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He grips the counter behind him as I make to turn, his shoulders slouching with obvious relief that I’m going.
“And get rid of the piece in the bedroom,” I say on my way to the door. “You have a fucking wedding coming up in a few months.”
Only more silence follows me.
Outside, I send an order to one of my most trusted men, instructing him to watch my cousins when they’re guarding Sabella and to inform me of my wife’s actions.
With that in place, I drive home and tell Heidi to buy three chickens and food for a feast. When I dial Fabien and give him my order, he’s apprehensive. It’s not only about how we parted at the new house. The last time I instructed him to buy clothes for the children and the old man, his effort was wasted. My grandfather sold the new clothes. God only knows what he did with the money.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Fabien says, “but you’re throwing your money in the water again.”
“Just do it,” I bite out. “Let me worry about my money.”
“Fine,” he chirps. “While we’re on the subject, Sabella’s new clothes should arrive next week. It took a bit longer than expected because I ordered them from Milan.”
I grunt my approval before ending the call.
Pouring a Scotch, I contemplate the mountain of problems I saddled myself with when I interfered in my mother’s family. I understand better why my father stayed the hell away from that valley and why he never let my mother visit. He was protecting her from them by avoiding contact, but he couldn’t protect her from the lasting stigma that came with her name. He could protect her from the blatant disrespect of the villagers as little as he could keep her safe from our enemy. Now, that enemy isn’t only living in the new house even as she’s plotting my downfall, but she’s also taking care of my niece.
Chapter
Seventeen
Sabella
* * *
At sunrise, Sophie walks into my room, rubbing sleep from her eyes with one hand and clutching Beatrice in the other.
“Hey,” I say, only half-awake. “Did you sleep well?”
She stops next to me. “Beatrice is hungry.”
Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I say with a smile, “Then we better feed her.”
She runs ahead of me, barging down the stairs.
“Slowly,” I call after her. “Don’t trip and fall.”
When I catch up with her in the kitchen, she’s already seated at the table.
“What would you like?” I ask. “Bacon and eggs?”
She nods with enthusiasm.
I switch on the radio and turn to a music station. While I’m preparing our breakfast, Sophie hums along to the songs and plays with Beatrice. I steal looks at her as I cook, my heart squeezing at the sight of her tiny frame and thin body. When the food is ready, I dish up a generous helping for her. She can do with a little weight on those fragile bones.
After each bite she takes, she offers one to Beatrice. When our plates are empty, she runs to the lounge and snuggles up under the throw on the sofa in front of the television.
After tidying the kitchen, I sit down next to her.
“Aren’t you going to the village today?” she asks.
I give a start. “Why do you think I’m going there?”
“Beatrice saw you walking down the hill.”
“I see,” I say slowly. “No, I’m not going.”
