Chapter 8 #2
"Mine too." She smiled slightly, pulling her hand back. "I want to help. Your daughter—I know the elders took her, keeping her in the nursery, your wife can't see her."
I said nothing.
She stepped closer, voice dropping. "I spoke to the elders. The baby can stay here at the manor, but they need someone they trust watching her."
I met her eyes.
"They don't trust that woman," Bianca said, no mockery, just fact. "You know how elders are. But if I move in, keep an eye on the child... they'll agree to let her stay here."
"Stay at the manor?"
"Yes." She nodded. "Your wife can see her regularly. No special institution, no leaving the house. Just the nursery, nurses, me helping watch, she'll be happier."
Happier.
The words turned in my head.
Olivia in the delivery room flashed back—those dead green eyes, that single word, that white face with tears she couldn't stop.
If she could see the baby, would she be better?
"Can you handle the elders?"
"I have a way." She smiled. "You just need to say yes."
I looked at her eyes. Beautiful, brown, gentle as a lake.
I stayed quiet for a moment.
"What do you want?"
She blinked, then laughed—genuine surprise flickering before smoothing away.
"I just want to help you."
"Bianca."
She heard something in my tone, lowered her eyes, lashes trembling slightly.
"You're like this always," she said quieter. "Never believing anyone's sincere."
"I just like clarity."
She looked at me for a while, then sighed.
"Fine." She said. "I'll be direct."
She turned, walking to the desk, fingers trailing across the surface.
"I want a position," she said. "A real position in this family."
I frowned. "What?"
"Juliet's godmother. I want that," she turned back to face me.
"I know it sounds insane, but since the engagement fell through, my family's been pressuring me to fix things, and you know I hate these schemes, but I have no choice!
This is the best solution I could think of, and the best the elders would accept.
They need a reason for me to live here, need a title to justify me being close to you.
Godmother—it keeps them comfortable, keeps your wife from resisting too much. "
I was silent.
If what Bianca said was true, her moving in as Juliet's godmother would reconnect the Visconti-Colonna business broken by the engagement falling through. Pure win-win situation.
And Olivia... It's just godmother, she'd accept that.
"Anything else?" I asked.
She smiled.
"You really do know me." She said. "Yes, there's more."
She walked back, standing in front of me, eyes direct on mine.
"I want a promise," she said, each word precise. "If your wife ever leaves—whether she goes on her own or the elders make her go—I want a chance."
I froze. "What kind of chance?"
"To be your real wife," she said, each syllable deliberate. "Not godmother, not some title. The person standing beside you."
I stared at her.
She stared back.
"Ezio," she said softly, "I love you. Since I was small. I know you have her in your heart now. I'm not asking for that right now. But if she ever leaves—I want a chance."
That was always her way. Graceful, composed, knowing exactly when to speak and when to stay silent. Knowing how to be perfect in front of the elders.
Which is why the elders always wanted me to marry her.
Because she was the perfect Visconti matriarch.
"How long would you stay?"
"Depends on how well she learns," Bianca winked. "Also depends on how long you want me here."
I didn't answer that.
"You take the east wing guest room," I said, turning toward the stairs. "Anything you need, tell Elsa."
"Ezio."
I stopped.
"I know you're hurting," her voice came from behind. "But everything will be okay. I'm here."
I nodded without turning.
That pressure in my chest didn't ease.
But I told myself this was the right call.
Bianca understood protocol. Understood boundaries.
She'd keep the kid at the manor.
She'd help Olivia adjust.
She'd make everything simpler.
That's what I told myself.
Dinner that night, I announced Bianca's arrival.
Several family members sat around the long table, plus two elder representatives. Olivia was at the far end, her plate barely touched.
"Miss Colonna will be staying temporarily," I said. "She'll manage the nursery affairs."
Low murmurs around the table. Some nods. Exchanged glances.
Olivia's fork stopped at the plate's edge.
She looked up at me.
That gaze was light, light as falling ash. No questions, no anger—just watching me, waiting for the rest.
I said nothing else.
Bianca sat to my right, raising her wine glass with a graceful smile at the room. "I appreciate your help. I'll take good care of the child."
Someone raised their glass in response.
Olivia lowered her head back to the untouched plate.
I looked away.
Next morning, coming downstairs, Elsa met me.
"Sir."
Her voice was quieter than usual, expression hesitant.
"What is it?"
"It's about the young miss," she said. "Last night... she cried all night."
I frowned.
"The nurses took turns trying to soothe her, but nothing worked. Started around ten, didn't stop until three or four in the morning." She paused. "Miss Colonna didn't wake you. Said you needed rest. She... stayed in the nursery the whole time."
"The whole night?"
"Yes, sir. The nurses said she had everyone else go rest, then held the baby herself, pacing the room, singing softly. Finally fell asleep around six."
I frowned.
"Where is she now?"
"Still in the nursery. The nurses tried sending her to rest, but she said to wait a bit longer—worried the baby might cry again during the day."
I turned, walking fast toward the nursery.
The hallway was long, sunlight cutting through windows, casting grid shadows on the floor. My shoes clicked loud and quick on marble.
The nursery door was half-open.
I pushed it wider.
Bianca stood at the window, back to the door. She was still wearing yesterday's pale suit—hadn't changed it, worn straight through a full day and full night. Her hair was loose, dark strands falling from the updo, framing her neck.
Sunlight poured in from outside, landing on her. The image was warm. Like a painting.
Everything was warm.
I stood in that warmth but saw another face—pale, gaunt, screaming at me in the delivery room.
What was she doing now?
"Ezio?"
I refocused. Walked over. Juliet lay in the cradle, eyes shut, sleeping soundly. Her small face was flushed, breathing steady.
Bianca looked up. The sunlight caught her clearly—dark circles deep under her eyes, face paler than yesterday, lips dry. Hair messy, strands scattered across her face.
She'd never looked this disheveled.
At least not that I'd seen.
"Elsa said you stayed the night."
She looked back down at the baby, then back at me. "She was crying badly. Nothing helped. The nurses were exhausted, so I had them rest."
"What about you?" I said. "Don't you need sleep?"
She smiled slightly. "No big deal. Used to do this watching my cousins. Little kids—they're all like this. Got used to it."
Her voice carried that rough quality—one night's worth of rough.
I studied her face.
"Go rest," I said.
"No need." She shook her head. "I'll watch her a bit longer. If she wakes up, I'm right here."
Her eyes stayed on Juliet, soft.
"She was crying hard last night," she said quietly. "Holding her, I could feel her whole body shaking."
She turned to look at me.
"She was looking for her mom, wasn't she?"
I didn't answer.
"Newborns remember their mother's scent, her heartbeat," Bianca continued. "That's all they knew in the womb. Now suddenly it's gone, they get scared, anxious."
She paused.
"That's why she cried."
My chest pulled tight.
"Then—"
"But she'll adapt," Bianca cut me off, still gentle. "Kids are resilient. I'll stay with her, show her this place is safe. In a few days, she'll stop crying."
She turned, pulling part of the curtain back, blocking the direct sunlight from the crib.
"She needs quiet," she said. "Better not to have too many people in here disrupting things for now. Once she settles, mood stabilizes, then we can slowly introduce her to others."
"Others?"
"Like," Bianca paused, turning to face me, "your wife."
I watched her.
"Olivia wants to see her."
"I know," Bianca said, walking over, standing in front of me. "But she's fragile right now. If she visits and the baby cries, she'll blame herself more, get more anxious."
Her voice was soft, so gentle.
"Plus your wife—she's not in great shape postpartum, is she? I can see it in her complexion, her body. If she's handling the baby and she cries, it'll exhaust her more."
She tilted her head up, those brown eyes swimming with concern.
"Let her recover a bit, let the baby stabilize, then they can meet," she said softly. "Better for both. You think?"
I stared at her.
Those eyes full of sincerity and kindness.
Olivia's image surfaced—pale, skeletal, a breeze away from shattering.
Her current state really wasn't good.
If the baby cried, she'd spiral worse.
"You're right," I finally said.
Bianca smiled, gentle and elegant.
"I'll take good care of her," she said. "Trust me."
I looked at Bianca.
She stood there holding the baby, sunlight on her, warm, composed, flawless.
That's always been her.
Since forever. Knowing the right thing to say at the right time, arranging everything perfectly. Elders loved her, family respected her, and even servants listened better to her.
If it was her—
"Ezio?"
"Yeah?"
"You're thinking hard. Zoning out," she smiled. "What's on your mind?"
"Nothing," I said. "I should get to the office."
"Go ahead." She nodded. "The baby's with me."
I turned to leave.
Right then, the door swung open.
We both turned.
Olivia stood in the doorway.
She wore a loose, long dress, hair carelessly tied back, face still very pale. Those green eyes locked on the crib and immediately went red-rimmed.
"The baby." Her voice shook. "She's here?"
I nodded.
She stepped forward, eyes moving from the cradle to Bianca, then to me.
Her expression froze.
I saw something flicker across her face—confusion, hurt, something deep and compressed.
She stared at us both.
"Can I..." Olivia's voice was careful, testing. "Can I look at her?"
"Of course," I said.
She moved fast to the cradle edge.
Bianca naturally positioned herself between the cradle and Olivia.
"Mrs. Visconti." Bianca smiled gently, voice soft. "Juliet just fell asleep. She was restless last night, multiple times, she's exhausted now."
Olivia froze.
"I just want to look," she said, voice trembling. "I won't wake her. I'll just stand here and look."
"I know you want to see her," Bianca said, still gentle but unmovable. "But she really needs rest. Newborn sleep is crucial. If she's disturbed, she wakes and starts crying again. She already cried too much last night."
She paused, eyes glinting with genuine care.
"And you look so tired. Complexion's bad, body not recovered yet? If the baby wakes up fussing, you'll just get more drained."
Olivia stared at her, lips shaking.
"I'm not tired," she said. "I just want to see my child."
"I understand," Bianca said, stepping slightly forward, voice quieter. "But this isn't the right time. Later this afternoon, when she wakes up in a better mood, you can come back. Then she'll smile at you, let you hold her. Won't that be better?"
She turned to look at me.
"Ezio, you agree, right?"
I looked at Olivia.
Her face went whiter, mouth shaking, tears already pooling in her eyes.
"Ezio?" She looked at me, those eyes begging. "Just one look. That's all."
I opened my mouth.
Flashes came.
Juliet crying all night. Bianca alone holding her, pacing, soothing for hours.
Olivia now looking so fragile. Pale face, dark circles, so thin a breeze would topple her.
If she came here, baby cried, she'd break worse.
She'd blame herself.
Spiral harder.
"Bianca's right," I heard myself say, voice dry. "The baby needs rest. When she's awake and settled, you can come back."
Olivia stared at me.
That light in those green eyes dimmed. One flicker at a time.
"When she's settled?" she repeated, voice hollow. "When is that?"
"This afternoon, or evening," Bianca said, still gentle. "I'll have Elsa notify you. You can stay as long as you want then."
Olivia said nothing.
She just stared at the cradle, tears finally sliding down.
"Okay," she said, voice distant. "I understand."
She turned, walking to the door.
Her back was straight, but every step trembled.
I watched her reach the door, hand on the handle, pause.
"Ezio."
She didn't turn around.
"She's my child."
Then she pushed the door open and left.
I watched that small, fragile back disappear down the hallway. So thin. So paper-thin. One gust and she'd blow away.
She never looked back.
"She'll understand eventually," Bianca said softly beside me. "You're doing this for her own good."
I didn't respond.
But Bianca was right.
The baby stays safe with care. Olivia can visit anytime, and once she's stronger, emotionally stable, she can spend more time with the kid.
Everything will trend better.
But that suffocating feeling came back.
Heavier.
More suffocating.