Chapter 2 At the Edge of His World #3
"It's fine," I say. "The arrangements look beautiful. That's what matters."
He nods and moves away with his tray, and I stand there for a moment holding my water glass and watching the party continue without me.
Leon is still with the important landowner, Vera hovering nearby, her hand occasionally touching his arm in a gesture that looks maternal but feels proprietary.
The new neighbors have been absorbed into a conversation with some of the older families, the wife looking slightly overwhelmed but managing.
The sitting room is beautiful in the candlelight, elegant and warm, full of people who belong here and one person who keeps trying to. I move toward the windows, not retreating exactly, just finding a place to breathe.
That's when Vera's voice cuts through the murmur of conversation, pleasant and carrying.
"If I could have everyone's attention for just a moment."
"I have a small announcement," Vera says, once enough people have gathered.
Her voice is pleasant and warm, the voice of a gracious hostess sharing good news with dear friends.
"As many of you know, we've been planning an expansion of the estate's operations.
Leon has been working very hard on establishing our presence in the overseas market, particularly with our almond and olive oil exports. "
There are murmurs of approval from the assembled guests.
Leon is standing near his mother now, and he looks uncomfortable in the way he always does when attention is focused on him.
He catches my eye across the room and gives me a small, apologetic shrug, as if to say: I didn't know she was going to do this.
"To help with this endeavor," Vera continues, "we've invited a prospective investor with experience overseas and a deep understanding of our family's values and traditions."
"Many of you remember Nadia," Vera says, and the name lands like a stone in still water. "Her family has been connected with ours for generations. I'm delighted to say that she'll be returning to work with us on the overseas launch."
The room murmurs with approval. Several of the older guests exchange glances, and I wonder how many of them once expected to be invited to Leon and Nadia's wedding.
I watch Leon across the room. His shoulders have gone very still, the kind of stillness that looks like composure but isn't. His face is pleasant, neutral, the face of a man who has been trained since childhood not to show surprise in public.
But his hand, the one hanging at his side where most people aren't looking, has curled into a fist and then slowly uncurled again.
Did he know?
I can't tell. I have been married to this man for two years, have known him for longer than that, and in this moment his face is as unreadable as a stranger's.
Nadia. I know who she is, of course. I have always known.
Leon and I grew up in the same world, him in the main house and me below stairs, and even servants' children hear things.
The Rosciano heir and the match his mother had arranged for him.
The proper bride for the proper family. The woman who would have been standing here tonight if Leon had done what was expected of him.
I remember, years ago, overhearing Vera tell a guest that the place beside her son would always be waiting for the right person to fill it.
I was seventeen, invisible in the way servants' daughters are invisible, carrying a tray of glasses through a room full of people who looked right through me.
I didn't know then that the place she meant would someday be mine.
Leon makes his way through the crowd toward me, his face carefully blank. When he reaches my side, he leans in close and says, quietly enough that only I can hear, "I didn't know."
"I believe you."
"Ysabel." His hand finds mine, squeezes tightly. "This doesn't change anything."
I look at him, at the man who chose me over everything his mother wanted for him, and I want to believe that.
I want to believe it so badly it hurts. But Vera is still smiling at the center of the room, accepting congratulations on her clever business decision, and I am standing in the corner of my own party with a glass of water in my hand.
"When?" I ask.
"When what?"
"When is she coming?"
Leon hesitates, and I see him look toward his mother, then turn back to me with something like resignation in his eyes.
"I don't know," he admits. "She didn't tell me any of this. I'll find out."
"You do that."
"We should talk about this later," Leon says. "After everyone leaves."
"Yes. We should."
"But you're angry."
I turn to look at him fully, this man I love, this man who chose me, this man who keeps making promises he doesn't know how to keep. "I'm not angry at you."
"Then what?"
Across the room, Vera catches my eye and smiles, warm and welcoming and sharp as a knife.
"I'm angry," I say quietly, "that your mother just announced my replacement to a room full of people who were already wondering why you married me in the first place."