Page 84 of Coerced Wife
I don’t tell Saverio about any of the things plaguing me, but he’s always there with a warm cup of herbal tea or a cool cloth to press against my forehead. He massages my feet and rubs my back, but he’s not less demanding even though sex becomes more challenging the bigger my baby bump gets. He likes to rub ointment to prevent stretch marks onto my stomach when we lie next to each other in bed. He keeps his hands over my belly to feel when the baby kicks. He can never get enough or grow used to the sensation. Every time a perfect little footprint appears, he stares at it in wonder until the baby settles and the tiny toes disappear.
As the pregnancy takes more from my body, I growincreasingly tired. I work extra hard to fix the books so that I don’t have to deal with a mess during the first weeks after the birth. I’m so exhausted that I hardly go out with Tersia and Livy, but during the days before Christmas, I have a sudden boost of energy.
I do a little shopping, buying a glitzy dress for Livy, a special pre-birth spa voucher for Tersia, and luxury bath products and delicatessens for my mom. As Saverio settled my overdraft and credit card and I don’t have to worry about living expenses, I can splash out a little without turning over every penny.
During the shopping sprees on which I accompany Tersia, I stock up on baby clothes ranging from zero to six months. At home, I wash them with a special baby detergent before packing them carefully into the nursery dresser with the clothes Saverio has already bought.
I debate a long time whether I should get a gift for Saverio, but in the end, I give up on the idea. Our relationship isn’t like that. It wouldn’t be appropriate. Besides, I don’t want to make him uncomfortable if he doesn’t follow the gift tradition. More so, I don’t want to give him the wrong idea—such as that what we share is or will ever be normal. We’re not a doting couple who leave gifts selected with care and bought with love for each other under the Christmas tree.
As Saverio did with the baby room brochures, he leaves leaflets of wedding dress designers all over the house, and as I did with the nursery, I don’t look at them. My heart hurts too much to care about what I wear. I’m not a bride, so why bother? I’m just a means to an end for Saverio.
Cornering me one morning in the kitchen, he grips my chin and tilts back my head so that I’m forced to see the steely will in his glittering blue eyes. “Not choosing a dress isn’t going to change anything. Youaregoing to marry me.It’s happening in two months, so if you don’t pick something you like, you will walk down the aisle in a gown I will choose for you.”
Two months.
My throat constricts at the thought.
“I suppose that means you chose a date,” I say in an uninterested tone, but a bite comes through in my words.
He flexes his jaw. “I gave you time, as much as I could, but we can’t put it off any longer. The baby will be here in three months.”
“Why not marry me after the birth?”
He lets me go and simply watches me.
“Are you still hoping I’ll let you give my baby your surname so that my child will belegitimateandborn in wedlock?”
“You can throw around those terms as if they are archaic and meaningless, but in my circles, illegitimate children don’t have the same rights or respect as legitimate children. My name will give him protection as well as recognition. He’ll have a rightful claim on my fortune and my position the day I’m dead that no one in the family will dispute. If not, the profits from the business I run will be passed down to Giorgio’s firstborn, and if he doesn’t have children, it will be given to Rachele’s son. You’ll be left with enough money to live comfortably but not nearly enough to protect yourself.”
As always, the thought of him dead makes my chest hurt. “Please, Saverio, don’t pretend your intentions are honorable.”
He locks his hands on my hips and holds me fast. “Goddammit, Anya. I’m not going to steal your child. What will it take for you to believe me?”
“Excuse me for not trusting you when you haven’t been honest with me.”
“Fine.” He tightens his fingers on my hips. “I hid the facts from you, but I didn’t do it to deceive you. I don’t talk about it. The subject is off-limits for me.”
“Like your divorce.”
“I answered every question you asked me,” he says with mounting anger. “What more do you want from me?”
I turn my face away. “To leave me alone. We’re getting nowhere with this argument.”
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
“Why can’t you play golf like Richard every Saturday?”
“I’m not a pretentious prick.”
I look back at him. “Are you sure about that?”
He leans forward, forcing me to bend backward. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, treasure. Is that what you want?”
“No, but danger comes with the title, doesn’t it?”
“What title?”
“Mrs. De Luca.”