Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
“I don’t expect you to.”
“I may never.”
“I know.”
She steps closer.
For one second, I think she intends to return the handkerchief.
Instead, her arms wrap around me.
I go still.
Lucia rests her cheek against my chest.
This embrace is different from the one she gave Gio this morning.
Not easier.
Careful.
Uncertain.
Offered despite everything between us.
I bring my arms around her slowly. The glass rabbit is trapped between us, and I adjust my hand so I don’t press it into her ribs.
My palm settles against the middle of her back.
Nothing more.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“You’re welcome.”
She holds me for three heartbeats.
Four.
Then she releases me.
The distance returns.
But not all of it.
She places the rabbit back on the shelf.
“I want the children’s reading room here.”
“In this office?”
“No. Upstairs. But I want these on shelves where they can see them.”
“You’ll lose some.”
“Probably.”
“They’ll break.”
“Then they break.”
Her smile is faint.
“Beautiful things are meant to be used.”
Angela’s lesson.
Lucia has made it her own.
#
We return to Belmont shortly before one.
Moretti has already arrived.
He stands in the courtyard beside the pool, speaking with Bruno. His men remain closer to the house than ours would prefer. Armando has placed two additional guards near the conservatory doors in response.
The resemblance between Matteo and Lucia seems more evident in daylight.
Not their features exactly.
The way they hold themselves when assessing unfamiliar ground. Their stillness while their attention moves.
Matteo sees her through the glass doors.
His gaze settles on the rabbit she still carries.
“You found them,” he says when she enters the courtyard.
“Marco did.”
His attention moves to me.
Something guarded enters it.
“Did he?”
Lucia ignores the tone.
She shows him the rabbit.
“I broke this when I was little.”
“Maria kept everything.”
“I’m beginning to understand that.”
Matteo gives her a velvet box.
His gift is a watch.
Platinum, set with small diamonds around the face.
It likely costs more than most people earn in a year.
“It belonged to your grandmother,” he explains.
Lucia looks at it.
“My grandmother?”
“My mother. She would have wanted you to have it.”
“Did she know about me?”
“No.”
The single word dims the moment.
Matteo fastens the watch around Lucia’s wrist.
He doesn’t ask first.
The gesture is gentle.
Still, I notice.
So does Lucia.
She thanks him and draws her hand back.
Lunch is served on the west terrace outside the kitchen.
Angela has made enough food for twice the number of guests. Dario, Bruno, and Armando join us, despite Moretti’s apparent expectation of a private family meal.
This is Lucia’s family.
All of it.
Matteo watches her move among them.
Bruno gives her the last pastry without pretending he doesn’t want it. Dario asks whether she plans to keep the old Rossi sign. Armando reminds her that the city permits need approval before restoration begins.
Gio steals food from her plate.
She steals it back.
I sit across from her.
She touches the glass rabbit beside her wineglass once during the meal.
Then her gaze finds mine.
The anger is still there.
Something else exists beside it now.
After lunch, Angela brings out the cake.
The candles are blue.
Gio looks unbearably pleased.
Everyone sings.
Matteo does not.
He watches Lucia.
Twenty-four flames cast light across her face.
“Make a wish,” Gio tells her.
Lucia closes her eyes.
Then blows them out.
I don’t ask what she wished for.
The party continues until late afternoon.
Matteo remains after everyone else begins drifting away.
Lucia takes her gifts upstairs. Gio follows with the boxes.
Angela carries the dishes into the kitchen, refusing help from anyone.
Matteo and I are left alone on the terrace.
It isn’t accidental.
He pours himself more wine.
“You returned my daughter to Viktor Mikhailov.”
The words arrive without preamble.
“Yes.”
“You drove her to the house and left her there.”
“Yes.”
“You then attacked Mikhailov’s businesses.”
“Yes.”
“And when the pressure became sufficient, you paid him more than ten million dollars and married her.”
“The total was closer to eleven.”
His eyes harden.
“That isn’t a distinction in your favor.”
“No.”
He sets down his glass with exact care.
“I spent the morning learning about you.”
“I assumed.”
“Your brother slept in Lucia’s room the night she returned.”
The fact that he knows produces a flash of anger.
“How?”
“Staff talk.”
“You’ve been interrogating my staff?”
“My daughter lives here.”
“My wife lives here.”
His expression goes cold.
“That arrangement is temporary.”
“Only if Lucia decides it is.”
“She agreed to one year.”
“She now has immediate access to divorce.”
“So I was told.”
Of course he was.
“You kissed her at the church,” Matteo says.
“She kissed me.”
“In front of Mikhailov’s men.”
“Yes.”
“Your brother kissed her at the Rossi building.”
The anger sharpens.
“That isn’t your concern.”
“Everything involving Lucia is my concern.”
“No.”
The word settles between us.
Matteo studies me.
“You believe marrying her gives you greater authority than her father?”
“No.”
“Then we agree.”
“Marriage gives me no authority over her. Neither does blood give you any.”
His mouth tightens.
“She has known you for less than two months.”
“And you for one day.”
“I’m her father.”
“Possibly.”
His expression becomes dangerous.
“The laboratory will confirm it.”
“Then you’ll be a man who contributed half her DNA. What relationship comes after is her decision.”
“You speak often about her decisions for someone who returned her to captivity without asking.”
The words strike precisely.
I let them.
“You decided for her when you put her in that car.”
“Yes.”
“And now you expect me to trust that you’ve changed.”
“No.”
“What do you expect?”
“Nothing from you.”
The answer displeases him.
“You will annul the marriage.”
“No.”
“You admitted it was coerced.”
“Yes.”
“Then end it.”
“Lucia has the documents. She can file whenever she chooses.”
“You’re holding her with money, gratitude, and obligation.”
“The money is hers. She owes me nothing.”