17. Lorenzo
— ? —
Lorenzo
The hospital corridor smells of disinfectant.
I’ve spent the past three hours between an examination room and this plastic chair, watching nurses move past in soft-soled shoes, and I still can’t get the image out of my head.
Chiara’s face breaking the surface. The terror in her eyes before Livia pushed her under again.
I almost didn’t make it in time.
The thought keeps circling back, no matter how many times I try to shove it away.
Rosalia’s call came through while I was reviewing security schedules with the estate manager.
She said Chiara had texted that she was at the lake waiting for me.
I hadn’t sent any note. I hadn’t asked her to come.
The drive from the main house to the water takes four minutes if you ignore the speed limit, and I ignored everything.
I found her in the water with Livia’s hands on her head. By the time the ambulance took Chiara away, the police had arrived to take over from my guards. I came to the hospital with her.
The door to her room opens and the nurse steps out, clipboard in hand. She sent me to be checked and changed while they attended to Chiara. I’m wearing the spare shirt and trousers my mother brought from the estate; my own clothes are bagged in the back of her car, lake water and all.
“She’s awake.” The nurse holds the door open as I put my hands on the chair to stand. “She’s tired, but she’s asking for you.”
I’m on my feet before she finishes the sentence.
Chiara is propped against pillows in the narrow hospital bed, her wet hair dried now but tangled, dark circles under her eyes. She looks small in the hospital gown, smaller than I’ve ever seen her. When I step through the door, her gaze finds mine and holds.
“You’re still here.” She shifts her hand toward the empty chair beside the bed. “I thought they’d make you leave.”
“I waited outside.” I lower myself into the chair she’s indicated. “I thought you might want someone here when you woke up.”
“Someone?” One corner of her mouth twitches as she looks at the chair I’ve pulled so close to her bed. “You don’t usually volunteer to be just anyone.”
“I’m trying to learn.” I reach for her hand, then stop myself. After everything, after all the times I should have been there and wasn’t, I don’t get to assume she wants me close. “How do you feel?”
“Like I swallowed half the lake.” She shifts against the pillows, wincing. “The doctor said my lungs sound clear, which apparently means I was lucky. They want to keep me overnight for observation.”
Lucky. The word lands wrong in my chest. My wife is lying in a hospital bed because a woman I’ve known since childhood tried to drown her, and all I can hear is how easily she might not have survived.
“I should have seen it.” I can still feel the resistance of Livia’s hands when I pulled Chiara away from her. “Years of friendship, and I never once thought she was capable of this.”
“Neither did I.” Chiara’s hand moves on the blanket, her fingers brushing the edge of mine. Permission. “I knew she wanted me gone. I didn’t think she would try to kill me.”
“She was playing us both.” I turn my hand over, letting her decide whether to take it. She does, her fingers cold against my palm. “The wine, the gossip, the isolation. I should have questioned it sooner.”
“I needed you to question her when I brought you the evidence.” Chiara looks down at our joined hands. I remember how carefully she laid those copies on my desk, still believing I would listen if she could show me enough.
She shouldn’t have had to prove her worth to get my attention.
I move my chair closer when her fingers curl around mine. “The police will need your statement when you’re ready. What Livia told you on the dock, what happened in the water. I told them I saw her holding you under, but I didn’t see the beginning.”
“She admitted it. The wine and the note.” Chiara looks toward the door, then back at me. “She wanted me gone so she could have you.”
“She said that?” Her fingers tighten, and I stop myself asking anything more.
“She thought she’d earned you.” Chiara’s hand twitches in mine. “As though all those years working for your family meant you owed her a marriage.”
That was never going to happen. I want to say it.
I want to tell her that I married her because I chose to, that I stayed married to her because I wanted to, that whatever failures I’ve committed as a husband have nothing to do with wanting anyone else.
But the words feel hollow right now, sitting beside her hospital bed while she recovers from an attack that happened because I didn’t see the threat living inside my own household.
“She was wrong.” I turn my hand beneath Chiara’s, making sure she can feel me holding on. It’s inadequate, but it’s true.
“I know.” Chiara looks at our joined hands. “I think I’ve always known that, even when everything else was falling apart.”
The nurse returns to check on Chiara and leaves a cup of water within her reach.
Chiara takes a careful sip, then puts the cup down. “Has Rosalia arrived?”
“Your friend? She’s in the waiting room with your husband’s mother,” the nurse says.
“Can she come in?” Chiara moves the cup farther from the edge of the table.
“Let’s keep it to one visitor for now.” The nurse turns to me. “You can wait outside while she comes in.”
“Stay.” Chiara’s hand tightens on mine when I start to stand. “Rosalia can wait a few more minutes. I want you here.”
She wants me here. After everything, she wants me here. I sink back into the chair and try not to look as grateful as I feel.
The nurse leaves, and we sit in silence for a moment. The hospital sounds filter through the door: footsteps, distant conversations, the soft beep of monitors somewhere down the hall. Chiara’s hand is still in mine, her fingers warming slowly against my palm.
“The note I told you about. In my bag, in the car.” She waits until I look at her. “Make sure they keep it.”
“I’ll make sure they get it.” I remember passing her car on the track, seeing it parked there with no sign of her nearby. The terror that shot through me when I realized she was at the water and I couldn’t see her. “Your phone?”
“In the lake.” She rubs at the side of her hand with her thumb. “Livia knocked it away when I tried to answer Rosalia. Then she kicked it into the water.”
“We’ll get you a new one.” I shift my phone out of my pocket and leave it on the bedside table. “Use mine if you need to call anyone tonight.”
“Tomorrow.” She closes her eyes, and I can see the exhaustion pulling at her. She lets her head rest against the pillow. “Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”
I want to ask her what happens now. I want to ask if she’s coming back to the estate, if she’s willing to try again, if there’s any chance she can forgive me for the months of neglect that led us here.
But she’s tired and hurt and she almost died today, so I keep my mouth shut and hold her hand and try to be the husband I should have been all along.
Twenty minutes later, I step out to let Rosalia take my place. She comes down the corridor with the nurse, her coat still fastened, her expression tight with worry. I leave the door cracked so I can hear if Chiara calls.
“How is she, signor?” Rosalia glances past me toward the gap. “The nurse said they’re keeping her overnight.”
“She’s exhausted. The doctor thinks she’ll be fine, but they want to observe her.” I run a hand through my hair. “She’s asking for you.”
Rosalia starts toward the door. I step aside instead of stopping her.
“Thank you for calling me. For telling me where she was.”
“She told me where she was, signor.” Rosalia keeps her hand on the door. “She’s the reason you knew.”
I nod, and she goes in. Chiara says her name, tired but warm, and I leave them to talk.
My mother finds me in the corridor ten minutes later. She’s carrying a paper bag from the hospital cafeteria, and she presses it into my hands without asking whether I’m hungry.
“Eat.” She settles into the chair across from mine. “You’ve been here for hours and you haven’t had anything since lunch.”
“I’m fine.” I reach for the bag only because she has no intention of taking it back.
“You’re not fine. You’re running on adrenaline and guilt, and at some point both of those are going to run out.” She crosses her legs and watches me unwrap the sandwich. “The police have Livia in custody. She’s being medically assessed before the transfer.”
“Good.” I take a bite of the sandwich and chew until I can swallow past the tightness in my throat.
“They’ll need your statement as well.” My mother folds her hands in her lap. “What you witnessed tonight. What you knew about the previous incidents. What orders you gave regarding the investigation.”
“I’ll tell them everything.” I look toward the room where Chiara is resting. I’ve already written down what I did; saying it to the police is the next thing I owe her.
“Even if it reaches the papers?” my mother asks.
“I won’t hide what I did.” I set the sandwich down. “Chiara has already paid enough for my reputation.”
My mother looks at me for a moment, then nods.
“Your father would have tried to keep it quiet.”
I look toward Chiara’s door. “I’ve spent enough time doing that.”
My mother falls silent. A nurse passes with a trolley, and we draw our feet back to let her through.
“I should have spoken to you earlier.” She turns the paper bag so its open side faces me, though neither of us is looking at the food now.
“About Livia. I watched her grow up on this estate, watched her work her way into positions of trust, and I told myself she was just ambitious. Hardworking. Determined to prove herself.”
“So did I.” I remember how often I called Livia dependable when Chiara tried to tell me what she was doing.
“I saw how she watched you.” My mother meets my eyes. “I told myself she would get over it.”
“Chiara noticed.” I put the unfinished sandwich back in its bag. “She tried to tell me, and I made her feel unreasonable for saying it.”