33
GAbrIELA DUARTE
The Palazzo delle Rose lit up at sunset.
One window after another shone over the lake until the whole facade seemed to wake from decades of sleep.
Music drifted through the open doors. Cars arrived along the drive, delivering guests beneath a canopy of lights and white roses.
I stood at the top of the stairs for a few minutes before the first guest came in. I’d done it.
The cracks were stabilized, the frescoes restored, and the marble reflected the ceiling we’d spent months bringing back to life.
Elisabetta’s garden bloomed beyond the windows.
The library, reserved for the family, held its restored woodwork and the passage entrance.
That afternoon, the independent inspectors had signed off on the completed phase.
My father should have been there to see it.
I touched Augusto’s small medallion beneath my pale dress. Then my hand went to the hidden pocket in the skirt, where I’d put the ultrasound envelope. Luca should have been beside me too.
I saw him cross the ballroom surrounded by board members.
He wore a black tuxedo and the coldest expression he showed the world.
Since his return, he’d avoided every private conversation.
He hadn’t kissed me, asked about the surprise, or spent more than a few moments in the same room as me.
I tried to blame the pressure of the opening.
There were investors, journalists, and officials from four countries. That explained the rush. It didn’t explain the private-wing ban or the way he moved away when I touched him. He’d promised to listen after the speeches. I would hold him to it.
Until then, I welcomed guests, led tours, and thanked the workers by name. When Enrico arrived with Bianca, out of the hospital now and wearing a yellow dress, I knelt to hug her.
I gathered the restorers, masons, electricians, gardeners, and engineers in the east gallery. For a few minutes, we let the guests wait. I wanted to look these people in the face as I thanked them.
“I want you to see it full of people before you go home,” I said. “We spent so long looking at every crack that sometimes we forgot how much we were doing. Thank you. For the work, for your patience, and for telling me when I needed to stop and think again.”
Carlo took off his glasses to clean them.
Paola hugged me. Enrico handed me a small box containing a yellow rose carved from wood.
He’d made it himself, he said, so I’d have a keepsake that wouldn’t wilt.
Augusto would have loved it. I ran my thumb over the petals and needed a moment before I could thank him.
It was the night’s purest victory. For a few minutes, I felt no one could take it from me.
“Is the grumpy man here?” Bianca asked.
“He is.”
“He promised to show me the roses.”
“I’ll remind him.”
I found Luca watching from a distance. His face softened at the sight of Bianca. Then his eyes met mine, and it closed again. I walked over.
“Bianca wants to see the garden with you.”
“I’ll get her after the speeches.”
“Before our conversation?”
He glanced at the pocket of my skirt, where I kept my hand.
“I’ll find you afterward.”
He walked away. His words left a chill beneath my skin. In his speech, he spoke of legacy, excellence, and the group’s future. He thanked the engineering team, the investors, and the family. Last, he called me to the stage.
I went up to applause. Near a side column, Sofia watched me with tears in her eyes. Cris had called from Lisbon that morning to wish me luck; I wished I could see him there too. Luca waited until I reached the microphone.
“The Palazzo would not be standing without Ms. Gabriela Duarte’s courage and vision as an architect,” he said. “Her work will endure in every restored wall.”
Will endure.
The praise was perfect. It also sounded like goodbye. When he handed me the microphone, I thanked Augusto and everyone who believed ruins deserved another chance. I searched the faces for Luca and found only the public man.
After the speeches, I tried to reach him. An investor drew him into another conversation. Then photographers wanted pictures. Beatrice stayed beside him in almost all of them, wearing dark blue and the Bellandi family brooch.
I waited.
At ten, I checked the envelope for the third time. At ten thirty, nausea sent me to the hallway outside the library. Paola found me leaning against the wall.
The scent of champagne and lilies seemed to fill every breath. I breathed through my mouth. I’d managed little lunch, and the canapé I’d tried earlier had made me sick. Paola brought water; I drank slowly, waiting for it to pass.
“You’re white as a sheet.”
“Nerves.”
“Should I get a doctor?”
“No.”
“Gabriela . . .”
“I’m fine. I need to talk to Luca.”
She looked toward the ballroom.
“He’s been strange since he got back.”
“I know.”
“Do you want me to get him?”
“Ask him to meet me in the garden, please.”
She squeezed my hand and went back to the guests.
I walked to the pavilion, where I’d left Enrico’s box so I wouldn’t have to carry it on the tours.
I set the envelope beside the rose. I didn’t need to rehearse an announcement; I just wanted to sit with Luca, tell him about the appointment, and show him the image. Beatrice came instead.
“Waiting for someone?” she asked.
I closed the box.
“What do you want?”
“Luca asked me to find you.”
My fingers tightened around the box. Why would he send Beatrice?
My whole body went on alert.
“What have you done?”
“Me? Nothing. You’re the one who spent the night with Cris in a Milan hotel.”
The blood drained from my face.
“I didn’t.”
“Luca saw the photographs.”
“What photographs?”
“Hugs, kisses, going in at night and coming out in the morning. Quite intimate.”
“After dinner, Cris was in my suite for less than half an hour.”
“Is that what you’ll tell him?”
I remembered Luca’s return, the blocked access, the visit to the clinic. He’d known something and left me guessing for two days.
“You showed him fake images.”
“I didn’t have to fake the way he touched you.”
“And Luca believed you?”
She tilted her head.
“He’s waiting in the side room by the gallery. He wants to speak alone.”
I picked up the box.
“If you’ve set something up, I’ll prove it.”
I left the pavilion. On the way, I called Cris.
He didn’t answer. I sent a message asking him to keep all his hotel records.
In my messages with Luca, I found my request to talk on the night he returned and his reply agreeing.
I saved a copy. I didn’t want anyone making me doubt even what was in writing in the middle of this argument.
The side room wasn’t on the tour route. The guests had gone to the lower garden for the fireworks and would return to the main ballroom for a late dinner.
Here, there were only a few chairs and a side table.
Luca waited beside it. I went in with the box pressed to my chest. He closed the door and returned to the table.
He’d taken off his tie. A folder, an envelope, and a medical report lay in front of him.
“Beatrice said you wanted to talk to me.”
“What’s in the box?”
“First, tell me what’s happened.”
He opened the folder and spread photographs over the table. I recognized the hug at the hotel, Cris kissing my forehead, and his entrance into my suite. The last image showed an impossible time.
“This has been altered.”
“Of course.”
“Cris left less than half an hour after we went up. An employee took him to his room and opened the door because his card didn’t work. Reception can confirm it.”
“The records say he left in the morning.”
“Then the records have been altered too.”
He showed me the false messages. I read every line, disbelief turning to fear.
“Where did you get this?”
“Lorenzo received the report from the hotel’s contractor. Beatrice brought the other documents.”
“I never wrote this.”
“It’s all false?”
“Everything that suggests I cheated. The hug happened. The kiss on the forehead happened. Cris is my family, and you know it. The rest was put together to look like something else.”
“He went into your room.”
“Because I was feeling sick and needed a friend.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You knew we’d be at the event together. Before dinner, he stopped by my room and noticed I was nauseated. Afterward, with the storm, he waited with me for his suite to be ready and gave me something he’d bought at the pharmacy. The employee came for him before midnight.”
Luca looked away for a moment.
“Yes.”
“Photographs, messages, and records all turn up at once, delivered by the two people who stand to gain the most if I disappear. Don’t you see what they’ve done?”
“Don’t turn this into another accusation against Beatrice.”
I looked at the man I loved and understood he’d already chosen whom to believe. Still, there was a truth I had to tell him. I set the box on the table and lifted the lid.
The yellow rose lay beside the envelope. I took it out. Hands that had worked without hesitation on so many fragments of paint couldn’t lift a paper flap.
“I wanted to tell you another way.
“I thought you’d be afraid. I wanted to be close when I told you.”
His eyes stopped on the clinic envelope. His face turned to stone.
“You’re pregnant.”
It wasn’t a question. I followed his gaze to a copy of my result among the papers in the folder. They’d taken even that. I pulled the ultrasound image from the envelope.
“Yes.”
Outside, the first fireworks burst above the lake. Golden light swept through the windows and broke across the face of the man I loved. Luca didn’t smile. Didn’t touch the image. Didn’t look at my belly.
He only asked,
“Whose child is it?”
I lowered the image. Until that moment, I’d still expected him to take it.