Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rachel
"Ms. Kane, can we talk for a moment?" Dr. Evans stopped me. His expression was grave. My heart jumped into my throat.
"Is it Sofia... has she gotten worse?"
"No, she's stable now." Evans shook his head.
"It's just that after this illness, her immune system will be extremely fragile for the next few months.
She's at high risk for relapse. I recommend she spend at least the next three months in a dry, warm, clean-air environment.
Camden's damp and foggy—not good for her recovery. "
"You mean... we have to leave?"
"Yes." Evans nodded. "Best to find a completely different climate for recuperation. It's critical for her recovery."
I leaned against the wall, lost. With Matteo here now, there was nowhere I could go to escape him. And could Sofia even handle a long-distance move right now?
"Don't get up, sweetheart. The doctor says you need to lie still. If you want to see outside, I can raise the bed a little."
"But it's uncomfortable just lying here."
"Want me to carry you around for a bit?"
"Yes."
Footsteps from inside. Sofia suddenly spoke up. "Come closer."
"What is it?"
"Your eyes look like mine—they're both black!"
I couldn't let them keep talking. I pushed open the door. At the sound, they both turned to look at me. Two faces, one large and one small, nearly identical. My breath caught.
Before I could speak, Matteo said a few soothing words to Sofia, and she obediently lay back down.
Once Sofia's breathing deepened, Matteo pulled me aside, opening his mouth hesitantly.
"Rachel, there's something I want to discuss with you—how about coming to Sicily with me?
The climate's perfect there, just right for Sofia to recover. "
"No." I refused instinctively.
"Rachel, you can't make decisions just to spite me." Matteo frowned. "I'm doing this for our daughter."
"Matteo, I told you—she's only my daughter."
"Rachel, be reasonable."
"I said no, and I mean no." My tone was firm. "I'll find a place for Sofia to recover myself. I'm grateful for everything you've done for her, but that doesn't mean I have to follow your decisions. You can leave now."
"Either way, I hope you'll seriously consider this, Rachel." He said quietly before turning and leaving. I sat by my daughter's bed, staring blankly at Sofia's sleeping face.
That evening, I opened my tablet and started searching for dry climates with good medical facilities.
Phoenix, Arizona. Santa Fe, New Mexico. Even some inland California towns...
I saved all the promising locations and scenic photos one by one, creating a simple album, then brought it to Sofia, who was looking at a picture book.
"Baby, I want to take you somewhere fun. Take a look and see where you like? We can go stay there for a while."
Sofia was immediately drawn to the colorful landscapes. She swiped through the screen. Finally, her little finger stopped on one photo.
Golden hills rolled endlessly, cypress trees dotted the winding dirt roads like sentries, and in the distance, vineyards and olive groves covered the hillsides. This was Italy. Tuscany.
"Baby, are you sure about this one?"
Sofia nodded hard. I pointed to Provence next to it. "Look, there are purple lavender fields here, and old stone villages, with sunshine warming the whole land. Wouldn't that be nice?"
Sofia shook her head firmly, her little hand stubbornly pressing on Tuscany.
"I want this one. Mommy, will we take a big plane? Can I bring Cassius?" Sofia fired off questions. I didn't know which to answer first.
Sofia clutched my sleeve, her eyes full of expectation and longing. Fine. Maybe some things were meant to be from the start.
"Yes, yes. Mommy'll give you everything you want."
"Mommy, you're the best!" Sofia planted a big kiss on my cheek. I turned to leave, and Matteo was waiting in the hallway again.
Seeing me, he rushed over and grabbed my hand. "Rachel, listen to me. I'm not trying to drag you and Sofia into any danger, I really just want to—"
"I'll do it. We'll go to Sicily."
He froze. The urgency in his eyes dissolved into overwhelming joy.
"You-you agreed? I—" He seemed at a loss for words, like he didn't know what to do with his hands.
"You don't need to worry about anything. I'll handle everything. You can stay as long as you want—"
"Two weeks." I held up two fingers. "After that, wherever I take Sofia, you don't get to stop me."
Matteo's eyes were full of laughter. "Deal. Two weeks."
I temporarily entrusted Sea Breeze Diner to Becca and Dana, wired Charles three times the usual amount, then boarded the plane. Nine hours later, we finally arrived at the Vitale estate.
The road was lined with endless olive groves, sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the car window.
Through the glass, I saw the imposing medieval stone castle in the distance.
And beneath its grand arched entrance stood a group of people, solemn-faced, as if awaiting an important ceremony.
At the front stood a silver-haired old woman leaning on a cane. She was thin but held her spine straight, her eyes clear and sharp.
"That's the boss's mother, Mrs. Camilla Vitale," Luca turned from the passenger seat and explained quietly. "She's also the most powerful voice in the Vitale family."
I suddenly remembered long, long ago, on a Hampton beach, when Matteo had solemnly said he wanted to bring me to Sicily. Same destination now, but my state of mind couldn't be more different.
The car stopped. I forced back my tears, took a deep breath, composed my expression, and got out holding Sofia.
Matteo first briefly introduced me to several distinguished family elders, then walked to the old woman, bowed respectfully, and kissed the back of her hand where she wore an emerald ring.
"Mother, this is Rachel. This is Sofia."
Holding my daughter, I greeted each elder in turn. They only scrutinized me with evaluating gazes, and Camilla didn't even give me a proper look, her eyes falling on Sofia instead.
She reached out and took Sofia from my arms, examining those eyes identical to Matteo's carefully. After a long look, she said a long string of words in Italian I couldn't understand at all, her expression softening slightly.
When finished, she carried Sofia and led the way into the main hall. I stood frozen, worried about Sofia and unsure what to do.
"My mother was complimenting Sofia on how beautiful she is." Matteo came to my side and took my hand. "Come on, let's go in. Your room's ready."
He led me to a spacious suite on the second floor.
"Sofia..." I grabbed his arm nervously. "She's alone with your mother. Will she be okay?"
"Don't worry." Matteo patted my hand reassuringly. "Camilla likes her very much. She'll be fine. You need to get some sleep now."
I still couldn't sleep well. The next morning, while it was still dim outside, I was startled awake by urgent knocking.
A middle-aged woman in uniform with her hair in a high bun stood at the door. No expression on her face.
"Ms. Kane, I'm Rosalia. Madam has ordered you to report to the kitchen at five o'clock sharp." Her tone was almost commanding. "Antonia will teach you how to make traditional Sicilian almond pastries—one of the basic skills required of the Vitale family's future mistress."
Future mistress?
"Hey, I'm not—"
"Please change and come downstairs as soon as possible."
She stopped listening to me and just stood guard at the door. I had no choice but to throw on clothes and follow her to the kitchen.
The kitchen was already bustling. Antonia pointed with a stern face at a huge ceramic basin and a bag of flour that had to weigh at least twenty pounds, telling me over and over in heavily accented English the essentials of kneading dough.
The dough was dry and hard. I used every ounce of strength just to work it open.
Sweat ran down my forehead into my eyes, stinging and painful.
My wrists and arms ached like they might snap, my knuckles rubbed raw by the rough basin interior.
Three hours later, when I'd finally kneaded that mass of dough to the smooth consistency that made Antonia nod approval, both my arms had completely lost feeling.
And this was just the beginning. All day, Camilla tested my endurance and limits in every way possible.
She sent away all the gardeners and made me organize the vast western wing of the olive grove alone.
From pruning excess branches to recording each tree's fruit production to verifying the previous quarter's output accounts.
Before I could catch my breath, I was summoned to the artifact storage room on the castle's third floor. Camilla had the housekeeper bring out a set of supposedly three-generation-old elaborate silver tableware and made me polish, shine, and arrange each piece in strict order.
Matteo tried to help, but I refused him every time. I didn't want him to see even a hint of my dishevelment. I hadn't come here seeking his protection. I was simply fulfilling an exchange a mother had to make for her daughter.
When it all ended, my back and waist ached, but I still had to force myself to bathe, change, and attend the evening welcoming banquet.
I put on the gown Matteo had sent over that morning, holding onto a faint hope—at such a formal occasion, in front of outsiders, surely Camilla would leave me some dignity.
But when I walked into the banquet hall on Matteo's arm, a tuxedoed protocol officer approached respectfully. He bowed slightly to me.
"Ms. Kane, your seat is over there."
He extended his white-gloved hand, pointing to the most remote corner of the hall, right next to the band. A small table with only one place setting. Alone.
The entire hall fell silent. Every guest's eyes turned to me.
My face burned. Matteo's expression darkened. He gripped my hand, about to explode.
"It's fine." I pressed down on his hand. "I'll sit over there." I summoned every ounce of strength to force out a proper smile.
I pulled away from him, straightened my spine, and walked step by step to my seat under everyone's gaze.
Sofia, sitting in Camilla's lap, saw me and struggled to run over.
Camilla held her firmly in place. I looked at Sofia's expensive dress and the maids carefully attending her, and my worry eased slightly.
As long as Sofia was okay, I could bear this level of humiliation.
The feast began. Strings played, guests chatted and laughed. I just sat there, numb.
Camilla first toasted several guests who'd come all the way from Rome, then turned slightly toward Mrs. Elena on her right. Mrs. Elena wore a deep purple gown, her emerald necklace weighing heavily at her collarbone, wrinkles lining her eyes when she smiled.
"It's been ages, Elena. Last time you visited was the year Alberto got engaged."
"Right." Elena clinked her glass with a laugh. "In a blink, the children are grown, and we're old."
Camilla smiled faintly, raising her glass to her lips for a sip.
Elena glanced at several young women at the tables. "Young girls these days aren't like we were. Bolder, more ambitious. They dare reach for whatever they want."
"Indeed." Camilla set down her wineglass.
"Some girls get by on a pretty face and start thinking they belong in circles far above their breeding.
They never seem to remember where they came from.
An unmarried mother, no less..." She let out a disapproving hum.
"In our day, that sort of thing would have been unthinkable. "
Her voice wasn't loud, but loud enough for several nearby tables to hear clearly. Everyone tactfully stopped their cutlery. The white napkin on my lap was twisted into a tight ball in my grip.