.
Lorenzo goes still.
“She is not your concern.”
“Maybe she should be,” I fire back. “Because apparently I’m the only one in this room thinking past the next five minutes.”
His mouth tightens into a hard line. “You think sending you back to Russo solves this?”
“One hundred percent.”
“No.”
“Yes,” I snap, stepping closer. “Because whatever this is between us, it is not sustainable. Not with your wife. Not with your enemies. Not with the fact that you have spent weeks treating me like something you can lock away until I behave.”
