Page 83 of Red Retaliation

Arianna

EVEN THE FEW THINGS I’ve said about my marriage to Roberto has angered Red. He’s hiding it well, but the taut sinews in his neck and the steely glint in his eyes show otherwise. Yet I haven’t touched the sides ofhalfof what Roberto did.

Most of that I doubt I’ll ever speak of. I don’t think I can, even if I want to. I have, at least in part, compartmentalized that period of my life into the past, which is where it belongs.

And itisin the past. Even though I’ve only been out of that hellhole marriage a week, it feels like a thousand years ago.

I pick up my wineglass, dismayed to see there’s barely anything left. I suspect I’ve drunk the lion’s share of this bottle because I can feel it in my veins. I’m also unsure if the wine is responsible for making me think I may have misjudged Redmond Bateman.

There’s no argument that he isn’t a violent man with an attitude most people would run a mile from, but based on what he said about Lorna, perhaps he’s not quite as much of a cruel, vindictive bully as I thought. There’s more to Lorna’s story than meets the eye, but I know when not to push.

One thing that is certain though, is Red’s guilt over his former fiancée’s suicide is strong.

Feeling suddenly ashamed for the hurtful things I’ve thrown at him over the past week about his part in Lorna’s death, tears prick my eyes.

“Don’t let whatever that cunt did to you, whatever the rest of it entailed, define the rest of your life, Arianna.”

I look up to find Red studying me intently. How can I not let what happened define me? He hasn’t a clue how bad it was with Roberto and what that bastard did. Even if I wasn’t trapped in an equally unwanted marriage. Right now, I don’t think I’m capable - mentally or physically - of being with a manproperly.

But I accepted that fallout a long time ago.

And my eyes aren’t filling up because of Roberto, what he did to me or even what I did to him at the end... “Roberto Bristoni gets no more of my tears. That well is dry.” I don’t add that my eyes glint with tears because of Red, his guilt and for a woman I never knew.

Red pulls his eyes from me and clicks his fingers, summoning a waiter, who to my surprise already holds a replacement bottle of Romanée Conti.

Taking the bottle, Red waves the waiter away and pours me a fresh glass himself. I can see the tips of his teeth touching his bottom lip in concentration.

“I’ve always been a disappointment.” I hear myself say. I don’t remember wanting to say this or eventhinkingabout it, but I continue regardless. “Compared to my brother and sister, I’ve never really... never been what either of my parents hoped.”

I take the wineglass from Red. “It’s pathetic, really. I’m twenty-six years old and still care what my parents think, but they are everything to me...Familyis everything to me... And you... you heard what he said... I... I’ve disappointed them for the final time.”

“By marrying me, you mean? Or by what you believe I told your father?”

The harsh tone in Red’s voice returns, but I continue. It’s like I’ve waited all my life to say these words out loud. “I don’t think any of that matters. The truth is, I’ll never be good enough.”

“You’re wrong about that. Your father doesn’t deserve your loyalty, princess.”

A flush of annoyance clouds my pensive thoughts. “Don’t try to turn me against my parents. It will never happen.”

“Okay.” Red expels a lungful of air through his pursed lips. “Now we’ve both won prizes for honesty, shall we revert to discussing bad jumpers?”

The silly grin on his face defuses my annoyance with this conversation, as well as confusion over his former fiancée, and my tension ebbs away.

CHAPTER

60

Red

GETTING OUT OF THE TAXI at the Scorpio Lounge, I open the door for Arianna and steady her as she clambers out. She’s drunk. I’m unusually a little worse for wear myself. I blame the wine. I can drink anyone under the table when whiskey is in the equation.

Without thinking, I put my arm around her waist and walk towards my club. She doesn’t pull away and I’m glad of that, but as we enter the reception, it’s less than five seconds before I’m accosted by a member of staff.

“Message from Mr Carter, sir. He’s asked to speak to you as soon as you return.”

I frown. I had three missed calls from Del on my mobile before we’d been served dinner at the restaurant and I ignored them. “Tell Mr Carter I’ll catch up with him in the morning.” Not waiting for a response, I carry on in the direction of my personal rooms.

“Don’t you need to see what he wants?” Arianna asks, leaning into me unsteadily as we climb the stairs.