Riccardo’s expression faltered.
Nicolas brought Emily snug against him to prove his point. His touch was possessive and his tone dark. “She’s my wife, regardless of how it came to be. If you can’t respect that, then we really do have a problem on our hands.”
Riccardo said nothing. He simply looked between the two of them joined together. It took him a moment to absorb the image before he turned and walked away, his cane tapping a little faster.
Dinner had beena performance to say the least. Nicolas’s father presided at the head of the table, every word curt, each glance heavy. His mother, compliant, nodded along, her smile wavering between genuine and practiced. Anna’s chatter was lighthearted and constant, and if she noticed the tension, Emily couldn’t tell.
Nicolas had eaten in silence, stealing glances at her from time to time. He’d told her earlier that the statement about their marriage wouldn’t include her name which brought a sense of relief. That would have surely put an end to her revenge plan.
Or maybe it would have achieved it even quicker—in an instant, really. And that would have been so…disappointing, considering all the effort she’d put into it.
Now, Anna was tugging Emily upstairs, rescuing her from the small talk.
“Come on,” she said. “I want to show you my room.”
She’d grown attached to Emily in just a couple of hours. Leaning across the table with eyes alight, Anna peppered her with questions about her favorite actors, artists and performers. Each answer from Emily drew a broader smile, the kind when one found a kindred spirit.
When the door to Anna’s room swung open, Emily’s breath caught. It was more of an art studio than a bedroom. Canvases were stacked against the walls, jars of paint across the floor and a notepad with sketches was on a desk. The bed was shoved into a corner, an afterthought.
“Are you an artist, Anna?” Emily asked softly.
Nicolas had told her as much, but she wanted to hear it herself.
“Yeah, I just started undergrad at PoliMi. I’m studying Design.”
Emily was well-acquainted with The Polytechnic University of Milan because of an actor who studied there. It was competitive. She was impressed that Anna had a spot there.
“Looks like you really enjoy it.”
Anna laughed. “Couldn’t imagine myself doing anything else.”
She looked at Emily, suddenly serious. “I know that what I’m doing isn’t as respected as what Nicolas or our father does, but it’s what I want to do. Art has its own merit, you know?”
Indeed it does.
“I think you understand that more than anyone else in this house. You went to Juilliard. You’ve won an Oscar. You’re the embodiment of the arts.”
“I’m sure Nicolas understands as well.”
She wasn’t quite sure why she’d tossed that out there. Maybe it was because his sister probably had no clue of what he’d done for her.
Anna’s brows furrowed.
“Yeah, maybe he does,” she admitted. “He loves the arts as much as I do. Secretly, of course. He could never express his love for it without being condemned by our father. I think the only thing he got away with was watching your shows.”
Emily’s heart skipped a beat. “What? He watched my works?”
Anna grinned devilishly. “He’s done more than that,” she said, hopping off the stool she’d sat on earlier. “Let me show you.”
Grabbing her by the arm, the girl led her to a room across the hall.
She pushed a door open. Emily’s eyes instantly took in the space. She knew whose bedroom it was without asking.
It was Nicolas’s.
She was standing in his childhood bedroom. It smelled faintly of cedar. The walls were painted a soft gray, shelves lined with books.
Her eyes flittered to the right and froze.
