“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It worked. Sometimes.”
“But now you are battling real monsters.” She looked toward the room, at the two unmoving lumps under the covers outlined by the fire. “I am too.”
She tapped her finger against the cup a few times, her eyes on me, but it was easy to see her mind had drifted. “You take such good care of her,” she said, almost to herself. “I knew you would. I could never—reach her. I tried, but we see the world from different perspectives.”
I sat my cup next to hers, leaning over my legs.
“Perhaps that comes from the man—Matteo.” It was meant as a casual comment, but I heard the question in it.
“I don’t know. Scarlett knows more about him, from his letters.”
Scarlett had commented more than once that she had never felt like a part of their family, and I wondered if it was because she felt the secret but couldn’t make sense of it.
“It’s true though,” I said. “Marzio, my grandfather, told Scarlett before he died. He knew Matteo and Maja when they were young.”When she was a spy, but one jarring shock was enough for the night, I thought.
Pnina sighed. The sound made me look at her. It sounded deflated. “I have one daughter who revels in the news and another who cries herself to sleep. My family is in ruins.”
“I’ve never claimed to be your son,” I said, opening and closing my hands. “However, if I were, I’d tell you to see the daughter who you believe is reveling in the news. She revels in nothing now. Nothing.” I stood abruptly, turning my back on her. “You can see the world from her perspective now. She shares a mother’s loss.” Every muscle that I possessed tightened. “Instead of worrying about the one who cries because she has Italian blood, worry for the one who almost bled to death.”
“You are taking Violet’s side in this war.”
“The only side I’m taking is my wife’s.”
“Sovraži me!” she blurted. Realizing a second later that I had no Slovenian, she cleared her throat. “She hates me.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “She hates being rejected. It’s true what Violet said. You sent her away when Charlotte would tell you lies, things that were untrue.”
“Her dance! I had to take—certain precautions to assure her position in that world. Look at her now! She is in her prime, burning as hotly as her grandmother’s star. She could never see her true ability, how remarkable she is. There is no one like her. No one.”
No, there wasn’t. It had nothing to do with her talent either.
Pnina stood, coming to stand beside me. Her eyes were hard on my face. Determination mingled with despair fell on me like a weight. “How rare it is for her art to live beyond the stage, but it will. In the same way it happened for her grandmother. What I did—what we did—for her was sacrifice temporary happiness for a legacy that will outlive her heart.”
“Almost did,” I said, bitterness making my words cold.
“Ah,” she said softly. “I see. You are blaming her talent for—”
“For the root that almost killed her?” That was part of it. The other fault belonged to me. My sins.
“I—” She raised her hands, covering her face. “I—don’t even want to hear it. I cannot.” She turned from me, taking a moment to compose herself.
Out of all the women I had ever known, Pnina Poésy was a creature from another planet. There was no understanding her. She loved Scarlett, in her own way, and there was tenderness about her that made her worry about a man in a child’s body, determined to take care of him, to make sure he had what he needed to survive. The flip side of her was the side that Scarlett often said was set on making her mother, Maja, proud. That side of her would crush whatever it was, or whoever, that got in her way. Many times that meant crushing the daughter who found herself so much like the ballerina Pnina adored—her mother—all in the name of legacy.
Eunice was cleaning the kitchen. I could hear the clank of dishes in the sink, running water, her murmurs when someone else—Carmen?—started to ask her questions about cooking. The rest of the house had gone to bed. The storm still raged, but soon it would fizzle out. The air didn’t hold the clutch of uncertainty anymore, only the promise that everything must come to an end.
Pnina turned to me, taking my arms in her hands. “If you convince her to quit, she will regret it.” She grasped my muscles, hard. “All those years—a waste, a—”
“I won’t convince her to do anything,” I said. “But I won’t stop her if she wants to end it. It’s time she does what makes her feel like the legacy she’ll leave behind will be worth it.”
“That legacy will be all you.” She stuck her chin up. Then she let it drop, too tired to even fight the thought. Shaking her head, she released the pressure on my arms, patting at me. “I will speak to her tomorrow.” She turned to go back to her room but stopped, holding out her hand to me. I took it, not sure what else to do.
“Elliott loved you as a brother,” she said, squeezing. “I love you as my son. I love all of my children.”
Stepping away, she let go.
Chapter Fifteen
Brando
