We turn down the hallway that leads to the east wing. The library is at the end, behind heavy wooden doors that always feel like they're guarding something precious.
I push the doors open.
And stop.
A woman stands in the middle of the room.
She's small, with her hair pulled back in a messy bun and circles under her eyes that speak of sleepless nights. Her skin is pale, almost gray, and she's wearing what looks like pajamas under an oversized cardigan.
But when she sees me, her face transforms.
"Antonella." Her voice is rough, tired, but warm. "Oh thank God, a human being."
"Nora." I step forward. "I didn't know you were?—"
"Out of my room?" She laughs weakly. "Neither did I until about ten minutes ago. First time in... I don't even know how many days. I lost count somewhere around day four of staring at the same ceiling."
Gianna moves closer to me. "Is she sick?"
Nora's eyes shift to my sister. She studies Gianna for a moment, then looks back at me with a question in her expression.
"This is my sister Gianna," I explain. "She's staying with us for a while. Gianna, this is Nora. Pietro's wife."
"Oh." Gianna's brow furrows. "Are you okay? You look really tired."
"Gianna," I warn.
"No, she's right." Nora waves a hand. "I look like death warmed over. I've seen mirrors. I know what I'm working with here."
"But why?" Gianna presses. "Are you sick?"
Nora and I exchange a glance.
"I'm pregnant," Nora says.
Gianna's eyes go wide. "Oh! Congratulations!"
"Thank you." Nora's smile turns wry. "Though I'm starting to think this baby got more Sartori DNA than anything else, because it's making my life a living hell."
I burst out laughing.
The sound escapes before I can stop it. Loud and genuine and completely unexpected. Nora grins at me, and for a moment she looks less exhausted. Less gray.
"I'm serious," she continues. "Morning sickness that lasts all day. Food aversions to literally everything I used to love. I threw up just from smelling coffee yesterday. Coffee, Antonella. The love of my life. Gone."
"That's terrible."
"It's criminal is what it is." Nora sighs dramatically. "Pietro keeps trying to help, but there's only so much a man can do when his wife is actively dying from the inside out."
Gianna looks horrified. "Is pregnancy always like this?"
"God, I hope not." Nora shudders. "If it is, I'm never doing this again. One Sartori kid is enough."
I study Nora's face. Behind the jokes and the dramatic complaints, I can see something else. Loneliness. Isolation. She's been trapped in her room for days, too sick to move, too exhausted to do anything but survive.
"Do you want some company?" I ask.
Nora's expression shifts.
