Chapter 6 #3
Heat creeps up my neck. I look down, then up again through my lashes. He’s still watching me, and it makes me feel like the air between us is a living, breathing thing.
He offers me his arm, and I take it.
As we walk through the estate, we pass a corridor lined with portraits. Old men with eyes like hawks and mouths like swords. Renzetti bloodlines. Their gazes follow me. I shiver.
“They look like they’d eat me alive,” I sign, trying to make light.
Giovanni chuckles under his breath. “They probably would’ve tried. But not while I’m here.”
He pauses. “My mother arrived this morning. I meant to tell you last night. I’m sorry.”
It’s small, that apology. But it feels like something big. I nod to show it’s okay. He squeezes my hand gently.
“Don’t be nervous,” he adds.
Too late.
The dining room unfolds before me like a scene from another life.
High ceilings, long table, velvet chairs, a chandelier glittering like frozen fire.
The walls are soft cream, adorned with quiet artwork.
Not ostentatious, just timeless. The windows spill light across the polished floor.
I hadn’t seen this room yesterday. I make a mental note to do more exploration later.
Right now, though, I feel small in the best and worst ways.
She’s already seated. Alba Renzetti.
She rises when she sees us. And I understand instantly where Giovanni gets his bearing.
Her spine is straight. Her hair is silver-streaked and pulled back into a precise chignon.
She wears black, as if still mourning the death of her husband.
She doesn’t need to speak. Her presence does it for her.
Her eyes, cool hazel and unreadable, hold a calm that's volatile.
Giovanni leads me to her. “Mamma, this is Liliana. My wife.”
Her eyes sweep over me. I brace myself. I extend a hand, expecting something aloof, formal. But she pulls me into a hug instead.
The movement is so sudden that it knocks my hearing aid loose. It drops with a tiny clack against the marble floor. Giovanni bends to pick it up.
When she draws back, Alba’s face breaks into a smile, and in that moment, I see it. The resemblance. That smile lives on Giovanni’s face.
“You’re beautiful,” she says, her voice a rich texture. “My son chose well.”
I try to read her lips, but she'd spoken too fast. Before I can turn to retrieve my hearing aid from Giovanni so I can hear her, she signs it. All of it.
I blink, completely taken aback. Does everyone in this house know how to sign?
She notices my surprise. She smiles and signs again, Don’t look so surprised. I know how to speak deaf language.
She asks if I’m feeling alright, if Giovanni isn’t wearing me out already. I smile, signing back a small no, that I’m fine.
I don’t know what to do with the warmth she offers. All my life, I've been met with cold detachment. I want to curl into it and keep it. Giovanni watches quietly. When he hands me back the hearing aid, he touches my arm in a reassuring squeeze.
We take our seats. Breakfast is served by three different staff. Eggs baked with tomatoes and basil, warm cornetti with apricot filling, fresh berries, and espresso. My favorite. How could he have known?
I sneak a glance at Giovanni. He doesn’t look at me, but he reaches for a strawberry and places it silently on my plate. My chest tightens.
We eat mostly in silence. His thigh brushes mine beneath the table. A constant pressure. My pulse trips over itself. I try not to squirm, but my body is too aware of the heat of his body. It takes a lot of effort, but I keep my composure.
When we finish, Alba turns to me. “How are you finding the estate so far?”
I glance at Giovanni. Then back at her. It’s... a little overwhelming, I sign.
She nods in understanding. “It was the same for me, too, when I married Gio’s father. You'll get used to it.”
Giovanni watches us with something close to contentment in his eyes.
It softens him. I look at him often, seeking him out, watching his every expression.
And his gaze keeps clashing with mine. Our glances keep finding each other.
I'm so taut with desire for him, it's a wonder I haven't crawled into his lap.
After a while, he leans close. “I’m leaving,” he murmurs. “A mission. I’ll be gone for a week.”
My smile falters as cold disappointment settles in my belly.
He notices. He touches my cheek, kisses my forehead again. “You’ll be fine, Liliana.”
I nod, even though I don’t feel it. He doesn't know that. Maybe he's trying to get away from me.
I watch as he stands and walks around to his mother to kiss her on the cheek.
I stare after him as he leaves. His departure leaves something hollow in my chest. I should stop deluding myself into thinking this is anything other than it is. He'd married me because he pitied me. Nothing else.
I should feel relieved. That's a whole week to myself. A whole week to explore, adjust, breathe.
But I don’t. I feel sad. Exposed. Raw.
Alba touches my hand. “You’ll be alright,” she says. “He’ll be back before you know it.”
I choose to focus on the former. I'll be alright. I have to be. I’ve survived alone before. I will again.