15. Laney
LANEY
I waited until we were alone in our rooms.
Massimo stood by the window with his back to me, still wearing the jacket from dinner. This question had built inside me until it felt like something physical lodged in my chest. I couldn't keep swallowing around it.
"Was she here?" My voice came out smaller than I wanted. "In our rooms. At night. While I was gone."
He didn't turn around. His shoulders went rigid under the expensive fabric, and that was answer enough.
"Laney—"
"Just tell me."
He turned then, slowly, and the expression on his face made my stomach twist. Not guilt exactly, but something close enough that the difference didn't matter. His jaw was tight, his eyes dark and guarded in a way I'd never seen directed at me before.
"She came to the door," he said. "I didn't let her in."
My throat went tight. "But she was here."
"At the door."
"At night."
"Yes."
God, I wanted him to keep talking. To explain why she'd come, what she'd wanted, what he'd said to send her away.
I wanted the details that would prove Vittoria had lied about the rest of it.
But he just stood there watching me with that careful expression, like I was something breakable he was trying not to drop.
The silence stretched between us until it hurt.
"Where were you?" His voice was quiet, controlled in that way that meant he was holding something back. "In Rome."
I blinked. "What?"
"You were there with Nate." He stepped toward me and I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands flexed at his sides like he wanted to reach for something and couldn't. "Why?"
My pulse kicked up. "I was working."
"For three days?"
"I went to see Professor Benedetti." The words came out defensive. "About a letter of recommendation. Nate came with me."
"And stayed with you." His voice was flat now, empty in a way that scared me more than anger would have. "For three days. You didn't tell anyone here who Nate was."
Everything in me wanted to explain. To tell him Nate was just a friend, that the letter was for getting back into academia, that it wasn't what it sounded like. But the words caught in my throat because she was here, at our door, at night, and he still hadn't explained that.
"We met with the professor," I said. My hands were shaking. I crossed my arms to hide it. "Nate's a friend from university. Someone who knows my work. The professor agreed to write the letter."
"And the rest of the time?"
The question hit me like whiplash. "What?"
"Three days, Laney. What about the rest of the time."
My stomach dropped. Oh God. He actually thought?—
"I stayed alone." My voice came out sharp, stung. "I was working on my applications, Massimo. Getting my career back."
He nodded slowly, but I could see it in his face. He didn't believe me.
The realization settled over me like something cold and suffocating. Everything I'd just said was true. Every word. But standing here in our bedroom with three days in Rome between us and Vittoria's visit hanging in the air, the truth sounded exactly like a lie.
And I could see in his eyes that his truth probably sounded the same to me.
"This is what we are now," I said quietly. My chest ached. "You don't believe me and I don't believe you."
"Laney—"
"Vittoria told me things about you and her."
The words came out before I could stop them. Massimo went very still.
"What did she say."
It wasn't a question. I swallowed hard, my throat tight. "It doesn't matter what she said."
"It matters if you believed it."
I laughed, and it hurt. "I don't know what I believe, Massimo. I only know you won't explain." My throat was burning now. "You won't even tell me why she came to our door at night."
"I sent her away."
"That's not an explanation."
"It's the truth."
"So is Rome!" My voice broke on the words.
I pressed my hand against my sternum, trying to breathe through the tightness there.
"Nate is a friend from university. We went to see Professor Benedetti about a letter of recommendation, and then I came home.
That's all it was. That's the whole truth.
But you're standing there looking at me like I'm lying to you, and I can see it, Massimo. You don't believe me."
He was quiet for a long moment, his dark eyes searching my face like he was looking for something he couldn't find. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough.
"I want to."
Those three words gutted me.
"But you don't."
He didn't answer. He didn't have to.
I turned away from him, my vision blurring.
My hands were shaking again and I shoved them into my pockets.
The room felt too small suddenly, the air too thin.
Ten years. We'd been married for ten years, and somewhere along the way we'd become two people who couldn't trust each other enough to hear the truth when it was standing right in front of us.
"Let it end," I said.
"What?"
I made myself look at him. "This. Us. Let it end, Massimo."
His face went white. "Laney, no?—"
"We can't keep doing this." My voice was shaking now but I pushed through it.
"I can't keep living in your family's house while your mother schemes against me and Vittoria shows up at our bedroom door and you look at me like you're waiting for me to confess to something I didn't do. I can't do it anymore."
"Don't." He crossed the space between us in two strides, close enough now that I could feel the heat coming off him. "Don't say that. Whatever's happened, we can fix it?—"
"How?" The word came out sharp. "You won't explain and I can't prove something that didn't happen. There's nothing to fix, Massimo. It's already broken."
He reached for me and I stepped back. The hurt that flashed across his face nearly undid me, but I couldn't let him touch me. Not now. If he touched me I'd fold, and I couldn't afford to fold anymore.
"I'm taking Sofia to Rome," I said.
"No." His voice was hard now, desperate. "You're not taking my daughter?—"
"She's my daughter too." I met his eyes. "And nobody in this family is going to stop me."
He stared at me like I'd struck him. For a moment I thought he might argue, might stand between me and the door and refuse to let me go. But he just stood there, his hands clenched at his sides, his jaw working like he was biting back words that wouldn't help.
I turned before I could change my mind and walked to the closet.
My suitcase was on the top shelf where it had been since I'd unpacked from Rome.
It felt like a lifetime ago now. I pulled it down and set it on the bed, then started taking clothes off hangers.
Massimo didn't move. I could feel him watching me but I didn't let myself look at him. If I looked at him I'd lose my nerve.
Dresses. Jeans. The sweater I'd bought in Florence two years ago. Everything went into the suitcase in neat folded stacks because even now, even leaving, I couldn't bring myself to just throw things in. My hands were steadier now that I had something to do with them.
I was reaching for my toiletry bag when my fingers brushed against something in the back of the drawer. Paper, thin and glossy. I pulled it out without thinking and then froze.
The photograph.
God, I'd forgotten it was here. Me and Massimo at the dig, maybe two years into our marriage.
We were both filthy, dirt streaked across our faces and embedded under our fingernails.
He had his arm around my waist and I was holding up a pottery shard, grinning like I'd just discovered gold.
He was looking at the camera but I was looking at him.
I remembered that day. He'd driven out to the site on his lunch break to bring me food because I'd forgotten to eat again.
We'd sat on the ground together in the shade of the excavation tent and he'd asked me questions about the work, real questions, listening to my answers like they mattered.
When I'd found the shard he'd insisted on taking a picture.
That was before he stopped coming to the dig. Before he started patting my hand when I tried to talk about my research, his eyes already moving to the next thing.
I stood there holding the photograph, my chest so tight I could barely breathe.
"Laney." Massimo's voice was rough. "What is that?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. I set the photograph down on the dresser and went back to packing.
The toiletry bag went in. My laptop. The stack of books on my nightstand. I moved through the room methodically, gathering pieces of my life and fitting them into the suitcase. It shouldn't all fit so easily.
When I was done I closed the suitcase and zipped it shut. The sound was very loud in the quiet room.
There was one more thing.
I went to my desk and opened the bottom drawer. The family history sat there, years of work piecing together the Lombardo line back to Rome. Charts and notes. Photographs of artifacts. Maps I'd drawn by hand.
My name wasn't on any of it.
Anonymous work. American girl playing at scholarship while the real family carried on around her.
I picked it up and carried it to Costanza's sitting room.
She wasn't there. Good. I didn't want to see her face when I left this. I set it on her desk where she'd find it in the morning, then walked back to our rooms before I could second-guess myself.
Massimo hadn't moved. He was standing by the bed now, staring at my closed suitcase like it was something he couldn't quite comprehend.
"The family history is done," I said. My voice sounded distant, detached. "I left it on your mother's desk."
His head jerked up. "Laney?—"
"I need to get Sofia."
I picked up the suitcase and walked past him. He caught my arm, his fingers warm through the thin fabric of my sleeve. The touch sent a jolt through me and I hated that it did, hated that even now my body responded to him like this.
"Please don't go." His voice was barely above a whisper. "Whatever I have to do to fix this, tell me. I'll do it."
I looked at his hand on my arm, then up at his face. He looked wrecked. Lost. Like he was watching something slip away and couldn't figure out how to hold on to it.
"You could have told me the truth," I said quietly. "About Vittoria. About why she came to our door. You could have trusted me enough to explain."
"I sent her away."
"I know." My throat was burning. "But I still don't know why she came. And you still don't believe me about Rome. That's the problem, Massimo. That's the thing you can't fix."
I pulled my arm free gently, carefully, and walked out.
Sofia's room was dark but she was awake, sitting up in bed with her stuffed rabbit clutched against her chest. She looked at me with those serious dark eyes that were so much like her father's.
"Mamma?" Her voice was small. "Are we leaving?"
God, she knew. Of course she knew.
"Yes, baby." I sat down on the edge of her bed and smoothed her hair back from her face. "We're going to Rome for a while."
"Is Papà coming?"
The question broke something in me. "Not right now."
She was quiet for a moment, studying my face. Then she nodded and climbed out of bed, still holding her rabbit.
I helped her pack a small bag with clothes and books and her favorite things. She moved through it solemnly, carefully, like she understood this wasn't a vacation. When we were done I took her hand and we walked downstairs together.
The palazzo was quiet. No one came out to stop us. No Costanza appearing in a doorway. No Enzo blocking the stairs. No Rosaria asking questions. Just silence and shadows and the echo of our footsteps on marble floors.
The car was waiting where I'd called for it. I put Sofia's bag in first, then my suitcase, then helped Sofia into the back seat. She buckled herself in without being asked and pressed her face against the window, looking up at the palazzo.
I climbed in beside her and gave the driver the address in Rome. The engine started, smooth and quiet, and we pulled away from the curb.
I didn't look back.