I have not been able to stay away from Balthazar. He is my soulmate, my very heartbeat.
My father surprised me when I sneaked into my home tonight after midnight. He was sitting in the dark next to the hearth, which still burned with embers from an earlier fire.
“Alina,” he said, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
“You frightened me, Papa! I was out getting some night air—I couldn’t sleep.”
I heard Papa’s noisy sigh.
“I am old, but I am not a fool, child. I know where you were. I have been watching you—you were with him, weren’t you?”
My father is a good and loving man, but his watchfulness angered me. “I am a grown woman, Papa! How dare you spy on me!”
“And yet you behave like a child! Don’t you see? Your mother and I love you very much. You were given to us thosemany years ago. And I don’t want you to end up dead!” His voice shook as he spoke. “Your sister married a good man who treats her right—I want the same for you, Alina!”
My stomach burned with rage at being told what to do. I almost turned and ran.
Yet, through the gloom of the parlor, I could see him rise from his seat and approach. When he stood before me, I could tell he’d been crying—his cheeks were damp, and his eyelids were puffy. I hated to see him like this on my account. It broke my heart, transforming my fiery anger into sorrowful sympathy.
“You will defy me at every turn, Alina. You’re very willful.” His hands landed on my shoulders. “But promise me one thing.”
“What is it, Papa?” I blinked back, the tears threatening to fall.
“Promise me!” He shook my shoulders. “Promise me you’ll visit Giovanni. At least talk to him. Then, if you continue to see Lord Balthazar, I will have some peace that you spoke to a trusted adviser.”
I leaned my head against the sofa, wiping my eyes. How many times had Papa and Lee warned me about Tristan’s treachery? Papa had never trusted him; his concern was evident in every guarded glance. Even Lee, with his measured judgment, had been uncertain. But had I listened? No. I’d dismissed their warnings, blind to the truth—until my stubbornness had nearly cost my father his life.
As hard as it was to admit, I could see shades of my mother in myself.
I glanced at Emily. She was so different from me. Where I was willful and defiant, she was calm and forgiving. She had a softness to her, a gentleness I lacked.
Emily smiled. “What are you thinking?”
I hesitated, then lifted the journal. “I wonder what you think of our mother now after reading this.”
Her gaze drifted toward the elegant bookshelves lining the room.
“Shewas… complex, wasn’t she?” Emily observed. “She got caught up with a bad man, and he seduced her. I suppose that could happen to any of us.”
I reached out, taking her hand. “We’re so different, you and me. You reflect on her words with reason, while I react. I can’t help it.”
Emily chuckled, squeezing my hand in return. “I’ve heard the term ‘hot-brained’ or ‘hot-mouthed’ used for someone headstrong, ungovernable, or fiery of spirit. I wouldn’t call you a hothead, but you do burn with a certain fire.” Her lips quirked. “Mine is more like the moon. Soothing.”
“We complement each other,” I murmured, retrieving my hand and gazing at Emily fondly.
A small smile curved her lips.
“How far did you get in your reading?” I asked, tapping the worn leather cover.
Emily pressed a fingertip to her mouth, thinking. “Let’s see… I stopped at the part where Alina’s Papa advised her to seek counsel with Giovanni.”
I perked up. “That’s exactly where I left off, too.”
I scooted closer, flipping open the journal. “Let’s read the rest together.”
Without another word, we bent our heads over the fragile pages, the lamplight illuminating the ink as we quietly lost ourselves in our mother’s story.
August 19th, 1561
