Page 44 of Vicious Heir

Kennedy squeezes me tightly. “God, you’re such a mess.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

She sighs and hugs me. “I love you, Lucy. I know you’ve got all these hang-ups and scars from the way people treated you in the past, but I’m not one of them. I told you before. I’m not your friend for money or anything like that. I’m your friend foryou.”

That finally does it. Seeing my stuff like this, plus the stress of last night and my marriage, it all explodes in my chest. I hug her back and start crying like a baby.

“I’m sorry I’m such an idiot,” I say, sniffling, and she only laughs. We stay like that for a few minutes, two emotional girls dealing with their own stress and demons, until we finally break apart.

“Come on, let’s get you packed.” Her eyebrows raise as she looks at me. “And maybe changed? Whose stuff is that?”

“Bianca gave it to me.”

“Too small.” Her lips press together in a suppressed smile. “I bet Adriano liked it.”

“That’s what he said,” I mutter and fish out a new outfit. Once I’m in my own stuff, I slap my hands together. “Let’s do this. Luca and some of Adriano’s guys are waiting outside. I figure I’ll start carrying stuff out?”

“Sounds good to me.”

We get to work. Kennedy keeps organizing and packing in the room, and I start lugging boxes, bags, and wardrobes out to the men. Luca insists on coming with me after the first trip, even though I try to wave him off. At least I get to see Kennedy give him a nice, appreciative look up and down when the bigman comes striding into my room and carries two heavy boxes without so much as breaking a sweat. I trail after him with a few dresses in a bag.

“Lucille.” I stop in the hall and gesture to Luca to keep going. Grandmother’s standing in the doorway of a nearby sitting room. “I’d like a word.”

I’m too surprised by that relatively polite request to refuse her. She sits at a small table and pours tea. I drape the dresses over a chair and join her.

Grandmother looks immaculate as always. Fresh pink blouse and cream slacks. Age-appropriate and extremely chic. Despite the madness of the night before, there’s not a hair out of place. She looks as though she got a solid ten hours of uninterrupted sleep.

I brace myself for whatever she’s about to say. Something about how I let her down. How my wedding was an embarrassment, and somehow it was all my fault. I’ve played through this exact same scene a dozen times over the years, and I know how it goes. She says something ruthless and cutting. She makes me feel small and worthless. When I’m finally dismissed, I walk away in a daze, thinking maybe she was right; maybe I am just a worthless failure.

I know how this goes. I know all the tricks.

And I still know she’ll break me into little pieces like she always does.

“I wanted to give you some advice,” she says at last.

Which isnotwhat I was expecting. “Advice?” I say, my voice a little squeaky.

“On marriage.” She says this so simply, like it’s no big thing. This woman has never tried to teach me anything past how to behave perfectly in a high-society setting. Now she wants to talk about marriage?

“Uh, okay, sure.” I don’t even know how to act right now.

“Be a good wife, Lucy.” She sips her tea and watches me. “Listen to your husband. Do as you’re told, but only to a point. You are your own person still, and don’t you ever forget it.”

“Right.” My jaw works, trying to form words. “I can do that?”

“Don’t let him own you, Lucille.” A little smile ghosts at her lips. “Unless that’s something you enjoy.”

Oh my god.

“I don’t know what you mean!” I say quickly, panicking.

“Marriage is a dance. It’s a power struggle. It can be good, and it can be bad. Your grandfather and I did not always get along, but we made our partnership work. You must navigate your new husband the best you can. Do you understand me? Advocate for the Willing-Morris cause.”

Leave it to Grandmother to make marriage sound like a literal war. “I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure you will.” She puts her teacup down, just so. I don’t know how that woman manages it. She makes me look like a graceless pig sometimes with her simplest gestures. “I want you to hear something. Perhaps I’ll never say this again, but I feel as though you’re owed it.”

“Okay?”

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