Chapter 3 The Woman They Chose for Him
YSABEL
The last guests leave just after eleven, and I find Leon in the study before the sound of their cars has faded from the drive.
He's loosened his collar and poured himself a drink, and when I close the door behind me he turns from the window with the expression of a man who knows a conversation is coming.
"She's arriving in three days," he says. "I asked my mother after the Benedettis left."
Three days. I let the number settle, try to make it feel real. "And this is purely business. An investor for the launch."
"That's what my mother says."
"I'm not asking what your mother says. I'm asking what you think."
Leon sets down his glass and crosses to where I'm standing.
"I think my mother invited someone she knew I wouldn't refuse, someone with legitimate connections overseas, and dressed it up as a business opportunity.
She still thinks Nadia would have been the easier choice. I wish she would let that go."
The honesty surprises me. Leon doesn't usually speak this plainly about his mother's machinations. "And you're going to let her come anyway."
"I don't see how I can refuse without making it into something bigger than it needs to be.
If I say no, my mother will claim I'm threatened by an old family friend, and Nadia will tell everyone I couldn't handle working with a woman from my past. If I say yes and treat it like the business arrangement it's supposed to be, there's nothing for anyone to talk about. "
"There's plenty for people to talk about. They were talking about it tonight."
"Let them talk." He reaches for my hands, and I let him take them. "Ysabel, I need you to understand something. I am not interested in Nadia. I never was. She was my mother's choice, not mine. And when I fell in love with you, I knew I would never want anyone else."
"I believe you." And I do. Whatever else I might doubt about my marriage, I have never doubted that Leon loves me. I wish that settled what happened tonight.
"Then what's wrong?"
"Tonight, when your mother made that announcement, I was standing in the corner of my own party. The guests were looking at me like they were trying to remember my name. And you were across the room, and you didn't come to stand beside me until after everyone had already drawn their conclusions."
"I came as soon as I could."
"I know. But by then it was too late. Everyone had already seen me standing alone while your mother announced that the right woman was coming back.
" I pull my hands from his, not in anger, just because I need to think without his touch distracting me.
"I don't need you to fight your mother. I just need you to stand next to me.
Introduce me. Include me in the conversations that matter.
Make it clear that I'm your partner, not your project. "
Leon is quiet for a moment, processing this. "My mother handles the social side of things. She always has. I didn't think..."
"That's the problem. You didn't think. And while you weren't thinking, your mother was arranging the room so that I was on one side and you were on the other, and everyone could see exactly where I rank."
"You don't rank anywhere. You're my wife."
"Then maybe next time, you could act like it where people can see."
The words come out sharper than I intended, and I see him flinch. Part of me wants to take them back, to smooth this over the way we always smooth things over. But I'm tired of smoothing. I'm tired of being the one who makes things easier while everyone else makes things harder.
"I'll do better," he says. "When Nadia arrives, I'll make sure you're included. I'll make sure everyone knows exactly where you stand."
"That's all I'm asking."
He nods slowly. I wait, hoping he might ask about the guests I was talking to when his mother sent me to the kitchen. He picks up his untouched drink and sets it down again.
"Come on," I say, softening. "It's late. We can figure out the rest tomorrow."
We go to bed, and he holds me the way he always does, and I try to believe that tomorrow will be different.
***
Nadia arrives three days later, stepping out of a car in a cream-colored dress that fits her like it was made for her body, which it probably was.
She is beautiful, and she steps neatly over the rough edge of the courtyard without looking down.
Dark hair swept up, posture perfect, a smile that reveals nothing.
I watch from the front steps as Vera crosses the courtyard to greet her, arms extended, face bright with welcome. I have never seen Vera look at me like that. Not once in two years.
"Ready?" Leon appears beside me, adjusting his cuffs.
"As I'll ever be."
We descend the steps together, and I match his pace, even when the path narrows. Vera notices. I see her notice. But she doesn't say anything, just widens her smile to include us both.
"Leon, darling. And Ysabel. Come meet our guest."
Nadia turns. Her gaze rests on me for a moment before she offers Leon her hand.
"Nadia." Leon takes her offered hand, shakes it briefly, releases it. "Welcome to Tenuta Rosciano."
"Thank you. It's wonderful to be back." Her gaze shifts to me. "And you must be Ysabel. I've heard so much about you."
"Have you?" I extend my hand, and she takes it. Her grip is cool and precise. "I hope some of it was good."
"All of it was fascinating." She releases my hand and turns back to survey the house, the courtyard, the almond groves stretching toward the hills. "The estate looks wonderful. You've been taking good care of it."
The you is directed at Vera, not at me. I note this and file it away.
"Let me show you to your rooms," I say, because this at least is something I can do. Something that positions me as the hostess rather than the bystander. "Vera has had the guest suite in the east wing prepared for you."
"How lovely. Thank you."
We walk through the house together, and I point out the sitting room and the terrace where we sometimes have breakfast. She listens politely, comments appropriately, and I cannot tell if she's genuinely interested or simply performing interest.
"This is a beautiful house," she says as we climb the stairs. "I always thought so. Even as a girl, when my family would visit, I used to imagine what it would be like to live here."
"And now you're back."
"For a few weeks, at least." She glances at me sideways. "I want you to know, Ysabel, that I'm here for business. Nothing more. Whatever expectations anyone might have had years ago, I have no interest in disrupting your marriage."
"I appreciate you saying that."
"I mean it." She pauses at the top of the stairs, turning to face me fully. "Leon made his choice. I respect that. I'm here to help with the overseas launch, and then I'll be gone."
I search her face for some sign of deception, some hint that she's saying one thing and meaning another. But all I see is a woman who seems, against all my expectations, to be telling the truth.
"Then I hope the next few weeks go smoothly," I say. "For all of us."
"So do I."
I show her to the guest suite, point out the bathroom and the wardrobe and the bell she can ring if she needs anything, and then I leave her to settle in.
Walking back through the halls, I try to sort out what I'm feeling. Relief, maybe, that she's not openly hostile. Wariness, because Vera's plans rarely announce themselves in advance.
And underneath it all, a stubborn kernel of hope that maybe this really will be nothing more than a business arrangement.
At the foot of the stairs I stop to straighten a crooked lampshade. Then I straighten it back. There was nothing wrong with it.
***
The coaching starts the next morning.
I come down to breakfast to find Vera and Nadia already at the table, heads bent over a handwritten list that turns out to be the guest names for the small dinner two nights from now.
Local families, people I've known my whole life, but apparently this is now a rehearsal for the larger events to come.
"Ysabel, good morning." Vera gestures to the empty chair beside her. "We were just going over the arrangements. Come, sit. We could use your perspective."
I pour myself coffee and take the offered seat, pushing past the faint roll of nausea that greets me most mornings lately. It passes quickly if I ignore it.
"The seating needs to flow properly," Nadia is saying. "Guests should feel welcomed from the moment they sit down."
"Signora Benedetti should be away from the doors to the terrace," I say, glancing at the rough diagram Vera has sketched. "She gets cold easily, and the evening breeze comes through there."
Vera makes a small note. "Good. What else?"
"And her husband is losing his hearing. If you put them at the far end of the table, he won't be able to follow the conversation. He does better when he's closer to the center, where he can see faces."
"That's thoughtful," Nadia says, and I can't tell if she means it or if she's simply filling silence.
"It's practical. He gets embarrassed when he has to keep asking people to repeat themselves. If we seat him where he can lip-read a little, everyone has a better evening."
Vera is studying the diagram with a small frown. "The center seats are usually reserved for the more prominent guests."
"The Benedettis have been friends of this family for forty years. I think that's prominent enough."
A pause. Vera exchanges a glance with Nadia that I'm clearly meant to notice.
"Perhaps," Vera says carefully, "we could revisit the seating after we've discussed the greeting protocol. Nadia, would you demonstrate what we talked about?"
Nadia straightens in her chair and arranges her face into an expression of warm welcome. "Signora Benedetti, what a pleasure to see you. Thank you so much for joining us this evening. May I take your wrap?" The words flow like water, polished and precise, each syllable perfectly placed.
"Lovely," Vera says. "You see how the rhythm creates an impression of ease? Ysabel, why don't you try."
I look at her. "Try what?"