9. Chiara
— ? —
Chiara
The words hang in the air between us, and for a moment I can’t breathe.
Livia would never do this.
I’ve just shown him everything. The supplier’s receipt, his recollection of selling to her, the access logs, the laboratory findings, Rosalia’s testimony.
I’ve laid out the timeline and the opportunity and the motive, and he’s looked at all of it and decided that none of it matters because he’s already made up his mind.
“You didn’t even read the notes.” I move the receipt off the page so he can see what he has covered. “You put the receipt down without looking at what’s underneath it.”
“I read enough.” Lorenzo picks up the receipt again, and I watch him scan the date and the cash notation before setting it aside.
Not on top of my evidence this time, but not back in my hands either.
“This tells me Livia bought something from a supplier she’s used for years.
It doesn’t tell me she put it in the wine. ”
“It tells you she had the means.” I pull the access logs toward me, pointing to the entries I marked. “There’s the access, too. And the phone call the night before the gala, saying something was done and someone would be finished.”
“Rosalia’s testimony.” He turns past the open notebook where I wrote down her account. Apparently her name tells him all he needs to know. “Your friend. Your ally. The person who’s been helping you build a case against Livia since the launch.”
Is that what he thinks this is? A case I’ve been building because I don’t like her?
“Rosalia heard what she heard.” I keep my hand flat on the access logs, refusing to let him dismiss them too. “She didn’t tell me right away because she was afraid of what would happen if she accused Livia without proof. She knows how much you protect her. Everyone knows.”
“And now she’s conveniently remembered something that supports exactly what you’ve been saying.” Lorenzo leans back in his chair, and I see the wall going up behind his eyes. “I’m not saying she’s lying. I’m saying the timing is suspicious.”
“The timing tells you she was scared.” I put Rosalia’s account back in front of him. “I went to the supplier and checked the records. You can ask the same questions I did. You could have started yesterday, before you told Livia you believed her.”
His hand stops beside the page. “You heard that.”
“I heard you say ‘I know you didn’t do this.’“ I don’t look away from his face. “The exact words I’ve been asking you to say to me since the night of the gala. You gave them to her without a second thought.”
“That’s not…” He stops, pressing his hand against the desk like he needs something solid to hold onto. “I was trying to calm her down. She was upset about the investigation, about the questions, about feeling like everyone suspected her.”
“And I wasn’t upset?” I tap the receipt beside his elbow. “This gives you a reason to question her. She bought something in the category the laboratory identified, and she had access to the bottles.”
“That doesn’t establish a match to what was in the wine.” Lorenzo picks up the receipt and reads it again, more carefully this time. “It could have been for a legitimate purpose.”
“Then ask her what it was for.” He has read the receipt twice now. I want him to keep it long enough to follow where it leads. “Ask her why she paid cash instead of putting it on the estate account. Ask her where the product ended up if she didn’t use it to contaminate the wine.”
“I will.” He sets the receipt down again, and something in his tone makes me think he’s already decided what her answers will be. “But I’m not going to accuse her of sabotage based on circumstantial evidence and a biased witness.”
Biased. The word lands like a slap.
“Rosalia is biased because she’s my friend.
” I pull my notebook toward me, flipping to the page where I wrote down exactly what she heard.
“But Livia isn’t biased even though she’s spent months undermining me at every opportunity.
She’s not biased even though she smiled at me in the middle of the chaos while everyone was blaming me for the disaster she caused. ”
“You don’t know she caused it.” He puts the receipt beside Rosalia’s account, as though one uncertain answer cancels out another. “That’s exactly my point. You’re so certain it was her that you’re reading every piece of evidence as confirmation of what you already believe.”
“And you’re so certain it wasn’t her that you’re refusing to look at any of it.
” I close my notebook with more force than necessary.
“The supplier remembers selling to her. Rosalia is willing to tell you what she heard. The records give you times to ask about. What would it take for you to consider that maybe, just maybe, you’re wrong about her? ”
Lorenzo looks down at the papers. I wait for him to ask for the supplier’s number, or call Rosalia in. Either would be a start.
“I need time.” He gathers the papers into a stack instead of reaching for his phone. “I need to review all of this properly, talk to the investigators, verify the information you’ve gathered. I can’t just accept your conclusions because you’re convinced they’re right.”
“Time to check the purchase, yes.” I put my hand on the stack before he can move it farther away. “But you’ve watched people blame me for three days. They didn’t wait for evidence. Why have you left me to answer them alone?”
“I’ve been working on this every day.” He looks toward the reports at the other end of his desk. “The investigators, the calls from distributors. I’m trying to get answers we can trust.”
“You’ve been managing a crisis.” I remember saying something similar to him days ago, asking him to talk to his wife instead of handling problems. “That’s not the same as standing beside me. That’s not the same as believing me.”
“I never accused you.” He pushes his chair back, but stays seated. “I told you your changes didn’t contaminate the wine.”
“And yesterday you had the findings that excluded my presentation.” I keep my hand on the stack. “I had to go to the sommelier to learn that. Why didn’t you come and tell me? Why haven’t you told the people blaming me?”
“I need to know the whole story before I make a statement.” He looks at the report beneath my hand. “You want me to name Livia. I’ve known her my whole life, Chiara. I can’t throw that away because you’ve decided she’s guilty.”
I asked why he hadn’t defended me, and somehow we are talking about Livia again. Must every good thing he says about his wife cost his friend something?
“I gave up the life I was building for this marriage.” I look at our joined names on the event paperwork beside his elbow. “My work, my home in Lyon. I came here to honor a promise our families made before either of us had a say.”
“I had a business.” He starts to answer, and I hold up my hand. I need to finish this. “A business I wanted to keep growing, Lorenzo. I was building a botanical brand that people were starting to notice. I had customers coming back for my blends. I knew what I wanted to build next.”
“I know.” He looks toward the empty place where I used to put my tea while we worked through launch plans. “I know what you gave up.”
“Do you?” I take a step closer to the desk, needing him to see my face clearly. “Because sometimes I don’t think you have any idea. You were born into this. The estate, the title, the responsibilities. You inherited your work and your home. I came here and had to find a place in them.”
“That’s not fair.” He stands, and suddenly we’re both on our feet with nothing but his desk between us. “I didn’t ask for the betrothal any more than you did. My father arranged it before either of us had a say.”
“We both went through with it.” I move my hand away from the papers. “I know you didn’t choose the arrangement. But I thought what happened afterward could belong to us. I wanted to be your wife, Lorenzo. Not another obligation you could cross off because I had a room and a car.”
“That’s not how I think of you.” He looks toward the door, then back at me, as though only now considering how this conversation sounds outside the room. “I have never thought of you that way.”
I remember how easily he laughed with me on the lake. The blanket beside me, the strawberries he had remembered I liked. I wasn’t imagining that warmth. I reach for it now and find him standing behind his desk, waiting for this conversation to become something he knows how to settle.
“I heard you in the parlor.” The words come out before I can stop them. “Two nights ago. With Livia.”
He takes his hands off the desk. “What?”
“I was bringing Rosalia’s book back to the service landing.” I keep my hand on my notebook. “You told her I wasn’t from here and didn’t understand this place the way she did.”
He looks toward the door, then back at me. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
“I heard her ask whether you loved me.”
His hand stops beside the chair.
“You said you didn’t know.” My voice holds, though I have to press my tongue against my teeth before I continue. “Then you called our marriage a transaction.”
“No, I really didn’t mean anything about it, that’s just how it began. You know our families arranged our marriage. It’s a fact, and I just…”
“I know how it began, Lorenzo. I lived the two years after it.”
He takes hold of the chair back.
“You told her what we have isn’t like what you two have. Do you realize how it feels hearing that?” I watch him while I repeat the words. “What was I supposed to do with that? Go back to our room and wait for you to come to bed?”
“Chiara, I… It’s not how I wanted it to sound. Let me explain…”
“Why did she get to hear your feelings about our marriage before I did?”
He looks down at the notebook beneath my hand.
“She was upset,” he says. “I was trying to calm her down.”
“By telling her you didn’t know whether you loved me?”
His mouth opens. I wait, but he doesn’t finish.