I staggered forward, broken and trembling, the lie poised on my lips.
Let the performance begin.
“Oh, Papa!” I sobbed, hurling myself into his arms.
He caught me tightly, his embrace fierce. The heat of his fury seeped through his finely stitched coat, and I felt the tension in his chest, in his breath, in how his fingers clutched at me like he feared I might vanish.
“What happened to you?” he demanded. “Speak—now!”
“Make her go away!” I cried, pointing a shaking finger at Beatrice. “Please—I can’t say it in front of her!”
“Beatrice! Leave us!” he bellowed, the veins at his throat bulging like ropes under strain.
The housekeeper hesitated momentarily before scurrying out, her face pale with dread.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Papa seized me by the upper arms, his eyes boring into mine with a fury that could shatter glass.
“Tell me what happened, child. Tell me now.”
I lowered my gaze, my voice small and fragile. “I—I went for a walk. You know how I love the night air. I wandered near the fields when someone grabbed me and threw me to the ground.”
A pause.
“It was Francesco. The stable boy.” I let the words drip like venom. “And he… he?—”
I drew in a breath, trembling—not from fear, but hesitation. Francesco had always been gentle. Too gentle. But lately, his sweetness had soured into something clingy… something dangerous.
“He tried to kiss me. I told him no. I fought him, but he was stronger. I couldn’t stop him.”
The lie fell from my lips like silk woven in shadow.
I saw his eyes then—Francesco’s kind, warm eyes—and guilt coiled like a serpent in my gut for a fleeting moment. I hesitated.
But Papa’s voice snapped the doubt from my bones.
“Did this boy harm you?” he asked, his voice low and lethal.
I shivered and nodded, eyes watering.
“Yes, Papa,” I whispered. “He defiled me.”
Then, with perfect precision, I wailed.
Papa froze, his anger solidifying into something colder. He released me, his face a storm waiting to break.
“This is unforgivable,” he said, his voice hushed with fury. “I will summon his father. Tonight.”
“No!” I gasped, quick to stop him. “He lives too far away. We must act now—before Francesco has a chance to run.”
I gritted my teeth beneath the mask of despair, the thrill of control quietly pulsing beneath my ribs.
Papa studied me—his suspicion flickering like a candle’s flame—but then his expression softened.
“Very well,” Papa said with finality. He drew me close, his arm tightening in a fierce, protective embrace. “You did well, my brave girl. I’m so proud of you.”
I buried my face in his chest, letting a few more tears fall—tears that now stung like acid.
As he exited the room, the silence he left behind was suffocating. Guilt curled through me like smoke, thick and acrid.
