"A lot," I said. "That she's the future lady of the household. That she was here to teach me the rules." I paused. "And that she miscarried."
The room went silent. I watched him closely, not missing a single flicker.
"She said you tolerate her because you feel guilty. Because of that baby. Because she was kidnapped because of the fallout between you two."
He still didn't speak.
Neither did I.
The window was cracked open. Cool night air slipped in. For a moment, the only sound was leaves rustling.
"Is it true?" I finally asked.
"It's true," he sighed, rubbing his temples wearily. "Which part do you want to know?"
"All of it," I said, meeting his eyes. "I want to know everything."
He straightened in the chair, elbows on his knees, head down. After a moment, he spoke. "The night of the bachelor party, I drank," he said. "A lot. So much I don't remember what happened. When I woke up, she was naked next to me. That's it. I don't know if she came on her own or someone arranged it. Still haven't figured it out."
"But the baby was real," I said.
"You know what happened after that," he said. "Photos. Wedding canceled. Problems between the Colonnas and us. Everything tangled up. Someone used the chaos to kidnap her. Tried to leverage her for demands. She was held for three days. When she got out, the baby was gone."
He stopped. Silence.
"I didn't love her," he said. "Not once through any of this. But that baby, and what she went through—that happened because of things connected to me. That's a fact."
"So you feel guilty," I said.
"Yes," he said. "I feel guilty. That's why I've tolerated her these past few years. Even when she crossed more and more lines, I didn't throw her out completely."
I stared at the now-black sky outside. "She came into my room today," I said. "Someone opened the door for her."
"I know," he said. "Already found out who. The person who helped her." He paused. "Tomorrow, I'll handle it."
"How," I said. Not demanding. Really asking.
He looked up at me. "I will," he said. "You don't need to worry about it."
"Ezio," I said. "I'm not asking you to defend me. I want to know how you're going to deal with her."
He looked at me, those eyes deep in the darkness. "What I owed her," he said, "I've paid it back enough these past few years. Juliet was almost scared by her. She came into your room today—those two things are beyond what I can tolerate."
"What she said," I paused. "The miscarriage, the guilt, you tolerating her—do you know what hearing that does to me?"
"I know," he said, voice dropping. "That's why I'm here."
I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath.
"Ezio," I said. "I need you to tell me. Does that guilt still exist?"
"Yes," he said. "But it's not a reason to keep her here anymore." He paused. "I can tell the difference."
I looked at him again. He sat there, didn't lean forward, didn't reach out. Just watched me. Waiting.
"Okay," I finally said. "I hear you."
He nodded, stood, walked to the door, hand on the frame, looked back. "Will you be able to sleep tonight?"
