Page 59 of My Sunfall

“I’m sorry for your loss.” She looks up at me with sympathy. “It must have been lonely.”

Lonely. The word lands like a blow, punching the air out of my lungs.

“Mom, Dad, don’t go… please.’’

“Lucas Vittorio Romano.” My father’s cold voice echoes through the decades. “Romano men don’t beg, especially not for people to stay. We don’t need anyone.”

On instinct, my spine locks and I rip my arm out of her grasp. “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” I say, my voice sounding too cool even in my own ears.

The warmth drains from her face. She nods slowly, a confused frown creasing her forehead. Then she drops her gaze, and the sight of it coils something ugly in my chest. Guilt, regret, the urge to take it back…and the certainty that I can’t. I am suddenly suffocating.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t mean—”

“I have to go back to work,” I say abruptly, already turning away. “Get some rest, dinner will be served at seven. Don’t wait up, I won’t be back until later.”

This time, she doesn’t stop me.

And I don’t turn back, because if I do, I’ll never leave.

Chapter Forty

Chiara

I stand stunned for what feels like a lifetime, trying to recover from the whiplash he gave me. One minute he was attentive, almost gentle, watching me like I might fracture if he let me go. The next, he’d shut me out with the finality of a slammed door.

I don’t understand what I did or said, but it must be linked to the portrait. I turn to study it. It looks like any other family portrait in our milieu. No smile, no display of any emotion. I step closer, studying the boy. He is standing a bit apart from his parents, as if he was just an accessory while the two main figures are eternally linked with their hands clasped. The loneliness in the boy’s face makes my heart clench, making me painfully aware of my own loss and loneliness. I suddenly need to get away from the painting. I flee into the master suite, into the shower and let the hot water wash away the strain of the day. It couldn’t wash away the pain or the disillusion, but when I step out and get dressed into comfortable clothes, I am more composed.

I am also ravenous, so I start to go down the stairs toward the kitchen. My steps are hushed in the empty villa, and I wonder if there is another living soul inside these walls. As I step through the arched door of the kitchen, though, I stop dead. There is an elderly woman standing at the stove. She turns when she hears me.

“Oh,” she says, smiling gently. “You must be Mrs. Romano.”

My breath hitches in my throat. The name makes it suddenly all too real.

“I—” My voice catches in my throat. “Chiara is fine. Please.”

She studies me for a moment, gaze friendly, then nods. “Of course, dear. Chiara it is.” She sets aside the spoon in her hand. “I’m Emma.” Her French accent is unmissable. She gestures toward a stool at the counter and reaches for a glass. “Would you like some water? Dinner will be ready shortly.”

I nod and take the seat facing her. Her kindness makes my chest tighten and I fold my hands together to keep them from trembling.

“You’ve come at the right time,” Emma continues conversationally, as she pours the water. “I manage the household,” she explains. “The staff, the schedules, the day-to-day matters.”

She looks at me with kind curiosity. “As Mr. Romano’s wife,” she goes on gently, “you’ll have final say, of course. Some Madame prefer to be very involved. Others don’t.” She sets the glass in front of me and meets my eyes. “How would you like things handled?”

The question sends a wave of panic through me.

Handled. Involved. Final say.

My mother’s voice rises unbidden in my head, sharp and instructive—"Pay attention. Learn how things are run. One day, this will be your duty as a wife.”

This is what I was raised for, what she’s been preparing me for all along. Calls and courtesies, hosting and hierarchy, rules I’d be expected to learn. A life of being the perfect wife and hostess. But all I see are chains. A familiar dread coils in my stomach and my throat constricts, breath coming out too shallow.

“I—” I pause, grounding myself, forcing air into my lungs. “I think things are fine the way they are.”

Emma tilts her head slightly, sending me a curious but friendly look.

“You’ve clearly been running the house very efficiently,” I add quickly. “All of you. I trust the staff to continue exactly as you have.”

It comes out too fast, more like a plea.