"Married? Emma, you didn't even have a boyfriend! Unless…" Her voice drops. "Are you okay? Did something happen? Are you pregnant?"
"No, nothing like that." I cut her off before she can guess too close to the truth. "It's complicated."
"Complicated how? Emma, you sound scared."
I force a laugh that sounds hollow even to me. "I'm not scared. My husband is… he's good to me."
"Your husband." She says it like she's tasting poison. "Emma, who did you marry?"
I pause a moment, checking in with my husband, who nods.
"Alessandro Rosetti," I finally say.
The silence this time is deafening. When Sarah speaks again, her voice shakes. "Emma, Alessandro Rosetti? The actual mafia? Girl, they say he once dissolved a man in acid for touching his car. What are you doing?"
"You can't tell anyone," I blurt out.
"Is he hurting you? Girl, I'll come and get you. Or…or, meet me for coffee and I'll have a car waiting."
My spine straightens, and words I don't expect pour out. "It's not like that. He's gentle with me, gives me things. He gave me the stars. He bought me a telescope because I mentioned loving astronomy once."
"Listen to yourself! You're defending a man who owns you?"
God, she's right. When did I become the woman who defends a criminal?
"I'm someone else now," I say quietly. "Frances Rosetti. That's who everyone thinks I am."
Alessandro shifts against the doorframe, watching me navigate this conversation. Hearing me explain it all to Sarah adds another layer to our strange reality.
"Frances? Emma, what have you gotten yourself into?"
"I can't explain everything. I just needed to hear a familiar voice, to remember that Emma existed before all this."
"Of course you existed! You exist now! Just because some rich criminal dressed you up doesn't mean—"
"He protects me," I interrupt, surprising myself with the vehemence. "He broke a man's fingers for touching me. He's teaching me to be more than invisible."
"You were never invisible to me," Sarah says softly. "You were my best friend who helped me through mom's death. Emma, what about Tommy? Does this man even know about your brother?"
"He knows," I say quietly, aware of Alessandro's sharpened attention. "He knows everything. About Tommy, rotting in prison."
“Why did he marry you? How did he even know you? Did he force you into this?”
I laugh. “A Rosetti doesn’t force a servant to marry him.”
"Emma, this is insane—"
"I have to go," I say, noting Alessandro pushing off from the doorframe. "I just needed to hear your voice. Remember, you can’t tell anyone."
"Emma, wait. If you need help, if you need to escape—"
"I don't need to escape." The words come out sure, confident, and I realize with a sick twist in my stomach that I mean them. "I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Take care. I love you."
I hang up before she can respond, before her doubt can infect whatever delusion I'm building to survive this.
Alessandro watches as I walk past him without meeting his eye. Neither of us speaks about the phone call, about my friend's horror, about my defense of him. The silence feels heavy with things we're both thinking but won't say.
Last night's promises hang between us like morning-after bruises, invisible but tender to the touch. The corruption he promised under the stars happened in smaller ways: his thumb on my pulse, his breath on my neck, my shameful wet heat at his restraint.
