Page 56

Exhaustion had dulled everything inside me until fear and relief occupied the same hollow place. I no longer knew which one I was feeling.

The road curved through the estate, climbing gradually between ancient trees. Their branches stretched over us, black against the fading sky. Stone walls appeared and disappeared beyond the vegetation. Somewhere in the distance, water moved with the quiet rush of a fountain.

Demitri sat in the passenger seat, one elbow resting against the door, his hand curled loosely near his mouth. His eyes remained open, but only just. The reflection in the window made him look pale beneath the shadows around his eyes. He had been awake too long. We both had.

My clothes clung to me in all the wrong places. My hair felt heavy and unkempt. Every inch of my skin seemed to carry the memory of where we had been—the church, the road, the hours spent hoping that we were safe.

I wanted a shower so badly that the thought became painful. Hot water. Clean clothes. A locked door. A bed. I could almost feel a mattress beneath me, soft enough to cushion my emotions.

Then I looked at Demitri again. Even now, inside iron gates and high stone walls, some part of him remained braced for impact. His eyes closed for two seconds. Three. Then opened again.

The trees parted.

The house rose out of the Tuscan dusk like a fortress. For a moment, I forgot how tired I was. It was enormous. Not merely large, but sprawling, the pale stone structure stretching across the hilltop in several connected wings. Rows of tall windows reflected the last grey light. Ivy climbed one side of the façade, wrapping itself around weathered balconies and stone arches. Terracotta roof tiles softened the severe lines of the building, while narrow towers stood at either end like watchmen.

Lights glowed behind the windows in warm amber pools that made the old stone seem almost golden.

There was something unexpectedly gentle about it. Soft curtains moved behind open windows. Lanterns burned beneath the portico. Large ceramic pots stood beside the steps, overflowing with rosemary and pale flowers. The front doors were dark wood, scarred with age, their iron fittings polished by generations of hands.

Before the engine had fully quieted, the front door opened. A woman hurried down the steps.

She looked to be somewhere in her late fifties, perhaps older, with silver threaded through her dark hair and a white apron tied neatly over a black dress. She moved with brisk efficiency, but the concern on her face was unmistakable.

“Signor Orsini.”

Her gaze swept over the car, landing first on Zeno and then on Demitri. Whatever she saw made her steps falter.

Zeno opened his door.

“Stella.”

She reached him before he had properly climbed out.

“You were expected hours ago.”

“We were delayed.”

“I can see that. You look terrible.” Her tone held the kind of disapproval only permitted to someone who knew she would never be punished for it.

Zeno looked down at his wrinkled clothes.

“This is my best suit, Stella.”

“Why are you driving?” She asked, frowning. I gathered that driving himself around wasn’t a normal thing for Zeno.

Demitri opened his door. Stella’s eyes shifted to him. For a fraction of a second, the sternness left her face. Something passed through her expression. Recognition. Demitri noticed it too. His hand remained on the top of the car door as they regarded one another across the bonnet. Then Stella’s attention moved to me, and her face softened.

Zeno opened my door before I could reach for the handle.

“This is Adriana,” he introduced me as I stepped out of the car. “She and Demitri will be staying with us for a while.”

Staying.

The word struck somewhere beneath my ribs, even as the ground seemed to shift under my feet. Demitri moved immediately. His hand closed around my elbow before I could stumble. The contact lasted barely a second, but it was long enough to steady me.

“We’ll have dinner soon,” Zeno informed us. “My wife will be home shortly.”

Demitri’s head lifted sharply. “Your wife?”