Because when Ariana speaks, I hear another voice. Soft and sweet, humming a lullaby while her fingers stroked through my hair. When I look at Ariana, instead of her shiny hair, I see tresses that are long and untamed, parted in the middle and catching the sunlight in a garden. Ariana clenches her fork, and I remember hands that cupped my face and traced patterns on my skin until I forgot what pain was.
Ariana Barone is beautiful and appropriate.
But she isn’t Mina.
No one is.
No one ever will be.
The dinner ends. Don Carlucci walks me to the door, already talking about future meetings and consolidating our families. I make some noncommittal noises and shake his hand.
Andreas lingers behind with Lucy, and I leave him to it. I have no energy for his games tonight. Damiano is watching my cousin with murder in his eyes, but that’s not my problem.
The drive home is silent. The rain has finally stopped, but the streets are slick and black, reflecting the city lights. Andreas can marry if he wants to. Tommaso can send my compliments and apologies to the Barones later. I don’t need to marry to secure power in Malus. I’ll do it on my own.
The mansion is dark when I return, the staff long since finished for the day. I head for the kitchen, wanting nothing more than a glass of cold water and the silence of an empty room.
But the kitchen isn’t empty. The housekeeper, Mrs. Santoro, is at the counter, wiping down surfaces that already gleam. She’s a woman in her fifties with steel strands among the brown, and she looks up when I enter. Her face creases into a warm smile.
My shoulders tense, and I halt in the doorway.
I’ve been avoiding her ever since I returned. Though she lives in a room at the top of the mansion, it hasn’t been difficult, because she has her own routine, her own domain, and I have little reason to cross paths with her. I’ve eaten meals at odd hours and kept my distance.
“Mr. Montoni.” She smiles at me, and I study her for any hint of tension or falseness. “I didn’t expect you back so soon. Can I get you something? A late supper?”
I hesitate, but it’s too late now. “Just water, please. Sparkling, if we have it.”
“Of course. Sit, sit.”
She fusses over me the way she did when I was a boy, sneaking into the kitchen after one of my father’s rages, hoping for a glass of milk and a few minutes of peace. She would press a cool cloth to my split lip, offering what small kindnesses she could.
I wonder if she hates me now.
She sets the glass in front of me with a smile, and there’s nothing in her eyes but kindness.
“How was your evening?” she asks.
“Fine.”
“You’ve been so busy lately. Are you sleeping?”
“Mm.”
She hovers, wiping her hands on a dish towel, clearly wanting to say more. She’s always been a talker. Mrs. Santoro fills silences the way her daughter used to fill the garden with humming.
I hold the glass between my hands and stare into it. I shouldn’t ask. I’ve spent five weeks not asking, keeping my distance from the housekeeper and telling myself that nothing matters except my power as the Montoni don, and I didn’t come back to this city with her face burned into the backs of my eyelids. I almost bought a canary diamond jewelry set worth seventy-five thousand dollars at a Barone auction because for a split second I could imagine Mina wearing them. But Mina would recoil at being given expensive jewelry, and she would refuse anything from me on principle.
Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.
But the question escapes before I can stop it. Casual. Offhand. “Is your daughter still in Malus?”
So much for not seeking her out and the promises I swore to myself.
Mrs. Santoro falters for just a second, and then she smiles. The warmth in her expression is a knife between my ribs. “Ofcourse!” she exclaims, a touch too brightly. “Both my girls are. Rosa is married now. She has two little ones, a boy and a girl. They keep her busy.”
I nod and take a sip of water. I wait, my body racked with tension.
“And Mina has a son.”
