“By selling all the books?!”
“Just the less important books, the ones that won’t be needed when this is no longer a scholar’s house.”
“No longer a scholar’s house?” she asked, wanting him to spell out exactly what he meant.
“Well, I intend to open a school here, but I won’t be needing all the old writers. Only one way to make room for the new, you know.”
“What are you talking about?” She had never heard him speak of opening a school, much less in her family’s home.
“My dear Isabel,” he said, looking at her, “I’m talking about us. Someone will need to step up after your father is dead.” His callous words held no regard for the man who was dying a few rooms down the hall.
“Get. Out.” Isa’s voice was calm with rage. Not the loud, chaotic, screaming kind of rage. The quiet, calculated, terrifying kind of rage.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Get out of my house. Get out of my father’s house.” She walked past him, herding him toward the door. “There is no us. There will never be an us.”
“Is nothing good enough for you?” he yelled, his eyes furious at her direct rejection. “Will you never realize that the heroes in your head only exist in books? Just because you are pretty does not mean the whole world will fall at your feet! When will you open your eyes and fall in love with a real man?”
“I am in love with a real man!” she shouted back. “A real man who faces his destiny with true courage, however bleak it may be. You are a coward, Macklin Surrell, and you think only of yourself. Get out!”
“True courage?” He stepped toward her, his face twisted with anger. “I am no coward.” He tapped a finger on his chest to punctuate the words. “And I have thought about nothing but you since the moment I laid eyes on you. I’ll show you I’m no coward.” He exited the library, slamming the door shut behind him.
Filled with rage, Isa set her stack of books on a random shelf and ran back to her father’s room.
“Mama!” she said. “Macklin Surrell must be dismissed immediately.”
After hearing the full extent of the situation, Lady Bielsa stood. “That is not what I meant when I asked him to see to the library. I shall dismiss him immediately. Would you wait here? Or you can go get some rest if you need. I can call a servant to sit with him. They’re constantly offering to.”
“I’ll wait,” Isa responded. “I can’t sleep yet.” She sank back into the chair beside her father’s bed, her body shaking with exhaustion and anger.
Curious about the conversation that was taking place somewhere else in the villa, Isa thought about her mother. Lady Bielsa was the strongest person she had ever met. It was heartbreakingly beautiful to watch her care for her dying husband day after day, choosing kindness over self-pity.
It reminded her of Aden, devastated by a curse but still taking the time to make Blanca laugh, or ease Luca’s burden, or give her a mock exam.
“How do you do it?” Isa asked her mother when she returned a short time later. “How are you so loving when everything around you is turning to chaos?”
Lady Bielsa sat next to her. “I don’t know,” she sighed. “When you love someone, you just have to keep on giving. It’s the only thing you can do. If one person can’t pull the weight, then the other one takes over. Like you and I have been doing here, taking turns at his side.”
“Was Macklin angry?” Isa asked.
“He seemed hurt. But he said he would leave immediately. He was planning to head back to Chendas to meet with his old tutor anyway.” Lady Bielsa reached out for her husband’s frail hand. “You should go get some sleep, Isabel,” she said. “I’ll have you called if anything changes.”
Tears tugged at Isa’s eyes. Hearing her full name reminded her of the way Aden said it. “I just don’t understand why the people who truly love each other have to get hurt,” she whispered. “It’s not fair.”
“Life is complicated, isn’t it?” her mother replied. “But that’s the risk you take for loving a flawed person. You’re bound to have disagreements and illnesses, but those are just part of the rhythm that weaves you together. The chaotic things make the simple happy moments all the sweeter.”
Isabel nodded, only half understanding. Her father dying made hermoresad about the happy moments they had shared.
“You don’t need to understand it all at once,” her mother continued. “It’s fine to feel—”
Isa looked up quickly as her mother gasped.
Lady Bielsa had jumped from her seat, leaning over the sickbed. “Carlo?”
Isa moved closer to the bed to see her father. His eyes were open, staring softly at his wife. They looked tired but clear.
“Lucia?” he whispered.
