Chapter 5

The last guest walked out. A few family soldiers were still in the courtyard, not yet dispersed.

Sofia stood in the foyer on Vincent's arm and turned to me.

"Elena, grab Vincent's coat for me, would you? You know which closet it's in."

Not a question. An instruction.

There were still men in the yard. They heard it.

I didn't move. I looked at her.

"Dinner cleanup isn't finished."

Sofia leaned her head against Vincent's shoulder, coquettish. "Vincent, you said the Maro family's going to be mine to run eventually. But Elena doesn't seem very cooperative. Have her show me around, would you? I don't want to be lost on my own later."

Vincent looked at me.

"Elena. Take her."

Sofia gave me a small smile. "Thanks, Elena. You don't mind, right?"

She was already walking in, not waiting for an answer. She stopped in the hallway and waited for me.

I followed.

The only sound in the corridor was our footsteps.

I walked her through the house. Which room was used for what. Where the backup armory was. Which safe held the family crests and seals. Which drawer held the medical supplies and which shelf held the first-aid kits. Which door led directly down to the underground passage in an emergency.

After the essentials, I thought for a moment and added, "Anything else you want to know, I'll tell you."

Calm. Like I was handing over a job.

Because I was.

Sofia walked behind me, eyes taking in everything. She made a small sound of acknowledgment every so often, as if she were the lady of the house.

I stopped at the dressing room door and opened it.

All of Vincent's coats, sorted by season and occasion, each on a hanger, each with a handwritten tag noting the occasion and weather. There was one black formal overcoat he had a mild wool allergy to — I'd had the lining replaced, and the tag read "Lining altered, wearable."

Sofia walked in. Her hand drifted along the row of hangers and stopped on the black coat.

"What's this one?"

"Altered lining," I said. "He reacts to the original fabric. Switched it to cotton."

Sofia took the coat off the hanger, weighed it in her hand, and turned to me.

"Elena, you even remember to change the linings? You really do take care of him. No wonder Vincent can't do without you. If he hadn't said you were his assistant, I'd have thought you were the lady of the house."

She paused for a second.

"But from today, you don't have to worry about any of this anymore."

I looked at Sofia, and I remembered what Vincent had said: Sofia reminds me of you when you were younger.

At the time I hadn't understood why he'd said it. I understood it now — Sofia was standing in front of me with every line of her face claiming Vincent as her own.

I used to look at him the same way. No wonder Vincent had said she reminded him of me.

I looked at her, and suddenly I didn't find her that offensive anymore.

She was just someone younger and prettier than me, walking the road I used to walk.

She draped the coat over her arm, walked out of the dressing room, and left me standing there alone.