“We were up late talking and watching bad TV and I failed to set one. I’m very sorry. It won’t happen again.” Aida hoped beyond hope that Fran believed her, but the very fact that the goddess had come in person did not bode well for her.
“You’ve been a good employee, Aida, and if it weren’t for that, we’d be having a different conversation. But you need to work with your aide. Tell me, do you appreciate this job?”
“Yes... very... very much,” she replied, her voice faltering as a deep sense of dread crept in. The thought of losing the job was terrifying enough, but the idea that they might literally silenceher chilled her to the bone. Even the aegis couldn’t steady her; the mere possibility of such an outcome made her stumble over her words. “It’s the best job I’ve ever had.” This, at least, wasn’t a lie.
Fran nodded as though expecting the answer. “MODA believes in taking care of their employees. Not many employers would be so generous to support your work as an author. We’ve helped you find an agent and a publicist. And I dare say you wouldn’t have won the National Book Award without that help.”
“I owe a lot to you, I do,” Aida agreed. “Please believe me, I don’t take it for granted.”
Fran looked out the window, clicking her red nails against the armrest. Aida desperately wanted to fill the silence, but she didn’t dare. They drove in silence for a few minutes, until Castel Sant’Angelo could be seen in the distance.
“I believe you, Aida,” Fran said. “But the next time Trista sends a report showing a disregard for the rules we set forth...” She paused, allowing the unspoken consequence to linger, though not as sharply. “Let’s just say it will reflect poorly on your standing here.”
Aida nodded her understanding, her throat tight. “It won’t happen again.”
Fran gave a small nod of approval. “Good. Then we’ll move forward and put this behind us. You’ve done great work for us, and I have no doubt you’ll continue to. Just... be sure to stay aligned with the expectations we’ve set.”
The car slowed to a stop near the bridge leading to the castle that was once the tomb of the ancient Roman Emperor Hadrian. Fran gestured toward the door, her expression neutral but calm. “I’ll see you in a few months in London,” she said, her tone lighter now as if the momentary tension had passed.
Aida unbuckled her seat belt and stepped out of the car, her mind still racing but her breath a little steadier. As the black car pulled away, she stood there momentarily, gathering herself.
Whatever happened next, she knew one thing for sure: There was no margin for error.
In the days that followed, Aida was on her best behavior, making sure every task was handled with precision, avoiding even the smallest misstep. She spent more time at the palazzo, limiting her visits to Yumi’s and, with some regret, steering clear of Luciano altogether. It was a sacrifice, but she couldn’t take the chance that their efforts might be discovered.
Aida managed to stay under the radar for a couple of weeks, focusing on work at Castel Sant’Angelo and keeping her head down. But just when she thought she had found some semblance of balance, a call came in on her phone one Saturday afternoon in early December while she was in the grand salon with Pippa, putting together the latest puzzle. She froze, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the name on the screen: Graham.
Why would he, of all people, be calling her?
When she reached the sanctuary of her office, Aida looked at her phone again. Graham had left a brief voicemail. “Please, Aida, call me. It’s about Erin.”
Her stomach dropped. Her first thought was that she wanted nothing to do with him or Erin, but the message was so strange and his tone was so bleak that against her better judgment, she pressed Call.
The line barely rang before Graham picked up. “Aida?” His voice cracked. “Thank you for calling back.”
“What’s going on?” she asked, a knot tightening in her chest. “What about Erin?”
There was a long pause, the kind that made her wish she hadn’t called at all. “Aida, she... Erin caught the virus. She was really sick, and she didn’t make it. She... she was your friend, and—I thought you would want to know.”
For a moment, Aida couldn’t speak. The air seemed to drain from the room. “What? When?”
“Two days ago,” Graham answered quietly. “I didn’t know how else to tell you. I thought you needed to know, given... everything.”
Aida sat down, her knees weak. Memories of Erin flashedthrough her mind. Their childhood—riding bikes, gossiping about boys, trading clothes. And then, her return into Aida’s life as an adult—cocktails, laughter, and all the moments in the weeks before the betrayal.
“I can’t believe this,” she whispered, the words barely audible.
“I’m sorry, Aida. About everything. I know that she regretted...” He began to cough violently on the last word.
Aida felt a surge of anger and despair. “Are you sick too?”
“I... I got sick first. I didn’t take the restrictions seriously. I thought it was all just being blown out of proportion.”
Aida’s anger flared, his betrayal now mingled with blame. For all her frustration with Erin, she hadn’t wanted her to die.
“I should have been more careful. I’m so sorry, Aida. This is all my fault.” Graham’s voice broke, the guilt palpable even through the phone.
“I... I don’t know what to say,” Aida finally managed. “I can’t process this right now.”
