11. Niccolo
— ? —
Niccolo
The estate has never been this quiet.
I’ve lived here my entire life, through my father’s rages and my mother’s silences and the endless parade of staff and guests and obligations.
There was always noise, always movement, always something demanding attention.
But now the halls echo with my footsteps and the rooms feel cavernous and the staff move around me like ghosts, speaking in whispers when they speak at all. She’s been gone five days.
Five days since I came home to find her ring on the counter.
Five days since I called her phone again and again and got nothing but voicemail. Five days of replaying the evening in my head, trying to understand what went wrong, what I missed, what could possibly have made her leave like that.
Giulia collected Charlotte’s car the morning after - I arranged it, not wanting any trace of that evening left behind. I’ve called Talia. She hung up on me. I’ve called the house in Vallechiara.
Someone who sounded like Emil answered, said “She doesn’t want to talk to you,” and disconnected before I could respond. I’ve written letters. Texts. Emails. All of them unanswered.
And through it all, a feeling has been growing in the back of my mind, a wrongness I can’t quite name. The garden party my mother arranged so conveniently.
Charlotte showing up at the vacation house, alone, in tears, on the exact day I was planning to reconcile with my wife. The timing that looked like coincidence but feels, the more I turn it over, like something else entirely.
“Signor Morelli?” One of the housekeepers appears in the doorway of my study. “Your mother is asking if you’ll be joining her for dinner.”
My mother. Who I’ve barely spoken to in five days, because every time I look at her I feel that wrongness pulse stronger.
“Tell her I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
***
The dining room is set for two, candles lit, wine poured, everything perfectly arranged. My mother sits at her usual place, dressed for dinner as if this were a normal evening and not the wreckage of everything I built.
“You look terrible,” she says by way of greeting. “Have you slept at all?”
“Not much.”
“You should take something. I can have Dr. Marchetti send over a prescription.”
“I don’t need medication. I need my wife to answer her phone.”
Matilde’s expression doesn’t change. “Perhaps she needs time. These emotional situations often require a cooling-off period.”
“These emotional situations.” I set down my fork, appetite gone. “You mean my marriage falling apart.”
“I mean a difficult moment that will resolve itself once everyone calms down. Danielle has always been… reactive. I’m sure once she’s had a chance to think clearly-”
“What happened at the garden party?”
The question lands between us like a stone in still water.
“I’m sorry?”
“The garden party. The one you took Danielle to. What happened there?”
My mother takes a delicate sip of wine. “Nothing out of the ordinary. She seemed overwhelmed by the company, which isn’t surprising given her background. I did my best to ease her way, but these things can be difficult for people who aren’t accustomed to-”
“Did anyone say anything to her?”
“Say anything? What do you mean?”
“I mean-” I stop, trying to find the right words.
“She called me. Multiple times, starting at three forty-seven, while I was at the vacation house setting up the dinner. She sent a text saying she needed me. I missed all of it because my phone was on the kitchen shelf, silenced. And then Charlotte showed up after four, crying about her ex-fiancé, and I drove her home because she couldn’t drive herself. ”
Something flickers across my mother’s face. Just for a moment.
“How unfortunate that Charlotte’s timing was so poor.”
“Yes. Very unfortunate.” I lean forward. “Mother, how did Charlotte know I was at the vacation house?”
“I may have mentioned it. We were discussing your romantic plans, and I thought it was sweet that you were going to such trouble. Charlotte has always been a romantic at heart - I’m sure I didn’t think there was any harm in sharing.”
“You mentioned it.”
“In passing. Casual conversation.”
The wrongness pulses again, stronger now. My mother, who never says anything casual. Who plans every word, every interaction, like moves on a chess board.
“And the garden party? Whose idea was that?”
“Mine, of course. I thought Danielle would enjoy a social outing while you prepared your surprise. Was I not supposed to look after your wife in your absence?”
“You were supposed to-” I stop. Take a breath. “What time did she leave the party?”
“I really couldn’t say. I was occupied with the Contessa. Danielle mentioned she wasn’t feeling well and I assumed she’d gone home to rest.”
“She might not have gone home.”
“No?”
“She could have gone to the vacation house. And if she did, she would have found me there with Charlotte.”
My mother sets down her wine glass, and her face arranges itself into an expression of concern that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “If that happened, it must have looked… unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate.”
“I only mean that if Danielle arrived to find you comforting another woman, one could understand how she might misinterpret the situation. Especially given her tendency toward emotional reactions.”
I stare at my mother, and something cold settles in my stomach.
The convenient garden party. Charlotte’s arrival at the vacation house.
The careful way my mother steered Danielle toward an event full of hostile people, on the exact day I was trying to do something good. The pattern is too neat. Too precise.
“How did Charlotte know where to find me?” I ask slowly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You told Charlotte where I’d be. You sent Danielle to that party knowing she’d be miserable. And Charlotte showed up at the vacation house at the exact time I was supposed to be leaving to collect my wife.” I lean forward. “That’s a lot of coincidences, Mother.”
“That’s a very serious accusation, Niccolo.”
“Is it? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you orchestrated the whole thing.”
My mother’s expression doesn’t change, but something hardens in her eyes.
“I have only ever wanted what’s best for this family.
If your marriage is in trouble, perhaps you should look at the foundation instead of casting blame elsewhere.
That girl was never suited to this life. Everyone could see it except you.”
“That girl is my wife.”
“For now.” The words hang in the air between us. “But marriages end, Niccolo. People make mistakes and then they correct them. It’s not the tragedy you’re making it out to be.”
I push back from the table and stand.
“Listen to me carefully,” I say, and my voice comes out colder than I’ve ever heard it.
“Whatever you did, whatever part you played in this - I will find out. And until I do, you will stay away from my wife. You will not contact her, you will not send messages through friends or family or anyone else, and you will not interfere in my marriage again. Do you understand?”
My mother looks up at me, and for just a moment I see something calculating in her expression, something that looks almost pleased.
“Of course, dear. Whatever you think is best.”
She reaches for her wine glass, calm as ever, and I leave the dining room before I say something I can’t take back. In the hallway, I stop and press my hand against the wall, breathing hard. Something is very wrong here.
The timing, the coincidences, my mother’s careful non-denials - none of it adds up to innocence.
But I don’t have proof, and confronting her directly only put her on guard, and I still don’t know exactly what my wife saw or what finally made her leave.
What I do know is that I need to find Danielle.
And this time, I’m going to do it right.