When I raised my eyes to his again, they were in exactly the same place they’d been before.
Waiting for me. Studying me. Memorizing me.
Wanting me as much as I was wanting him, I told myself.
“I was leaving,” he said. “But I’m not anymore.”
Chapter 3
Valeria
While the men took their places at the gambling table, joined now by several of Petre’s acquaintances who arrived shortly after dinner, I circled along the edges of the drawing room.
I could hardly take my eyes off Vasile, as hard as I tried. And he too kept lifting his eyes to mine, stealing glances, saying things without words at all. Things about desire and passion, and though I could feel him taking in my curves, the shape of my breasts beneath the dress, the angle of my hips… it didn’t feel a bit like when his brother had done so.
There was a sense of respect from Vasile, an appreciation of beauty that transcended the sexual undertones of his gaze and made me feel special, wanted, desired for all that I was, not just the chance of a few moments of pleasure.
When he looked at me, it was like I was slipping into a warm pool. A hot rush of wetness dampened my inner thighs and I was grateful for the layers of crinoline and petticoats. If not for them, my desire would have been evident for all the men to see. Though I could do nothing to hide my flaming cheeks every time Vasile so much as shifted his massive, beautiful body in his chair.
I focused on his thick, veined forearms. And I found myself daydreaming about what it would be like to have those big hands touching my…
“Valeria. More port!” my father snapped at me, lifting his glass without taking his eyes off his cards. The game had begun.
I hate this.
I resisted the urge to snatch up all the cards on the table and toss them into the roaring fire, and instead politely did as he asked. The serving girl looked at me in confusion as I took the bottle from her.
“Doesn’t like prying eyes,” I said, with a secret roll of my own.
She gave me an understanding sigh.
I approached the table and positioned myself so that when I poured the drink, I could exchange another glance with Vasile. But now that the game had begun in earnest, he did not acknowledge me. I suddenly felt invisible to him.
He drummed his fingers on the tabletop and narrowed his eyes at his cards.
My heart sank.
The other men at the table, other men that Petre had invited, were interested in the game but not overcome by it. Vasile was. And so was my father.
I recognized Vasile’s expression instantly—the narrow vision, the intense focus, the tight set of his jaw. He was no fair-weather card player. He was a gambler, through and through.
I leaned in slightly closer to my father than was necessary, close enough to give Vasile the opportunity to see the swell of my cleavage.
What did I get in return?
Nothing. Not a glance.
Not a clearing of his throat.
Not even a shift of his body.
It was as if I had disappeared behind a curtain of aces and kings.
Suddenly, I detested him. Absolutely, positively despised the very idea of him. Gambling had ruined my life, my mother’s life, as well as my father’s. I could accept a lot of vices in a man.
But never, ever, would I have anything to do with a true-born gambler. Bad enough was my engagement to a gangster. The lawlessness of it all made me sick.
So many wonders of this world, so many ways to create a life, simple as it may be, on the right side of the law. Using intellect and curiosity to make it a better place instead of violence and greed to bring to it even more darkness.
I topped my father’s port and slipped back to the edge of the room. Surprisingly soon, Petre was out of the hand, and in a huff he disappeared from the room through a back archway.
After a moment, I took my chance and slipped out myself, and once again out to the front hallway and outside, wishing I had my cigarette case. I needed something to calm my nerves. I walked back out into the dusting of newly fallen snow, glaring at Vasile’s big footprints, intermingled with mine from earlier.
A sudden sound of crunching snow made me spin around. I hoped to see Vasile again, but instead there stood Petre. He stomped toward me then grabbed my wrist hard enough to make me gasp.
“You’ve been staring at my brother.”
It was as if he had punched me in the stomach. “Excuse me?”
“You fucking heard me,” he snarled, now all dark eyes and cruelty. In that moment, I knew at once that the rumors were true and I was in for a lifetime of misery.
I felt sick to my stomach. Hot bile rushed up into my throat.
“I didn’t…” I stammered, trying to pull my arm away, “I’m not… please, I would never.”
He got right in my face, nearly shoving me backwards the warm, sourness of his breath nearly wrenching my dinner from my stomach onto the snow.
“Let’s get one thing straight. You step out of line, princess, and I’ll feed you to the wolves. You will do as I say, or you will suffer.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he turned and headed back toward the front entry, leaving me standing there in the snowy darkness, speechless. And utterly terrified.
Minutes later, I was back next to the poker table. It was no act to convince my father that I was feeling unwell and needed to leave. My hands shook. I could barely breathe. I waited until he had folded his hand before squeezing his shoulder to get his attention.
All I wanted was one last night in my own room at boarding school, the one place I felt like myself. One more night before this nightmare became my life.
“Father, I need to leave,” I said softly into his ear.
When he looked up at me, I saw that old familiar gleam of maniacal gambling optimism in his eye.
“Not yet,” he said cheerfully. “Things are starting to go my way.”
I swallowed hard and gave him a pleading stare.
“I don’t feel well.” I blinked back a sudden rush of tears, focusing hard on the sting in my nose to prevent them from spilling down my cheeks.
By some miracle, the look on my face or the desperation in my voice broke though the blur of his addiction.
He furrowed his salt-and-pepper brows. “What’s happened?”
I could feel Petre’s eyes on me then, leering at me. Threatening me.
“I just need to lie down. It’s been a long day. Please, father. Dad...”
The word dad was not one I said very often, but in this moment when I so desperately needed a lifeline, it worked. My father nodded and rose, taking me by the arm.
Though he and I fought like animals half the time, I did love him. And I hoped deep down that he felt as bad about all of this as I did.
I was still numb and fearful from my encounter with Petre, that my father’s making our excuses sounded far away, underwater almost.
Old Mr. Greengallow said he was calling it a night as well and showed us out, chatting with my father as we walked. I didn’t hear any of it. The whooshing in my ears was like a blizzard gale.
All that mattered to me was that before I knew it, I had my cloak wrapped around me and was getting back in our carriage. Once the door swung shut and the carriage started rolling away, I pressed my forehead gently against the ice-cold glass and covered my mouth to stifle a sob.