Page 46 of He Should Be Mine
She purses her lips. “True.”
“Are you hiding his bruises under that,” she adds gesturing to the roll neck of Molly’s top.
Molly’s eyes widen. He nods.
“How did you know?” I ask.
She sighs. “I know how he treats his whores.”
The word hits like a punch. It knocks the air out of me. Whore. I’ve called Molly that. I’ve thought of Molly that way. Hearing it on someone else’s lips is awful. It is filling me with shame. That word and his name do not belong together. They should never be uttered with the same breath.
I’m an asshole. I don’t deserve him. But I’ve taken plenty of things I don’t deserve.
“Do you think he’ll get bored soon?” Isabella asks me.
I shake my head. I don’t understand all the inner workings of Riccardo’s mind. But I don’t think he is anywhere near done with Molly. I think he is obsessed. I think he is only just beginning.
Isabella crosses her arms. “We were scheduled to produce an heir later this year, but I’m not,” she pauses and makes a dismissive hand gesture at Molly. “With that.”
Molly lowers his head. He bites his bottom lip. There is shame painted in the lines of his shoulders. I hate it.
But right now, what Isabella just said is more pressing. I catch and hold her gaze. She stares back at me and waits.
“You were going to try for a baby?”
She nods.
“I…would wait if I were you.”
She doesn’t blink. Or flinch. She simply holds my gaze as she checks she has understood my meaning.
I respect Isabella. She’s smart. We’ve always had a strange accord. We both know that if things had been different, we’d be husband and wife. If the Don had married my mother. Or acknowledged me as his bastard. If I had been named heir, Isabella would have been mine.
She nods curtly. She’s understood the message and is grateful for it. Nobody wants a child with a soon to be dead man.
“Nobody must know of this,” she says sharply. “I will not have my reputation ruined.”
“Of course,” I assure her.
She takes in a deep breath. “I trust you, Dario.” Then she turns on her heels and strides away.
The front door opens and closes. Gravity lightens.
Molly lets out a deep breath. “Wow, I almost feel sorry for Rick.”
I turn to look at him. He is not shaking quite so much, but he is visibly struggling to pull himself together.
“No wonder he needs a fuck toy to treat him nice!” he says with a bright, breezy, utterly false smile.
“Stop it,” I say wearily.
“Stop what?”
“The act.”
“What act?”
My jaw clenches. “The slutty, carefree, sex-obsessed fiend, act!”
