Page 82 of The King of Hearts

“That’s all?”

“For the household staff, yes. I also have two personal guards, including Marcelo. And several more who patrol the grounds.”

“How long has Marcelo been working for you?”

His gaze flicks up to mine as he butters a piece of toast. He drops it on my plate once he’s done. “Ten years.”

I flinch at this news, but really, I shouldn’t be surprised. I don’t know which would be worse. Marcelo having been loyal to my father before he switched playing fields to Ryker for whatever reason. Or Marcelo being a mole from the beginning.

“How did you manage to get my father to hire him?”

“A little birdy in the ear goes a long way, Vicious. You’ll find I’ve been in a lot of ears.”

I purse my lips together, my retort on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it back. We’re having a civil conversation at the moment, and I’m getting answers. What I really want to do though is slap the satisfied look off his face. Maybe I’ll do that later.

“Did you orchestrate the attack that pushed my father into hiring a bodyguard for me?”

My father, and brothers, and even I thought the attack was related to the notes I received, which was related to the incident when I was kidnapped when I was thirteen. My kidnapper was killed, so we knew it wasn’t him, but the nature of the notes suggested the two were linked. But maybe we were wrong.

The attack itself wasn’t bad. A masked guy grabbed my arm and shoved me into a wall. A bystander saw it happen and stopped it before it went any further. But it was the last straw for Dad, and two days later, Marcelo showed up to shadow my everymove. It was the notes I received prior to that incident that did the most damage.

The satisfied look on his face drops, and his expression turns serious. No, serious isn’t the right word. He looks as though he wants to punch something.

“Having eyes on you anytime I want wherever you went was my goal, but don’t think for a fucking second I would ever allow anyone to put their hands on you. Even in an arranged setting. Those hearts I sent you prove that’s a line I won’t let anyone cross.”

The fork I just picked up gets strangled in my grip. Him and those fucking hearts. It’s a stark reminder of everything he’s done. I slowly put my fork down and lean back in my chair. I watch him for a moment. He hasn’t touched his food yet, but he’s spoon feeding his mother some kind of soup. From the smell, it’s something made with chicken broth.

I don’t let the sweet gesture of him taking care of his mother get to me. He may be kind to the women who gave birth to him, but he’s been anything but to me.

“How did I get pregnant?” I ask. “What did you do to me?”

He doesn’t pause in scooping up a spoonful of clear liquid and bringing it to his mother’s mouth. She parts her lips, and he gently slides the spoon inside. Her throat bobs as she swallows. He does this two more times before he sets the spoon down and brings a teacup to his lips. I realize he’s testing the temperature when he only lets the liquid touch his upper lip. Satisfied that it’s not too hot, he puts a short straw in the cup and leads the end to his mother’s mouth. Again, she does what she’s supposed to and mechanically sucks on the straw.

It’s not until he’s scooped up another spoonful that he talks.

“Those nightly pills you take weren’t just fertility pills. On occasion, they also contained a sedative.”

My mouth goes dry. “A sedative?”

“Yes.”

My stomach flips on itself, and I feel like I might be sick. “You drugged me?”

“Yes, sometimes.”

I push past the nausea and ask, “Sometimes?”

“On nights that I came to your room, Marcelo switched out the pills with ones with the sedative. The other nights, they only contained a few vitamins and the fertility drug.”

I’m seriously concerned the little bit of food I ate will make a reappearance. I swallow down the acidic taste in my mouth, determined to get through this conversation without melting down.

“What—” I clear my throat when my voice comes out scratchy. “What did you do while I was asleep?”

His eyes lift to mine, and what I see in them has horror rushing through me. Not because of the blatant sexual desire in his gray gaze, but for the mirrored lust I feel in my own body.

“You have an active imagination, Savina. Use it and figure it out yourself.”

Warmth pools between my legs, at the same time, a coat of shame and embarrassment pinkens my cheeks.

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