Chapter 4
I stayed in the kitchen with Mia because Matteo told us to, but the estate wasn't built for privacy. The kitchen was at the end of the same marble hallway, and when Matteo walked Bianca toward the living room, their voices carried.
Mia sat on the stool again and went back to her coloring, but her shoulders were up by her ears. I kept my hands in the soapy water even though the bucket didn't need washing. I needed something to do with them.
I could hear Matteo first, low and even. I couldn't make out every word, but his tone was the same as it had been with me, controlled. Then Bianca answered, lighter, a little laugh in it.
"Matteo, you're being dramatic," she said, clear enough that it bounced off the marble. "I asked her to clean the spill. She gets so emotional."
There was a pause. I heard him say something about the pitcher.
Bianca's voice came back sharper. "I moved it so she wouldn't knock it again. You know how she is. Yesterday she left the service entrance open and the floors were dusty for hours."
Mia looked up at me. She didn't understand all of it, but she knew that tone. I smoothed her hair and kept listening.
The second scene was quieter. Matteo must have closed the living room door halfway because the words turned to a murmur. I could only catch pieces. Bianca saying "misunderstood" and "trying to help." Matteo saying "camera" and "Tuesday." I washed the same spot on the counter three times. My yellow gloves were still on, squeaking against the surface.
After about ten minutes, footsteps came back toward the kitchen. Bianca appeared in the doorway first. She wasn't holding the pitcher anymore. Her face was composed again, that slight smile back in place, but her eyes went right to me.
"Elena," she said, like she was checking on a guest. "I think we had a miscommunication earlier. I was worried you'd slipped on the water. I didn't mean to make you feel you had to stay on the floor."
I didn't answer right away. I could feel Mia press closer to my leg.
Matteo came up behind Bianca. He didn't touch her. He looked at me over her shoulder.
"Bianca's perspective is that she found water near your bucket and thought you'd spilled," he said carefully. "She says she picked up the pitcher to keep it out of the way and asked you to wipe it up. She says she didn't tell you to get on your hands and knees or tell Mia anything."
Bianca nodded, her smile widening just a fraction. "Exactly. I would never. Ask Mia. She's sensitive. She probably thought I was upset when I wasn't."
That was the lie. It was neat and small and it made me sound confused. It also made Mia sound like the problem.
I took off my gloves slowly and set them by the sink. My hands were red underneath. "Mia was in the hallway today because she was looking for me," I said. "On Tuesday, she told me you held the pitcher over her while she was sitting on the rug and said she'd learn to be careful."
Bianca let out a soft laugh, like I'd said something naive. "Honey, I was showing her how to pour without spilling. Children remember things so differently."
Matteo didn't laugh. He looked between us. I could see him filing both versions away, not picking one out loud.
"Okay," he said finally. "We have two different memories of what happened. I'm going to look at what the camera shows for today and for Tuesday. Until then, I want some space. Bianca, why don't you take some time upstairs. Elena, you stay on the first floor with Mia and just do the kitchen and laundry. No hallway."
Bianca's smile tightened, but she nodded. "Of course. I want everyone to feel comfortable."
She walked past us to the stairs, her dress making a soft swish. She didn't look at Mia again, but Mia watched her until she was gone around the corner.
When the upstairs door clicked, Matteo let out a breath. "You okay?" he asked.
I nodded, but my throat was tight. "She makes it sound like I'm making it up."
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"I heard you," he said. "And I heard her. That's why I want to check the footage. Give me an hour."
He left the kitchen, and I stood there with the wet rag in my hand, listening to the quiet house where two stories were now sitting side by side, waiting for something to prove one of them wrong.
