Page 19 of Goldrage
“Hey,” I say, getting Lorenzo and Eleanor to stop bickering with each other and look at me.
“Yes, cugina?” Lorenzo asks.
“I just had a thought. Once I’m inside, I don’t think I should tell Adrian the pregnancy is fake.”
Lorenzo shifts in his chair, the movement too quick. He winces and touches his side. “Why not? He should know the truth.”
“I agree,” Eleanora says. “He might be able to help and make your performance more believable. You need an ally inside that horror house.”
I shake my head even as my heart twists at the thought of lying to Adrian about something so big. “If Lady Harrow suspects anything, she might torture him. If he genuinely believes I’m pregnant, his reactions will be authentic. It’s better he doesn’t know, for his own safety.” I hate lying to him but this is important. Adrian’s poker face is legendary when he’s prepared, but when caught off guard? Even he has tells that his mother would recognize.
Eleanora’s amber eyes bore into me with that new intensity she’s developed. “You sure that’s the only reason?” Her head tilts slightly, a predator scenting weakness. “It won’t be easy lying to him about something this significant.”
I can’t hold her gaze. Instead, I focus on the oil painting behind Lorenzo’s desk. It shows a beautiful vineyard crawling across the countryside. “It’s the safest option for everyone. I’ll tell him once we’re out.”
The deeper truth lodges in my throat like barbed wire, cutting deeper than Julian’s knife. The truth isAdrian wouldneverlet me walk into that viper’s nest if he knew I was gambling everything on a lie. He’d find another way—probably one that involved sacrificing himself. That’s who he is beneath that controlled exterior: a man who steps in front of bullets meant for me.
But I won’t let him do that again. This time, I’mhisprotector.
Lorenzo pushes himself to his feet and grunts when the movement pulls at his wound. We’re quite the pair, aren’t we? Two injured souls plotting against an empire. “We should set this in motion,” he says. “The longer Adrian remains there, the more danger he’s in.”
I nod. “Tomorrow.” It feels like too soon and yet not soon enough. My body screams for more time to heal, but my heart can’t wait another moment. “I’ll go there tomorrow. This has to work. There’s no other option.”
Because there isn’t. We’ve run through every scenario, every possibility. This is our only shot at getting inside without an army we don’t have.
Eleanora glances at her smart watch, and I already know what’s coming. The mysterious evening departures that she still won’t explain. “I should go,” she says. “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow to help you prepare.”
She squeezes my shoulder as she passes. I try to catch her hand to give her a squeeze back, but she’s already walking away. Just weeks ago, we would’ve hugged goodbye, even despite my wounds. Now she treats me like she’s afraid too much contact will reveal secrets, whatever those secrets might be.
Even though she’s involved in all of this and comesover every day to see me and help with my healing, why does it feel like she’s slipping away?
Lorenzo follows her out, probably so he can walk her to the door even though Eleanora hates that. I’m left alone, staring at the closed laptop.
After a few minutes, I make my way back to my room, each step a reminder of how far I am from being healed. The stairs feel like mountains, my hand gripping the banister like I’m trying to break it. By the time I reach my door, sweat beads on my forehead from the effort.
Somehow, I’ll need to muster more physical strength by tomorrow.
I walk into my room and the mirror across from my bed shows a stranger—hollow cheeks, dark circles, a neck decorated with Julian’s handiwork. Fresh bandages peek out from beneath my shirt. This is the woman who will walk into the Harrow estate claiming to carry their heir.
God help me.
I press both palms against my stomach, trying to imagine the weight of life that isn’t there. What would it feel like? Adrian’s child growing inside me. The fantasy is so vivid it steals what little breath my injured ribs allow. Is it a future we might never have?
My reflection stares back, and I see my mother in my green eyes, in the determined set of my jaw. She played their games too and performed for their entertainment. But she never got to write her own ending.
I will.
“I’m carrying the Harrow heir,” I whisper to the woman in the mirror. The words are like a foreignlanguage, but I’ll make them true through sheer grit. “And I’m coming to claim my place.”
The ghost of my mother seems to nod her approval from somewhere just beyond the glass.
Tomorrow, I walk back into hell.
But this time, I’m bringing the fire with me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DANTE
