SALVAGE PRIDE

8

“And that’s the problem,” Cora interjects. “You’re too easily taken in by a pretty face.”

Zeno clears his throat to speak, and my heart rate kicks up at the prospect of him defending me. “I will say that she is less abrasive than some of the other members of her family. But they do their jobs well, and that’s all that matters.”

Less abrasive. That’s the best he can say about me? My family has practically been a part of his for decades, yet he talks about us as if we were a necessary evil. His grief doesn’t give him the right to be hateful.

Heat scorches up my neck and licks across my cheeks.

My family may not be perfect, but his arrogance knows no bounds. At least my family doesn’t treat others like dirt simply because they have more or less money than us.

What an arrogant … self-centered … ugh! Asshole.

My anger and frustration muddle the words in my head. I have to take several deep breaths in order to compose myself.

“Yes, well, perhaps we’ll have everyone over for dinner sometime this week.” The door creaks open as Carter continues. “I can imagine the circumstances have been difficult for the entire household.”

“You’re a good man, Bishop,” Zeno says warmly.

“Too good, if you ask me,” Cora adds wryly. Though it’s meant to tease, there is conviction behind the statement. She thinks her brother could use a touch of her callous nature.

Carter clears his throat. “That’s a conversation for another day.” The sound of hands clasping reaches my ears. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow, Z. And don’t forget about my offer. I’m happy to help in any way.”

“You have my word. You both take care, and I’ll see you at the funeral, if not before.” The Bishops say their parting goodbyes, and the door clicks shut.

I should stay hidden. I should allow Zeno to return to whatever cave he’s been hiding in and ignore him, but I can’t. I’m too riled up to offer him leniency, even when his father has just died. It’s his own damn fault. He’s the one who packed the heavy baggage I’m lugging around. He’s the one who hurt me, and his comments have triggered my anger so thoroughly that it cannot be repressed.

I tug tightly on the reins of my emotions as I stroll forward into the entry. I don’t want him to figure out that I was listening, but I need to strike back. I need to hold my ground and take a stand so he won’t think he can push me around while I’m here.

For the briefest second, Zeno’s back is to me, his hand still clasping the doorknob. My eyes gobble the opportunity to sweep his tall, suited form from top to bottom, only snapping back up to his face when he slowly swivels in my direction.

He is carved stone. Impervious. Untouchable. Breathtaking.

Power wafts off him like mist drifting from the lake. I would be mesmerized by his ominous stature if the air about him wasn’t lightly tainted with disdain. Violent blue eyes slice through me with silent accusation.

“What are you doing here?” All traces of the warmth with which he addressed the Bishops have disappeared. His voice is jagged ice scraping against my skin.

“Helping my sister get the house ready.” I hold my chin high and hit him with a blast of confidence. I won’t let him think he can scare me off. “You didn’t mention you would be at the house.” “Is that a problem?” I challenge.

His eyes flinch the tiniest bit. Almost imperceptibly. “No. There’s no problem.” As if reconsidering, his jaw clenches. “How long will you be staying with your parents?”

“A week.”

He nods as if this news is acceptable, but his nostrils flare and lips thin as though he’s conflicted.

“Are you helping for the weekend, or will you be at Hardwick the entire week?” Jesus Christ. He sure does know how to make a girl feel like a pariah.

“I’m not here to harass you, Zeno. I hadn’t even heard about your father until I got home. I know my presence bothers you, but my mother asked for my help, and I’m sure you can find a way to ignore me. You’ve become so good at it through the years. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve got work to do.” As soon as I’m done, I turn for the stairs, not giving him time for a response. I’m not interested in whatever demeaning, insensitive garbage he might want to throw at me.

Our exchange goes as poorly as every other encounter we’ve had in the past ten years. And as always, I deflate upon his departure. My shoulders slump, and my mood darkens. I am equal parts violence and sorrow. If I could hammer him with my fists and force him to remember how we used to be friends, I would. But Zeno De Rossi is not a man to be swayed. He is determined to hate me, and I am not a woman who will beg for acceptance.

Zeno, Age 13

Luisa and Nevio, Age 10

“I THINK WE SHOULD GO TO THE CLIMBING TREE BY THE LAKE. OR WE COULD PLAY HIDE-AND-SEEK.” I look at Zeno and Nevio expectantly, hoping they’ll like one of my suggestions. Summer is drawing to a close, and it’s harder to find activities we all agree upon.

“You need more people for hide-and-seek. Where’s Gia?” Zeno asks.

I pull off a blade of green grass from the lawn beneath me. “She’s painting her nails,” I grumble. The colors are cool. I like polish as much as the next girl. But I can’t stand how long they take to dry. I don’t have the patience. Even when I do wait long enough, I inevitably chip them ten minutes later. There’s no point. I’d rather skip the wait and play outside.

“We could go down to the lake,” Nevio suggests.

Z tosses a small rock at the trees. “Nah, let’s go for a bike ride.”