Chapter 16
Olivia
Utterly disoriented, I bolted upright as if emerging from a coma, my heart hammering against my ribs. My breath came in ragged gasps as I scanned my surroundings, trying to understand where I was.
The walls were covered in gilded wallpaper adorned with an intricate fleur-de-lis pattern.
The four-poster bed I sat in gleamed with gold accents, its frame wrapped in deep royal blue velvet—the same fabric draping the pulled-back curtains that surrounded me.
Across from the bed stood heavy, ornately carved furniture flanking a window concealed by even more velvet.
I swallowed hard. This was a palace.
And I had no memory—absolutely none—of how I got here.
Throwing back the covers, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, only to find myself dressed in a long white muslin nightgown.
Holy hell, who dressed me?
My feet were bare. There was no sign of the clothes I had worn yesterday—if that moment even existed. The dissonance in my mind was suffocating.
Had I lost my grip on reality? Was this some warped consequence of time travel?
My fingers reached out instinctively, steadying myself against one of the bedframe’s carved columns. My gaze trailed down to the base of the column—massive paws, expertly engraved into the wood like the feet of a lion.
A shiver rolled through me.
Pushing off the bed, I staggered forward, my steps unsteady against the white tiles patterned with blue squares, each lined in gold and inscribed with an elegant M.
Who did that letter belong to?
My breath hitched as I turned toward the massive door at the far side of the room. The golden doorknob gleamed under the soft glow of candlelight.
Did I dare open it?
I hesitated, fingers curling around the cold brass handle, bracing myself for whatever lay beyond.
I turned it.
The door creaked open, revealing a long, dimly lit hallway.
The walls were adorned with intricate wallpaper, aged paintings staring down at me from gilded frames as if judging my presence.
An expensive-looking rug stretched along the corridor, its plush fibers swallowing the sound of my tentative footsteps.
An ornate staircase spiraled downward at the far end, disappearing into the unknown.
My pulse thrummed as I took my first step forward.
A young woman appeared, hurrying toward me in a swish of layered skirts. She wore a tightly laced corset over a long-sleeved striped blouse, a light-blue skirt with a bustle in the back, and a glossy striped scarf over her shoulders. Her breath came quickly as if she had rushed to find me.
She stopped before me, dipped into a curtsy, and asked, “Parli italiano?”
“Sì, lo parlo bene,” I said in a rush, grateful for the familiarity of the language.
Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Oh, good,” she said in Italian, pressing a hand to her chest. “The Master told me you only spoke English, which I’m afraid I do not.”
“Where am I?” I asked, scanning the hallway once more, trying to piece together the fragments of my last memory.
Her brow furrowed. “You are in the Master’s home, of course.”
A flicker of hope ignited in my chest. Could the Master be Malik?
“Is my sister Emily here?” I asked carefully.
Her expression darkened, and she lowered her gaze. “Poor Emily is so ill. She can’t keep anything down.”
A strange chill swept through me. “Can you take me to her?”
The maid hesitated, her gaze sweeping over me with mild disapproval. “Where is your dressing gown? You cannot wander the corridors like that. What if the Master were to see you in such a state?”
The Master—if it were Malik—had seen me in far less than a nightgown. But I had no desire to upset the household’s customs.
I gave her a slight nod. “Then show me to my armoire. I will dress properly.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she turned and gestured for me to follow. “This way, Signora.”
The maid curtsied again, adding, “My name is Giulia, by the way.”
“Olivia,” I said, pressing a hand to my sternum.
“I know,” Giulia murmured as she scurried ahead.
She already knew?
I followed her to an armoire, its doors opening to reveal an array of dresses and dressing gowns, all appearing to be my size. Hesitating only briefly, I selected a pale gray dress and changed quickly.
Giulia then led me to Emily’s room.
My sweet sister lay in bed, hunched over a pan of sick. She looked up weakly, her greenish pallor making my stomach turn.
“Oh, God, Olivia. This is awful.”
“I’m so sorry, Emily.” I crossed the room, sinking onto the mattress beside her, smoothing her tangled hair away from her clammy forehead. “Please get her a clean pan,” I told Giulia, who hovered nearby.
She nodded, picked up the soiled pot, and hurried away.
I let out a breath. “I had the most disorienting experience. I woke up in a strange bedroom without remembering how I got there.”
Emily groaned. “You’re lucky. I was conscious of my heaving stomach the entire time.”
Before I could respond, footsteps sounded in the hallway. A polite knock followed.
Then, the door swung open, and Malik entered, hand in hand with Rosie.
“’Livia!” Rosie cried in delight. “Emily! Malik gave me new, pretty dresses!”
She twirled before me, the off-white petticoat of her dress flaring around her like a blossoming flower. Pink ribbons fluttered with each spin, catching the soft candlelight.
“Isn’t it pretty?” she asked, eyes shining.
I clapped my hands. “So pretty!”
As my gaze lifted, it met Malik’s. His dark, piercing stare sent a rush of warmth through me, a swirl of sensations unfurling deep in my abdomen. I quickly looked away, focusing on Emily instead.
She clutched her stomach with a groan. “I think I’m going to throw up again.”
Malik crouched in front of Rosie, his tone gentle. “Sweetness, why don’t you play with the new toys I got you?”
Rosie pouted. “I want to stay with you, Olivia, and Emily.”
He smiled, brushing a strand of curls from her face. “And we want to be with you, too. But give us a moment, hmm?” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
She beamed up at him with a resigned sigh before skipping out of the room.
I shook my head in quiet wonder. The way Malik interacted with Rosie—so patient, so naturally affectionate—was a side of him I never grew tired of seeing.
Another groan from Emily snapped me back to the moment.
“Where’s Giulia?” I asked, scanning the room. Emily’s pallor had worsened, and I prayed she wouldn’t vomit all over her bedding.
Right on cue, Giulia returned, a fresh basin in hand. She shoved it toward Emily just in time.
As Emily retched, Malik’s brow creased with concern. Without hesitation, he turned to Giulia.
“Fetch me the doctor at once.” He snapped his fingers.
Giulia hurried from the room, moving with the brisk energy of a startled bird.
“Oh no, not a doctor,” Emily groaned.
I searched for something to wipe her face and spotted a small towel crumpled on the floor. Grabbing it, I gently dabbed at her mouth, brushing back a few damp strands of hair from her clammy forehead.
“I insist. The matter is decided,” Malik said, his tone brooking no argument. “He should be here shortly.”
He stood before us, hands on his hips, his presence commanding but not exactly comforting.
Minutes dragged by in tense silence. Then, the distant clatter of hooves broke through the stillness.
I strode to the window, pulling back the curtains.
Outside, an elegant black carriage rolled into the circular driveway, its polished wood gleaming under the late afternoon sun.
The manicured grounds stretched far in every direction and were immaculately kept—Malik’s estate was nothing short of a palace.
A slender man, dressed neatly and wearing spectacles, stepped down from the carriage, a black satchel in hand. He moved swiftly, disappearing beneath the awning as he went inside.
Malik turned and left the room, his footfalls confident as he went to greet the physician.
Moments later, he returned, the bespectacled man following closely behind. The doctor’s intelligent gaze swept across the room before settling on Emily.
“So, you are the patient, my dear?” The doctor strode toward the bed, his tone gentle yet probing.
“Yes,” Emily rasped.
He gave a small bow. “I am Dr. Tarantino.”
Setting his satchel down, he placed the basin of putrid vomit aside with practiced indifference.
“I’m Emily,” she croaked.
Dr. Tarantino perched beside her, his keen eyes scanning her face. “What seems to be the problem? Are you, perhaps, with child?”
Emily’s gaze flicked to me before returning to the doctor. She gave a weak shrug. “That’s for you to determine.”
He smiled kindly. “Well, let’s see if we can uncover the cause of your ailments.” Then, glancing over his shoulder, he added, “Might we have some privacy?”
I hesitated, my protective instincts flaring.
Malik’s voice cut through my reluctance. “Well? We must do as the doctor decrees.”
He placed a hand on my lower back and guided me from the room.
The moment we stepped into the hallway, he turned to me, his gaze scrutinizing, like an eagle assessing its prey.
I folded my arms. “What?” I avoided his stare, my eyes drifting to the plush carpet beneath our feet.
Malik leaned in slightly, amusement on his face. “You tell me.”
I scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about or what you’re inferring.” My hands found their way to my mouth, nibbling at it absentmindedly.
A shrewd smile curved Malik’s lips. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
I shook my head dismissively and leaned against the wall, my hands tucked behind my back.
We remained silent, tension thick between us, until the doctor finally called us back into the room.
As we stepped inside, Malik challenged, “Shall I prove that you already know what’s ailing Emily?”
I shot him a glare. “If you knew I knew, why did you summon a doctor?” My face burned with irritation.
His imperious, arrogant smile never faltered as he followed me inside.