It happened so quickly Lindsay had no time to react. She was groggy from sleep, her mind lulled and calm. She didn’t hurt, which was a blessing, but her throat was dry. Six days now since the surgery. She wished she could carve a slash on her bedpost for every day that went by.
And now she was married.
She smiled.
And then the voice came, so warm and so familiar that she thought she must be making it up in her mind, dredging up a nightmare because she had nothing else to do. But it wasn’t a nightmare.
“Little Lindsay. Poor Lindsay. I don’t know if you’re so beautiful now. You’re certainly old, ah, but your poor face. All smashed in, Sydney told me. All blood and smashed bone. But it isn’t all that important now, is it?”
Where the hell was Missy? Why the hell had the young police officer outside her door let him in?
Then she saw that Missy was standing in the open doorway, beaming at the prince’s back. She saw that Officer Fogel was standing behind Missy, not looking at the prince, but at Missy’s rear end.
“Your brother-in-law just wanted to see you for a moment,” Missy said, smiling with lots of white teeth, all goodwill. She turned her high-wattage smile up higher when the prince turned at the sound of her voice.
He looked the same, Lindsay thought. No, no, he looked more handsome. He was at least forty now, and he looked like a fairy-tale prince, tall and slender and elegant, his hands long and narrow. He looked like the perfect man.
He liked teenage girls. He had raped her. What would Missy say if Lindsay told her that. Missy would probably beam her big smile, poke out her big bosom, and tell her that the poor man just needed a real woman to show him the proper way.
“Won’t you say hello to me, Lindsay?” the prince said, turning back to her. “I came a long way to see you.”
In that moment, something odd happened. The old paralyzing fear left her. Something inside her changed as she turned her head on the pillow to look more fully at him. Something grew inside her, something strong and whole. Something powerful. Something mean.
She felt suddenly wonderful. “Hello, Prince. What a long time it’s been. Whatever are you doing here? I’m a bit surprised they’d let you into the country. Oh, but they don’t know about you here, do they?”
He looked briefly taken aback. He frowned. “Your voice is different. Oh, I see. It’s difficult for you to talk because of that bandage under your chin.”
“No, not really,” she said. “The bandage isn’t that tight now. It’s something else. What are you doing here? Fresh hunting grounds in New York?”
He said easily, calmly, as if to a cantankerous child, “I’m here to see you. That’s all. And to ask you to reconsider your engagement to that proletariat imbecile. Sydney told me about him, Lindsay, and I have to agree with her. It’s obvious what he’s about. He’s marrying you for your money. Everyone can see it’s true. He’s a ruffian and probably dishonest. He was a cop, wasn’t he? He would hurt you. He’s used to violence. Don’t marry him. Think about it. Give yourself time.”
She wanted to laugh. She felt the meanness grow, and the hardness seemed to fill her. She felt strong and stronger still; she felt good. When he reached out his hand to touch her, she didn’t flinch, just looked him straight in the eye. “Don’t, Prince.” She’d spoken calmly, slowly. She smiled up at him. “If you get one inch closer, I’ll make you very sorry. I’m not a teenager now for you to intimidate.”
He drew back his hand. His eyes changed. They were no longer warm and caressing. His mouth thinned. Odd, but it made him look only the more handsome, added somehow to his charisma, because it made him look faintly dangerous. Lindsay looked beyond him toward Missy and Officer Fogel. They’d retreated a couple of steps but the door was still open. Taylor’s order, probably.
The prince bent down just a bit and said softly, his eyes glittering as he looked at her mouth, “Do you like to fuck your peasant, Lindsay? Is he rough with you? Do you suck him off? You like that, don’t you? Is that it?”
Lindsay looked up at him. Over the past years when she’d tried to think objectively about him, she’d tried to figure out how his mind worked. She’d wondered why he had become twisted. Had it started when he was a child himself? When he became a man? Who had been responsible? His father? Mother? Genes? Now she simply didn’t care. Now all she wanted was to have him gone. Ah, but she felt powerful now, and free, even though she was trapped in a hospital bed.
She whispered, her own eyes glittering up at him, “Oh, yes, Alessandro, the peasant rapes me nearly every night, holds me down or fastens my wrists to the bedposts with his neckties, don’t you know, and he slaps me and makes me bleed sometimes because he’s so rough. I love it. You taught me all about that, didn’t you? All that neat slapping and pain? By all that’s right, I owe you so much, Prince, so very much.”
He straightened. “I thought as much. You’ve changed, Lindsay, and I don’t like it. No one likes your attitude now. And you’re lying to me about this man. But he’ll change on you the minute he’s got you married to him. You have money; he doesn’t have anything. Don’t marry him. I’m here to ask you to come home with me, to Milan. I’ll take care of you. You’ll be part of my family. You’re Melissa’s dear aunt. Come to Italy with me, Lindsay.”
“Aren’t I a bit old for you now, Prince?”
“You’re my dear sister,” he said. “Nothing more.”
“How fickle you are. I fear you’re a day late, Prince.”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand you.”
A deep voice came from the doorway. “She means to say that you’re the only one going back to Italy. Now, Prince, it’s up to you how you return home. You can go flat on your back in a nicely lined casket or you can be a charming little princeling sitting in first class.”
The prince turned slowly. Lindsay watched with great interest and a smile. For a moment she felt regret that Taylor had come. She’d wanted to tell the prince that she was free of him, that she was free of the past he’d forced upon her. She’d wanted him to examine her freedom, to recognize it, to react to it.
“Hello, Taylor,” she said in great good humor. “This is my brother-in-law, the Prince di Contini. Isn’t he absolutely something? For the first time since I met him I realize how truly remarkable he is. He has unplumbed depths. What do you think? He wants to take care of me because I’m his dear sister. Nothing else. I’m very old now, you know. Beyond eighteen is ancient to him. After he raped me, it seems he lost his respect for me. I think now he’s willing to swallow my old age because of my new wealth. Do you think he wants me to go back with him so I can buy his little girls for him?”
Taylor looked the prince up and down, from his finely made Italian wool suit to his Gucci loafers, then said easily, “I think you’re right, sweetheart. He certainly is something. ‘Remarkable’ doesn’t begin to cover him, though.”
“How about ‘pervert’ then?” Lindsay asked, loud enough for Missy and Officer Fogel to hear.
Missy gasped.
Officer Fogel giggled.
Taylor turned and waved them away from the door, saying, “Show’s over.” He closed it softly. He turned back and said, “So, Prince, you’ve been speaking to my wife?”
“Yes, I want her to tell you to go to hell, I don’t want you to hurt her, and you will because you’re uneducated and a ruffian and I want her to come back with me… .
“My wife. She is my wife. Her name is now Lindsay Foxe Taylor. It has a ring to it, don’t you think?” Taylor walked past the prince to stand beside Lindsay. He lifted her hand. Her engagement ring shone brilliantly, highlighting the wedding band.
“No, you can’t have married him, you can’t have. Oh, Jesus, this can’t be—”
The prince fell silent, stunned, disbelieving. Lindsay wasn’t certain what he was thinking now. Was it about all the money he’d never get out of her now? Had he been the one to want her dead?
It needed but Sydney to complete the drama, and she arrived two minutes later to a thick pool of silence. She looked at her husband and said with disgust and no preamble, “I thought you’d come here, you bloodless fool. I’ve looked and looked for you. You just couldn’t keep your distance, could you?”
The prince looked up at his wife. He showed no interest. A faint line of displeasure marred his brow.
“I told you to leave her alone, damn you! Why can’t you ever listen? Jesus, why did you come to New York anyway? I didn’t want you to get near her! There’s nothing you could say to her that she’d believe!”
“I’m glad he came, Sydney,” Lindsay said quietly. “I really am. I see things so clearly now.”
