I head toward the stairs. Mina’s room is at the top of the house, a tiny space beneath the eaves that I’ve never been inside but have imagined a thousand times. I’ll knock on her door. I’ll beg if I have to. I’ll get on my knees and plead until she forgives me.
I’m halfway down the corridor when I see a figure coming toward me.
It’s my mother. She’s wearing a silk robe over her nightgown, her hair loose around her shoulders. She must be heading to the kitchen, or the library, or wherever she goes when she can’t sleep.
Our eyes meet, and the color drains from her face.
Her hand comes up to clutch the collar of her robe, her knuckles white. She takes a step backward, her eyes darting past me as she looks for an escape route.
“What did you say to her?” My words come out flat and controlled. I don’t raise my voice. I don’t need to.
Mom flinches away from me. “What are you talking about?”
“Mina.” I take a step toward her, and she takes another step back. “What did you say to her to make her hate me?”
“The housekeeper’s daughter? I haven’t spoken to her.”
“Don’t lie to me.” I can feel the rage coiling beneath my skin, cold and deadly. “She said she talked to you about me. What did you tell her?”
My mother’s face crumbles. “Cristiano, please.”
I raise my voice to a shout. “What did you tell her about me?”
“Nothing! I didn’t—” She presses a hand to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears. “She just said you were lonely. I didn’t know what to say. I was upset. I may have said some things—”
“What things?” She flinches at the ice in my voice.
“I don’t remember exactly.”
Mom has poisoned Mina against me. This is all her fault. The rage surges, ice-cold, and for a moment I want to—
Mom is cowering against the wall, her whole body trembling, tears streaming down her cheeks. She’s looking at me the way Mina looked at me tonight.
Like I’m a monster.
Like I’m going to hurt her.
If I charge up to Mina’s room, wild-eyed and desperate, demanding that she listen, I’ll only prove that I’m dangerous and uncontrollable. Just like my father.
I take a breath. Then another. I let the rage drain away, leaving something cold and calculating in its place.
When I speak again, my voice is softer. Gentler. “I’m sorry.”
My mother blinks, confusion flickering through her fear. “What?”
“I’m sorry for frightening you.” I force my shoulders to relax, my hands to unclench. “I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I’ve had a hard evening, but that’s no excuse.”
She stares at me, clearly unsure whether this is a trick.
I can do it. I can be so strong for Mina.
“Whatever happened between me and Mina is my fault. Not yours. I shouldn’t have blamed you.”
I watch her face carefully. Looking for the shift. The softening. Mom’s fear doesn’t disappear entirely, but it eases. Her grip on her robe loosens. Her breathing slows.
“Cristiano,” she says softly. “What’s going on with you and the housekeeper’s daughter? You know that nothing can happen. Your father would be so angry.”
“It’s over,” I say, forcing the words out. “She doesn’t want to see me anymore. I’ll respect that.”
