Chapter 17 Lia
LIA
My knees hit the cold tile just as a violent wave of nausea crashes over me. My fingers clutch the rim of the toilet, my hair sticking to the sweat on my neck as I expel all the contents of my stomach into the ceramic bowl. I heave and heave until nothing comes up, until I’m empty.
This is the fourth morning in a row.
I rinse out my mouth, splash water on my face, and stare at myself in the mirror above the sink. Pale. Tired. Lips cracked. The hollowness under my eyes looks worse in the light.
This house is draining me in ways I don’t have words for. I tell myself it’s stress, trauma from the recent events. Heck, even the food. Maybe there’s a bug going around.
Until I realize my period is due, and I can’t find it anywhere.
The thought sinks in slowly, like mud in water. I stumble back into the room and sit on the edge of the bed, pressing my palms against my thighs to steady the tremble. My chest tightens, and my mind races.
No! It is the stress. It can’t be—
I shake my head as memories of that night flood through my brain. The way Francesco kissed me like he was trying to drown himself in me, the way he slammed into me like he was trying to get me out of his system.
God.
I don’t have a test. I cannot leave this house; I haven’t left since I was brought here two years ago.
I can’t exactly ask one of the maids sent on market runs to buy me a test kit.
The last thing I want is for anyone to find out about my suspicion.
Gossip spreads fast amongst the servants of this house.
Which is exactly why I know what to do.
Last week, when I was fetching linens from the back hallway, I overheard two of the older maids. They were giggling about one of the younger maids, Paula, missing her period. One of them said they had caught her sneaking a pregnancy test kit out of the grocery bag in the kitchen.
That’s it. That’s my only shot.
It is still very early in the morning. The house is eerily quiet, and the halls stretch long and dark. My heart pounds as I sneak out of my room and tiptoe all the way down to Paula’s room barefoot. Paula’s door is cracked open just slightly, and I crouch beside it, barely breathing.
Her soft snores fill the air, and I catch my breath for a few seconds before slipping inside.
The room smells like powder and faint perfume. I crawl on my knees toward her bedside table. I slowly and carefully open all the drawers, scanning their contents. Nothing.
My heart drops in my stomach. I didn’t take this risk coming all the way down here for nothing.
I glance around the small room that is almost identical to mine, except for the few changes in interior decoration. The only other place the kit could be is in the adjoining bathroom. I slowly move toward the door.
“Stop it.”
My whole body freezes. My heart hammers against my chest. I’ve been caught. What explanation will I give for sneaking into her room?
I wait for a few seconds to be called out, but when I don’t hear anything, I slowly turn to look at Paula’s body on the bed, still asleep. Her lips are moving, but no words are coming out.
She talks in her sleep.
A heavy breath rushes out of my lips. I continue my journey to the bathroom, even more careful now. The moment I slip into the room, I see it on the sink. A thin pink box. Thank god. She hasn’t used it yet.
I grab it and creep back out, my hands shaking. The journey back to my room is easier and faster. The moment I get in, I lock the door behind me and rush to the bathroom. I tear open the box with trembling fingers and follow the instructions written on the box.
Even though I’ve never had a reason to do this before, it’s not hard. It’s terrifyingly easy.
I sit on the edge of the bathtub, waiting. A minute passes. Then two.
I stare at the two pink lines glaring back at me.
Positive.
My hands go slack, and the stick clatters to the floor.
I sit there, frozen, for what feels like forever. The world tilts and shifts around me, but I don’t move. I don’t cry. I just stare at the pale-colored wall before me.
Dawn is breaking by the time I finally move. I hide the test in the back of my dresser, wrapping it in an old scarf and burying it beneath a pile of clothes. Secrets don’t last long in this house. Eventually, the truth will come out. But that is the last thing I want to think about now.
The next few hours feel like walking through a nightmare.
In the kitchen, I am completely zoned out of the conversation among other maids. My soul doesn’t feel like it’s in my body; that is, until Marta claps her hands near my face.
“Lia. Are you all right?”
I blink up at her. “What?”
“You’ve been scrubbing the same spot for over fifteen minutes. Are you sick or something?”
Everyone has paused and is looking at me, a few with worried looks on their faces.
“I’m just tired,” I say.
“With everything that has been going on recently, I don’t blame you,” Allegra mutters with a sigh.
Marta pats my shoulders twice before returning to whatever she was doing.
That is when I realize how tense the air is and what exactly they were talking about.
“I was asked to clean that area yesterday,” one of the girls says under her breath as she chops carrots. “I intentionally missed that spot. I might be a cleaner, but that doesn’t mean I clean up after dead bodies.”
Another maid snorts. “It’s been four days, and that place gets cleaned every day.”
“It doesn’t matter,” the former says. “I saw his body drop there. I just can’t…”
Cassian’s body was found four days ago. I wasn’t there when they pulled him down, but the whole house buzzed with it. You can still feel the fear and tension in every corner of the house.
No one’s allowed to speak openly, but people talk anyway. The guards talk in corners of the house. The maids whisper in the kitchen and backyard. Some say he hanged himself. Others say it wasn’t like that, that his neck was broken before his body was strung up.
I’ve always known we lived amongst murderers.
We lived in an estate that belonged to a family soaked in blood.
But this… it is different. I feel it in my gut.
The Romanos… and the Morettis and whoever else they are involved with deal in secret.
Death has never been brandished so publicly in this house before.
“I heard even his family didn’t give him a proper burial,” Allegra whispers with wide eyes.
“His death was shameful,” another maid adds. “Especially for a seer like him.”
“A seer who couldn’t foresee his own death,” Allegra snorts, but goes quiet when Marta hisses for her to keep her voice down.
My hand tightens around the cloth I’m holding. I remember everything Cassian said to me. About blood. About history. About a prophecy.
My stomach flips again, but this time from panic and fear.
“He was a madman,” Paula, who has been quiet since the conversation started, says. “Always going around saying things no one could understand. What I don’t get is why he would kill himself here, in the Romano estate.”
The kitchen goes quiet for a while, but my brain is anything but that. It’s roaring with my unending thoughts. A part of me briefly wonders when Paula will realize something is missing from her bathroom. Another part of me ponders over her last statement.
Why was Cassian’s body found here, of all places?
Why was he here the night before? Why did he follow me to the cellar? How did he know where to find me?
I grab the counter until my knuckles turn white, resisting the urge to rub my stomach. My skin is cold, and my body feels weak.
There’s a baby in my stomach and a murderer lurking in the hallways.
And among all this, I haven’t seen Francesco since the night of his engagement ceremony. He was the one who cut Cassian’s body down from where it was hanging. I assume there’s an ongoing investigation into what exactly happened.
A part of me wants to collapse into his strong, big arms while he comforts me and tells me everything will be okay.
Speaking of comfort, I haven’t seen Marco either after the night at the stables, where he let me cry on his shoulder and fall asleep without a word.
When I woke up the next morning, I was in my bed, and it was the last time I saw him.
The more reasonable and terrified part of me doesn’t want to see any of them.
I can’t face Francesco, especially not with the child in my womb.
Every single scenario I have imagined telling him the truth ends terribly.
And Marco… my chest twists in guilt whenever I remember him.
He’s been nothing but loving and kind to me. He won’t take this well.
I distract myself for the rest of the day. If I keep thinking about my situation, I might have a panic attack.
Later in the evening, I overhear some voices from the dining hall where the Romanos are having dinner.
I wonder if Francesco is present at the dining table, but I don’t want to find out.
When Marta asks me to bring water to the table, I shake my head and pretend to be busy with something else. She frowns but doesn’t push.
As soon as my work in the kitchen is done, I grab a small plate, take it to my room, and lock the door. The food barely touches my tongue before it comes back up. I don’t make it to the bathroom in time. I throw up in the corner of the door, hand over my mouth, tears stinging my eyes.
I clean up the mess, take a cold shower, and try to sleep. I can’t.
I lie in the dark, my arms wrapped around my stomach, and all I can think about is how alone I am. I can’t tell anyone what I’m going through. I have to deal with it all by myself.
I think about Cassian’s body, the way it was described hanging off the chandelier in the corridor leading to the east wing. I am glad I never saw the body myself, but it doesn’t stop my brain from conjuring up the image.
I think about what he said to me that night.
I know it’s not a mere coincidence that he was found dead the morning after he revealed those things to me. He was murdered, that I am sure of, for what he knew. What he revealed.
They didn’t even bother to give him a proper burial. He wasn’t mourned, at least not around here. He was removed like trash, like he never mattered.
I press a hand against my stomach, eyes fluttering shut. A chill seeps into my skin. My thoughts are louder than they should be.
They’ll never let me keep this child.
Not here. Not in this family. Not after what I know, what I’ve caused. Whatever this is, they won’t let me walk away from it alive.
But I’m not going to give them the chance.
I curl tighter around myself. My hand rests on my flat stomach. I can’t believe there’s a life inside of me.
The knowledge burns something deep within me. Anger and determination curl their way up my spine.
“I’ll protect you no matter what,” I whisper vehemently.
I will leave this prison, even if it kills me.
Even if I have to burn this entire house down to do it.