I swipe to answer before I can talk myself out of it.
“Finally,” Alessia’s voice comes through first—too bright, too fast. “You’re alive.”
I squint at the screen. Two faces stare back at me: Alessia and Valentina. They’re sitting together somewhere that looks like Valentina’s kitchen, wide marble counters and wine glasses half-full beside them, both of them far too awake for this hour.
“It’s six in the morning,” I mutter. “Some of us still need sleep.”
Valentina gives a small laugh. “Sorry. We didn’t know when you’d be up. We thought Italy’s sunny weather would be motivating. You’ve been quiet.”
“I’ve been fine, and there’s a storm raging, so no sunny weather.”
Alessia smirks. “Fine never means fine, Mara.”
I roll my eyes, sinking deeper into the sheets. “You two have way too much time.”
Valentina lifts her glass. “We call it caring.”
“Sure. With Chardonnay.”
That earns me a real laugh from Alessia, the kind that almost feels normal. For a moment, it’s easy to forget where I am: the cold halls, the cameras, the weight of Nicolo’s refusal to admit that this is morphing into more than sex echoing through every room.
Then Valentina’s expression softens. “You look tired.”
“Thanks,” I deadpan. “That’s what every woman wants to hear.”
She doesn’t smile this time. “I mean it. Are you sleeping at all?”
“I’m fine,” I lie again. “Just…restless.”
Alessia leans closer to the camera. “Restless or haunted?”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting,” she says lightly. “I’m asking. There’s a difference.”
“There isn’t.”
Valentina exchanges a glance with my cousin, then looks back at me. “We just want to make sure you’re okay. Emiliano worries. You know how he gets.”
“I know exactly how he gets,” I mutter. “Control disguised as concern.”
The silence that follows tells me they both agree; they just won’t say it.
To change the subject, I ask, “What’s new over there? Any more society events I can pretend to care about?”
Alessia’s smile flickers. “Actually…we wanted to talk to you about something.”
I pause. “That tone is never good.”
Valentina tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You should probably hear this from him, but…”
My stomach tightens. “From who?”
“Eli,” she says quietly. “From Emiliano.”
I sit up straighter. Duchess shifts beside me, annoyed at the movement.
“What about him?”
