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How did she put that night into words? In a way that wouldn’t result in blowback.
With her mind twisted up into knots, she left her room and wandered down for lunch, greeting the housekeeper, who was huffily shuttling meals out of the kitchen. She scanned the dining room and found that no one else had arrived yet.
“Ms. Marta is with sir,” the housekeeper explained. “Do you want to start without them?”
Ana politely declined.
Tapping her fingers on the back of a chair, she bit her lip. The rest of the day was packed with work meetings, and then Auntie would be busy the next two days with society luncheons. If Ana waited too long, she would lose the opportunity for a private discussion before Gio arrived. And she desperately needed some guidance.
Excusing herself, she murmured apologetically to the housekeeper, who watched her leave with a frown.
Ana marched out into the hall, a few doors down, past the second sitting room and the den, until she came to a halt in front of Auntie’s office.
“…personal affairs! He…just because…”
Grandfather was yelling loudly through the heavy oak doors, which muffled every other word.
What was he doing here? He was always holed up in his corner office at this time of day, on the south side of the house. Ana’s edgily glanced down the hall toward it.
Uneasy, she drew her attention back to the door in front of her when her aunt’s vexed tones came through.
As always, Auntie was pacifying the crusty old man about whatever had crawled up his butt today. “I’ll…care of it.”
“Luke is just interim…our household!”
Ana’s brow rose.
Their recordkeeping review with Luke must not have gone so well. Unsurprising. Families with old money, like theirs, would not appreciate anyone intruding into their finances. But Gio and Luke’s plans to overhaul the businesses would not work if they started allowing exceptions. Not even for the Mancinis. Grandfather and Auntie held no businesses, but they had substantial wealth through real estate and investments. The size of their staff also rivaled that of low-ranking nobility. All of it required robust recordkeeping.
Slam!
At the thunderous opening of the door, Ana stood back as Grandfather emerged with a scowl.
“What are you loitering out here for?”
“Just–lunch. It’s ready.”
“Hmph.” He grabbed his cane and ambled down the hall to the dining room.
At her desk, Auntie sat, rubbing her forehead wearily. Her gaunt face was pinched, crow’s feet evident beneath her eyes. She stared at a sheaf of papers, defeated. “I’ll be right out,” she said without looking up.
Not a good time, then. Ana turned to leave.
“What is it, Ana?”
“Oh, nothing,” she mumbled. “It’s okay. We should head to lunch.”
But her aunt only grew more suspicious, setting aside the papers as she bore into Ana with that laser stare that always sent shivers down her spine. With a flick of her bony hand, Auntie beckoned her in.
Closing the door behind her nervously, Ana walked into what felt like a battlefield. She was painfully conscious of her posture and the prim placement of her legs as she sat down, ensuring it was in a manner that was ladylike but not stiff. Crossing her hands, she inhaled deeply.
Auntie’s gaze narrowed.
“Did you…have a good morning–?”
“Don’t stall. Spit it out.”
Alrighty, then.
