Chapter 24: 24

Aaron's POV

I awoke in the pre-dawn light, which I often did, only this time to smile at the recollection of the previous day. Isabella had been so warm, so engaging, so genuinely present instead of just pushing through the polite niceties. For the first time since our wedding, I’d seen snippets of the girl I had fallen in love with from a distance.

But I wasn’t stupid enough to mistake her change of heart for pureheartedness.

I had been keeping Isabella under surveillance for months, tracking her routines, her tells, the way she carried herself when she was telling the truth versus when she was lying in order to get something. And there had been times the day before when we’d connected in some real way — when we’d talked about her design dreams, when she’d laughed at something I’d said, when she’d looked at me with what felt to me like actual human affection.

Someone was urging her to seduce me. Victor, most likely.

The question was: how low was she still willing to go?

I brewed coffee and went out on the terrace, where I watched the sun come up. The sight never failed to ground me, to help me remember what was truly important outside of the politics and violence of my everyday life. This place was freedom to be, for me — freedom from expectations, freedom from the pressure of family legacy, the perpetual calculations of staying alive and in power.

I’d brought Isabella here to show her a different side of myself – the man I could be if things were different. But I was also curious to see how she would spend this private time, this illusion of intimacy.

“Good morning,” she said, sitting down next to me with what appeared to be an extremely rehearsed smile.

"Good morning. How did you sleep?"

"Wonderfully. This place is so peaceful."

She was being warmer again, more attentive, but there was something calculated about it that strengthened my hunch.

I observed her keenly during our ride to the village. She was acting – the attentive wife, the woman coming to her husband. She was pretty good at this, as it turned out; possibly because there were distinct moments when she definitely wasn’t acting.

She seemed genuinely surprised and pleased when I gave her the silk scarf. Her laughter had been unguarded and spontaneous when we’d eaten lunch overlooking the harbor. But then I’d catch her looking at me with calculating eyes, as if she was trying to piece out how to turn the moment to her advantage.

It was both terrible and amazing.

That night, while I was cooking dinner, I resolved. I’d let Isabella believe her plan was working while I spied on her and found out what she was really after. If she was trying to play me for Victor, I had to know what Victor was up to.

So I did my bit: the husband who slowly falls under his wife’s spell, who begins to open up and trust a little more every time she smiles at me.

“Tell me about your business,” she leaned forward with a conversational curiosity over dinner.

”What do you want to know?”

"Everything. Because I’m your wife, but I don’t really know what you do all day.”

Interesting. And was she fishing for information, or was this just genuine curiosity?

"It's complicated," I said carefully. “A lot of wheeling and dealing, a lot of territory management, a lot of keeping different factions satisfied.”

"It sounds stressful."

"It can be. Especially when rival families are threatening to come take everything you have or people you actually did trust in turn out to have allegiances in two places.”

I saw on her face how she took that last bit. Something flickered – guilt? – raced across her face before she tried to cover it.

“That’s got to be tough,” she said. “Don’t know whom to believe in.”

"It is. Trust is the most valuable currency in my business.”

“And the most perilous to put in the wrong hands.”

"Exactly."

We exchanged a glance across the table, and I wondered if she knew that we weren’t only discussing business.

Then when we were sitting on the patio drinking wine, I decided to test the waters properly.

“Isabella, may I say something?”

"Of course."

“So what sort of crossed the line to you where you decided, “OK, let me really give this a shot in a marriage?’”

She was silent for a long moment and I could tell she was cursing her words.

“I realized that I was really unfair to both of us,” she said at last. "You have only patience for me and kindness, and I have been... distant."

"And now?"

"Now I want to try. I want to see if we can really be happy together.”

The words were correct, but something about the way she recited them seemed to have been rehearsed.

“I’d want that too,” I said, reaching to hold her hand.

She let me hold it, even gave my fingers a little squeeze, but I could feel her strain as she touched me.

When I escorted her to her room, I stayed in the hallway for a few minutes, considering everything I’d seen. Isabella was clearly up to something, but I could also tell that she didn’t like what she was up to. There were times when her affection for me felt truly real when she appeared to forget her hustling nature and remain purely in the moment.

That gave me hope.

On our final day at the villa, the next morning, I took a more direct route.

While Isabella was dressing, I made a telephone call, speaking in tones that would have permitted her to overhear what I said, had she cared to do so.

"No, Diablo, everything's fine at the estate. The papers in my office safe are right where I left them... No, no one but me ever comes into that room... Naturally I keep the combination locked. Only I know it..."

I hung up and waited. If Isabella was trying to get information about the documents, that little memo should get her onto them.

I saw that at breakfast she was more distracted, as though she was thinking of something else.

“Penny for your thoughts,” I said.

“Oh, just the thought of going back to reality tomorrow.”

"Are you dreading it?"

"No, not dreading. Just... this has been nice. Peaceful."

“This doesn’t have to end when we get home, you know. We could do more of these kinds of trips.”

"I'd like that."

But her thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

As we prepared to leave that afternoon, I watched Isabella pace about her chamber with rapid, anxious movements. Her internal war was developing, whatever it was.

It was a silent ride home, and for the rest of them she gazed out the window, watching the landscape go by.

"Everything alright?" I asked.

"Just tired."

"Isabella."

"Yes?"

"Whatever's bugging you, you know it's good to talk to me about it, right?"

Her head swiveled around to face me, and for a second I actually thought she might tell me the truth.

"I know," she said instead. "Thank you."

But I could read in her eyes that she was plotting something and that in her heart of hearts she already regretted whatever she thought she had to do.

Heading up the drive to the Romano mansion, I decided myself. I would let Isabella take her play, whatever it may be. If she was in pursuit of some documents in my study, I’d let her discover them — after I’d ensured that they contained precisely the information I now hoped Victor would acquire.

The game itself, he had long ago concluded, was being pursued with the wrong set of rules.

Isabella was about to find that out, but, for the love I bore her, I hoped she would find it in her heart to forgive me for being the one to teach her.