Chapter 2

Leon didn't come back that night. In the morning, I went to the east wing for my tools. A servant lowered her head. "Ms. Ricci moved in last night."

When I'd first moved into the Vistari estate six years ago, Leon had set aside a room in the east wing for me. Even after I started sharing the main bedroom with him, I'd kept my sketches, books, and conservation bench there.

I opened the side door. The room looked completely different.

The curtains were now Catherine's favorite color. Her dresses filled the closet. My easel had been taken apart and propped up in the hall. A few cardboard boxes were piled by the door. The top one was marked TO BE DISCARDED.

I opened a box. My mother's letters, my notebooks, old photographs, and tools had all been shoved in together. Even my mother's last painting had a deep crease across it.

My hand went still.

I'd moved many times since losing my mother, but I'd always packed that painting myself. It was her last piece, the only thing I could still touch that had truly belonged to her.

Now a crease cut across its center. I was afraid to touch it with my injured hand. A little too much pressure, and it might tear right through.

Catherine came out of the room and immediately looked apologetic. "Leon said this wasn't your bedroom anymore. I haven't been sleeping well, and he thought the east wing would be quiet. If it bothers you, Isabella, I'll move out right away."

She said she would leave, but the moment Leon appeared, she looked ready to cry. "It's my fault. I didn't know this room meant so much to Isabella."

Leon glanced at the boxes, then frowned at me. "It's an empty room. If she likes it, let her have it. Just put your things away."

As though refusing would make me a terrible person.

Trembling, I lifted the painting. "This was the last thing my mother ever painted!"

Leon froze. He stared at the crease for a few seconds, then told a servant to find the best conservator available.

I looked down at my bandaged hand. For a moment, I couldn't speak.

I was a conservator. But because of an injury that never should have happened, I couldn't even hold a scalpel steady, let alone restore the last thing my mother had left me.

My palm throbbed. But it wasn't my hand that really hurt. It was my heart.

Behind Leon, satisfaction flickered in Catherine's eyes.

She held up an old pocket watch. "Is this yours, too? Leon said I could take anything I liked. You don't mind me taking this one, do you?"

I went still for a moment.

It was the first thing I'd ever repaired for Leon, six years ago.

A fall had damaged its gears. I'd spent two weeks fixing it, but when I gave it back, he'd placed it in my palm again. "Whoever fixes it gets to keep it."

Later, I'd found L&I engraved inside the back cover, along with the date we'd first met.

It wasn't just a pocket watch. He'd given it to me as a token of his love when he first made our relationship public.

In front of the Vistari family, he'd said that as long as I had it, no one could take my place at his side.

For six years, I'd carried it to every important party. When people called me "Leon's woman," the watch had even made me feel secure.

I'd thought I would keep it for the rest of my life.

Now I barely glanced at it. "Take it. I don't want it anymore."

Catherine looked startled, then began fiddling with it. A moment later, it slipped from her hands. The glass shattered, and the mechanism fell out. She stepped back and brought her heel down on it, crushing the gears.

Her eyes filled with tears. "I didn't mean to break it." She sounded sincere, but the look she gave me was a challenge.

Leon hurried over and hugged her. "Don't blame yourself. I'll have it fixed."

Once, losing that watch for even a few minutes would have sent me searching everywhere for it in a panic. This time, I just looked at it on the floor. "It's broken. Throw it away. Don't bother fixing it."

Leon looked surprised. He knew how much I'd treasured it. What he didn't understand was that I'd never loved the watch itself. I'd loved the promise it stood for: no one could replace me.

Later, a servant brought me an almost identical antique pocket watch. Leon had sent someone to find it, she said.

I threw it in the trash, box and all.

Some broken things could be replaced.

But some things broke so completely that they weren't worth repairing.