2. Laney
LANEY
My phone rang while I was cataloging pottery fragments in the palazzo's back study. I didn't recognize the number at first, but the country code was American, and that was unusual enough that I answered.
"Hello?"
"Laney Corrigan. Tell me you're still digging around in Sicily and haven't given up on the rest of us completely."
I nearly dropped the terra cotta shard I was holding. Nate Prescott. A friend from my university days, stayed in irregular contact through the early fieldwork years, and then I'd gotten married and the emails had trailed off.
"Nate." I set the fragment down carefully. "Yeah, I'm still here."
"Good, because I'm passing through Sicily in about a week on fieldwork near Agrigento, and I want to see the dig." His voice hadn't changed — enthusiastic, certain, the kind of energy I used to have.
My throat went tight. Nobody in this house wanted to see that dig. I'd stopped mentioning it after the third or fourth time Massimo patted my hand and told me it was wonderful that I had a little project to keep me busy.
"The dig's still active," I said. God, I sounded like a stammering undergraduate. "It's just me and a couple of local workers now. It's not fancy."
"Fancy?" He laughed. "Just send me the coordinates and I'll make the drive out from Agrigento."
I gave him the information, stumbling over the details like I'd forgotten my own site. Which was ridiculous, because I'd spent ten years on that dig and could walk every trench blindfolded.
"Perfect," Nate said. "I'll call when I'm close. And Laney — bring your field notes if you've got them. I want to see everything."
We said goodbye and I stood there holding my phone like an idiot, feeling something flutter in my chest that I'd thought was dead. Someone wanted to see the dig. Not because it was polite, not because they were humoring me. Because they understood what the work meant.
I was still standing there when the front doors banged open hard enough that I heard them from the back of the house.
Voices carried through the hall — Massimo's low and controlled, Corrado's rough bark, and a woman's voice that made my stomach drop. Vittoria Greco.
I closed the box and walked out to the entrance hall, some instinct pulling me toward my husband's voice even when I knew I wasn't going to like what I found.
Massimo stood just inside the door with Corrado Pisani beside him.
Both men wore dark suits that meant they'd come from something official.
Vittoria stood between them in a cream silk dress that probably cost more than everything in my closet combined, her hair swept back in a chignon that made her look polished and elegant.
She looked like money. Old money. The kind that fit into this world without trying.
I looked down at my jeans and the faded work shirt I'd borrowed from Massimo three years ago and never given back, and felt every inch the outsider I was.
"Laney." Massimo's eyes passed over me without really landing. "Problem with the agricultural holding. Numbers aren't adding up."
Corrado gave me a nod — gruff but respectful enough. Vittoria didn't even glance my direction.
Costanza appeared from the hallway that led to Aurelio's rooms, moving faster than I'd seen her move in months. She went straight to Vittoria and kissed both her cheeks with the kind of warmth she'd never once shown me.
"Vittoria, cara." My mother-in-law took the younger woman's hands like she was greeting a beloved daughter.
"Thank you so much for coming. I know how busy you are with your father's business, but with Aurelio the way he is right now — we desperately need someone with a steady hand and a good heart to help with his care. "
The words hit me like cold water. His care? Aurelio had nurses. He had doctors. What he didn't need was Vittoria Greco moving into my house to play nursemaid.
"Of course, Costanza." Vittoria's voice was honey-warm, perfectly deferential in a way mine had never managed to be around my mother-in-law. "I'll come every day if that's what you need. Whatever helps the family."
Every day.
Costanza beamed at her, then turned that smile on Massimo with an expression that said you see? This is what a proper daughter looks like.
My chest went tight.
"Every day," Costanza repeated, like she was sealing a contract. Then she turned to me for the first time. "Laney, you'll make sure Vittoria has everything she needs while she's here helping us, won't you? Access to the kitchens, anything she asks for."
It wasn't phrased as a question. It was an order to the help.
I forced something like a smile and said, "Of course."
Vittoria still hadn't looked at me directly.
Massimo was already moving toward his father's study, Corrado following. Vittoria went after them without waiting for an invitation, her heels clicking on the tile in a confident rhythm that said she knew exactly where she belonged.
I stood there for half a second, caught between following them and staying put like the housekeeper Costanza apparently thought I was.
Then I went after them, because whatever problem they had with the agricultural books, I'd been reconciling the family's accounts for six years and I knew that holding better than anyone.
They were already clustered around Aurelio's massive oak desk when I got to the doorway.
Massimo had a manila folder open, Corrado was leaning over his shoulder squinting at the numbers, and Vittoria had pulled up one of the leather chairs so she sat right next to my husband, close enough that their shoulders were almost touching.
I stayed in the doorway. Nobody turned around.
"The discrepancy's in the third quarter," Corrado said, tapping a page with one blunt finger. "Revenue's down but what the property costs to run hasn't shifted at all. Either someone's skimming off the top or your property manager's asleep at the wheel."
Massimo shook his head. "The property manager's been running that property for years. He wouldn't skim. I trust him."
"Then he's asleep," Corrado said flatly.
"Or incompetent," Vittoria added. She leaned closer to look at the page, her shoulder brushing Massimo's arm. "What if it's the export contracts? The tariffs on agricultural products changed last spring. That could account for a revenue drop without affecting the operating costs."
I stepped into the room. "It's not the tariffs."
Three heads turned. Massimo looked genuinely surprised to see me. Vittoria's expression cooled into something polite and blank.
"The problem's in the yield projections," I said.
My voice came out steadier than I felt. "The property manager guesses what the harvests will be by looking at the last few years, but two of those years had unusually good weather and the harvests were well above normal.
He's guessing the harvests will be bigger than the land can actually give in a normal year. "
Corrado's bushy eyebrows drew together. "You sure about that?"
"I've been reconciling the books for all the agricultural holdings for years.
" I walked to the desk and reached past Vittoria to flip back three pages in the folder, trying not to notice how she pulled back like I might contaminate her.
"Look. Right here. The property manager's guessing the harvests will be bigger than what those trees can actually give.
The revenue looks low because he's been counting on more than the land could produce, not because money's disappearing. "
Massimo stared at the page like he was seeing it for the first time.
Corrado pulled the folder closer, running his finger down the columns of numbers, his lips moving slightly. After a long moment he grunted. "Huh."
Vittoria sat back in her chair and smiled at me. It was the kind of smile that had teeth in it. "Well. How very convenient that you happen to know all of this."
I looked at her directly. "I do the books. I've been doing them for years."
"Of course you do." Her tone made it sound like I'd confessed to being the housemaid.
She turned to Massimo, dismissing me entirely.
"Massimo, you're incredibly fortunate to have someone who's willing to handle all those tedious little details for you.
It must free up so much of your time for the work that actually matters. "
My face went hot. The work that actually matters. Like years of careful work with the numbers was just busywork, something any warm body could do between loads of laundry.
I wanted to say something cutting. Wanted to tell her she had a rich father and a pretty face. But I stood there with my mouth shut like an idiot, because this was Massimo's house and his mother's honored guest and I'd learned years ago that making a scene only made everything worse for me.
Massimo didn't even look up from the folder. Didn't say a word.
Corrado cleared his throat into the silence. "Laney's right. I'm looking at the soil analysis reports from three years back and the yield numbers are consistent. This isn't theft, it's bad forecasting."
"Good." Massimo closed the folder and handed it to Corrado. "I'll call the property manager this afternoon and tell him to recalculate his projections using more conservative numbers. Thanks for catching it."
He still hadn't looked at me. Not once.
I stood there another few seconds, waiting. Waiting for him to say something. Thank you. Good work. I appreciate you knowing this. Anything.
Instead he turned to Vittoria, his whole body angling toward her. "My mother said something about coordinating my father's medication schedule with the specialist in Palermo?"
"Yes." Vittoria's voice went soft and capable. "The doctor wants to adjust his prescriptions but he needs someone tracking the daily symptoms. I told Costanza I'd handle it."
"That's — thank you," Massimo said, and the warmth in his voice made something crack open in my chest. "Let me know if you need anything. Seriously. We're grateful you're doing this."
We're grateful. Like I wasn't standing right there. Like I hadn't been running this household for years.
I turned and walked out before either of them could see my face.
I made it to the hallway before I had to stop and lean against the cool plaster wall, breathing hard.
My hands were shaking. God, I was so angry I could feel it vibrating under my skin like a current, but what was I supposed to do?
March back in there and announce that I was being replaced in my own house?
That sounded pathetic even in my own head.
I pushed off the wall and walked to the kitchen. Poured myself a glass of water I didn't want and drank it standing at the sink. Poured a second glass.
Massimo found me there about ten minutes later.
"Hey." His voice came from behind me and I felt him before I heard him, the way I always did — some stupid animal awareness I'd never been able to kill.
Heat and mass and the smell of his cologne.
"Thanks for catching that revenue thing.
Corrado was two seconds away from launching a full audit and that would've been a nightmare. "
I set the glass down carefully. "I told you last month I'd been working on those files."
"I know." He patted my shoulder without meeting my eyes, his hand heavy and dismissive and gone again in less than a second, like I was a dog who'd done a trick. "You're always on top of this stuff. It's great."
On top of this stuff. Like I was the secretary. Like I hadn't just saved him from an embarrassment and a family crisis.
"Massimo." I turned to face him. "I wanted to talk to you about something —"
Vittoria appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Massimo, I need you to go over the daily schedule for your father's care with me. The timing for the medicines — I want to make sure I have it right."
"Hold that thought." Massimo was already stepping back, already turning toward Vittoria.
I stared at him. "Right now?"
"She came here to help us, Laney." His tone was patient. "The least I can do is answer a few questions. It'll take ten minutes."
He walked out with Vittoria before I could say anything else.
I stood there alone in the kitchen, holding an empty water glass, feeling like the biggest idiot in Sicily for thinking my husband might choose ten minutes with me over the woman his mother was actively installing in my place.
Vittoria's voice drifted in from the study, asking Massimo something about the doctor's schedule.
Massimo answered her. I couldn't make out the words, but I could hear the quality of his attention — focused and present in a way he hadn't been with me in years.
I set the glass down and walked out of the kitchen before I did something humiliating like cry.
Outside, the late afternoon sun was turning the sky pink and gold over the hills. I walked to the far edge of the courtyard and stood there looking out at nothing, trying to get a grip on the tangle of hurt and anger sitting in my chest like a stone.
He'd chosen her.
Not in any way I could point to if someone asked. Not in any way that would sound reasonable if I tried to explain it. But he'd walked away from me to answer Vittoria's questions, and he'd done it without hesitation, and that told me everything I needed to know.
I pulled out my phone and looked at my recent calls. Nate's number was still there at the top of the list.
Someone wanted to see my work. Someone thought what I'd done over the last ten years actually mattered.
I held onto that thought like a live wire.
From inside the house I heard Vittoria laugh — light and easy and musical, the kind of sound that belonged to a woman who'd never had to make herself small to fit into someone else's family.
Massimo said something in response. I couldn't make out the words but I could hear the warmth in his voice.
I stood there until the sky went from pink to purple to dark, and then I went back inside to put Sofia to bed, because that was the one thing in this house nobody could take away from me.