Chapter 3

Viola POV

Nicholas followed my gaze, drew the bouquet back, and opened the passenger door for me.

“The reburial is tomorrow morning. Everything’s been arranged with the priest and the cemetery. Several of your father’s former lieutenants will be there, too.”

“Send me the arrangements, please. I’d like to know what to expect.”

“Of course.”

I canceled my ride and got into the passenger seat.

“The cemetery first.”

He nodded, placed the white roses on the back seat, and walked around to the driver’s side.

There was no music in the car. At every red light, he turned to glance at me. I kept looking out the window.

Three years ago, I could sit in this seat and talk endlessly. A canvas I had ruined in conservation class, a place in a school exhibition, something else Mother had forgotten—I told him all of it.

Usually, he just listened. The next day, the materials I needed would appear on my desk, or the driver would tell me a ride to the exhibition had been arranged.

“Your room’s still there for you,” he said suddenly.

I could see him reflected in the window. His eyes stayed on the road as his fingers tapped the steering wheel twice.

“It’s cleaned every week. The ivy on your windowsill is still there, too. It’s been repotted twice.”

I had grown that plant before I left. I had gone so quickly that I hadn’t even watered it.

“You still go into my room?”

“Yes.”

He answered at once, then added, “Sometimes I go in to look around. Water the plant.”

I turned toward him.

I had left books and unfinished sketches in that room. Now he and Camilla were the ones living in that house.

“I have a permanent position at the gallery now,” I said.

“I know. If you move back, we can find somewhere here—”

“I’m not looking for another job.”

His fingers stopped tapping.

“Salvatore wants you back at the estate after the ceremony,” he said. “If you don’t want to see him, I can speak to him. You can just move back into your own room.”

“I’ve booked a hotel.”

“There’s plenty of room at the estate, Viola.”

“I know.”

“Then why—”

“I have a place of my own in Paris, too. While I’m here, I’d like to keep staying somewhere I’ve chosen.”

He glanced at me and said nothing more.

I opened the hotel’s confirmation email on my phone. The room was paid for, and the reservation was in my name.

By the time we reached the cemetery, it was getting dark.

Nicholas parked near the entrance. I unbuckled my seat belt and opened the door.

“Leave your suitcase in the car,” he said. “I’ll wait here.”

“I’ll call a car when I’m done.”

“Viola.”

I stopped outside the car and turned back.

He picked up the white roses from the back seat and held them out.

“Take them to your father.”

This time, I accepted them.

“Thank you.”

I closed the door and walked up the path alone. Wind slipped beneath my collar. The lamps along the path came on one by one, lighting the stone steps ahead.

My father’s temporary crypt stood on the outskirts. Farther up lay the burial grounds of the family’s previous Dons.

As I approached, I saw someone already standing at the door.

Camilla.

She wore a white cashmere coat, her hair pinned neatly up. An obsidian brooch rested on her lapel—a wedding gift from my grandfather.

She was holding white roses, too.

“Viola.” She turned, her voice soft. “I knew you’d come here first.”

I stopped in front of her.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see Dad, too. There’ll be so many people tomorrow. I was afraid I wouldn’t get a moment alone with him.”

I didn’t answer. I bent down and laid my flowers outside the crypt.

Dust had settled on my father’s photograph. I took a handkerchief from my bag and carefully wiped it clean.

“Dad died so suddenly,” Camilla said behind me. “And you left just as suddenly. Mother kept looking for you on the wedding day.”

My hand paused over the photograph.

“You all know why I wasn’t there.”

“I know.” She took half a step closer. “That’s why there are things I’ve wanted to tell you in person.”

I put away the handkerchief and turned to face her.

“Have you always thought I stole him from you?”

Her grip tightened around the bouquet, her voice catching.

“Is that why you haven’t come home or contacted me in three years? Because you still can’t accept that Nicholas is my husband now?”