"Six months, sir."
Six months.
Four months. She'd been here four months. In those four months, I'd gone to her room once. Just the one time. Because the elders were watching, and I had no choice.
Afterthat?
After that, I didn't go back.
Not because I was busy—though I was. Because I didn't know how to face her. That night, lying there, the thing in her eyes—not anger, not hate. Something else. I couldn't name it. But I didn't want to see it again.
Except she had my child in her belly.
Six months.
"Sir?" Elsa waited a few seconds. "Should I tell Miss Adrian you're busy today?"
"No." I stood, grabbed my jacket. "I'll go."
I was halfway out of the study before I even realized what I'd just said.
What the hell was I going there for?
Not to see her. The kid. That was mine. A Visconti heir. Going to the checkup—that's what a father does.
Yeah. That was it.
I heard the voice before I even hit the living room.
"This is Mr. Visconti's most precious collection!" That was Margaret—been working at the manor for nearly ten years, and right now she sounded like she was prosecuting a capital crime. "Do you know who sent this vase? Miss Colonna from the Colonna family sent it, on Mr. Visconti's nineteenth birthday, she brought it herself!"
I stopped walking.
"I'm sorry," Olivia said quietly. "I didn't mean to. I just wanted to open the window..."
"Didn't mean to?" Margaret cut her off. "So you did mean to? You think because you're carrying Mr. Visconti's child, you can just do whatever you want around here? Who do you think you are? You're nothing but a—"
"That's enough," I said.
They both spun around.
Margaret's face went white. "S-sir."
I walked into the living room and looked down at the shattered pieces on the floor.
Blue and white porcelain. Everywhere.
From Bianca. Years ago, she'd brought it back from Florence. We'dpromised to marry back then. She'd said it was an eighteenth-century piece, worthy of the Visconti name.
I stared at the fragments, waiting for something to hit me.
Nothing did.
"What happened?" I asked, my voice flat.
"It was Miss Adrian," Margaret said fast, falling over herself to explain. "She broke your vase. That was from Miss Colonna—"
"I'm asking her," I cut in, looking at Olivia. "You. Talk."
