Chapter 2
Bianca didn't put the pitcher down right away. She held it a second too long, like setting it down would mean she was obeying him in front of me. Matteo didn't repeat himself. He just waited, his eyes on her hands, and that silence did more than any order.
I stayed where I was because no one had told me to get up. My knees had started to ache, and the rubber of the gloves stuck slightly to the marble when I shifted my weight. I could hear the clock in the entry and the faint rush of the sprinklers outside cutting off.
"Matteo, you're making this into something it isn't," Bianca said, but she finally moved to the console table by the arch and set the pitcher down with a soft click. The cut glass caught the daylight and threw a little prism on the wall.
He glanced at me then, just a quick down and up.
"Elena, stand up," he said. It wasn't loud. It was even.
I pushed myself up, my apron catching on my knee, and my legs tingled as the blood came back. I kept my hands in front of me, yellow gloves bright against the black and white of my uniform. I didn't know where to look, so I looked at the floor where the water had already dried to a faint streak.
"Go get your daughter," he said to me, quieter. "Take her to the kitchen. I'll come find you in ten minutes."
Bianca's composed look flickered. "Matteo, we were in the middle of—"
"Bianca, stay here," he said, and left no room. He turned his shoulder slightly so he was between us.
I nodded and moved toward the pantry gap. Mia's hand disappeared the second I got close. When I pulled the door open, she was pressed against the stacked towels, her light dress wrinkled, eyes still watery and wide. She didn't cry. She grabbed my gloved hand with both of hers, and the rubber squeaked.
"Hey, bug," I whispered. "We're going to the kitchen, okay? Just walk with me."
She nodded once, hard, and stuck to my side. We passed Matteo and Bianca without stopping. I felt Matteo's gaze follow us, and I felt Bianca's too, sharper. The hallway was long, and the marble made our steps sound louder than they were. Mia's sneakers made little soft pats next to my shoes.
In the kitchen, the light was warmer, the counters already wiped down from the morning. I pulled off the yellow gloves and set them by the sink, my hands red underneath. I lifted Mia onto the stool by the island where she liked to do her reading, and I poured her a glass of water from the tap with hands that weren't quite steady. She held the glass with both hands and took a small sip, eyes on the doorway.
"You did good staying quiet," I told her, smoothing her dark hair back behind her ears. It was parted in the middle, just like mine. "That was the right thing."
She leaned into my side. "Is she mad we left?" she whispered.
May you like
I heard Matteo's voice low in the hallway, and Bianca answering, controlled but faster now. I didn't know what he was saying, but the tone had that same slow, even quality that made people stop talking.
"We're going to stay right here until Mr. Bellandi comes," I said. I checked the wall clock. Ten minutes had never felt so long. I kept my hand on Mia's back, feeling her breathe, and watched the doorway for his shadow.
