Mag-log inFrancesca’s POVI felt so stupid and dumb. I sat on the edge of my bed for a long time before I let myself cry.I thought about what happened between us last night, breakfast that morning. The way he treated me like I meant something. Worst of all was last night. That was a very vulnerable and intimate thing for me, and not even hours later, he had already slept with SophieI didn’t cry because my heart was broken. I wasn’t sure it was, not fully, not yet. I cried because I’d let myself believe that maybe we could have something.I should have known better.The next day I didn’t go down for breakfast. Marta brought a tray up instead, set it down, and hurried away. The whole house probably already knew what happened. I picked at the eggs and ate none of the toast.Julian came up a few minutes after I finished eating and knocked. I didn’t answer “Francesca. Open the door.”“I know you’re in there.” He continued I sat on the edge of the bed and said nothing at all, until eventually he l
Alessandro’s POVThe night before I watched the event from the upper balcony, a glass in hand, mostly untouched.The Marchetti deal had taken less time than expected, a handshake and a few minutes of conversation, done before most guests had even arrived. I stayed anyway, out of habit, watching the room from above the way I usually did at events like this.A small crowd had gathered near the edge of the floor below. I recognized the man who crossed to pull the woman away from it. Julian Windsor. I’d met him twice, we did business occasionally.I didn’t know he was married. He led her out through a set of glass doors, onto a private terrace and the doors closed behind them.I finished my drink and turned my attention elsewhere. Whatever was happening out there wasn’t my business.Francesca’s POVThe following morningJulian kept his word about the day off. We had breakfast late and it was different. There was no rush, no phone calls interrupting us, nothing. The food was mostly untouc
Francesca’s POVI don’t remember how we left the gala.I remember his hand finding mine somewhere between the terrace and the door, tight, certain, like he’d already decided something and wasn’t going to change his mind about it. I remember the car, both of us quiet, his thumb moving slowly over my knuckles the entire ride.I remember getting home quickly.The house was dark when we came in, most of the staff were already asleep. Julian didn’t let go of my hand at the bottom of the stairs. He just looked at me, something unspoken behind his eyes, and led me toward the east wing instead of the guest hallway. “This isn’t the way to my room,” I said.“I know.”I didn’t argue. I followed him down a hallway I’d never actually walked before, past a door I’d only ever seen closed, and now I was inside, for the first time since I arrived in this house. His room was simple, none of the excess I expected from a Windsor.He shut the door behind us. For a moment neither of us moved. “You can stil
Francesca’s POVThe dress arrived that afternoon. It was on a garment rack and was carried up by two of the staff. Deep emerald green, fitted through the bodice, and a skirt that moved like water when I turned in the mirror.It felt strange, dressing for something important because since the wedding, I hadn’t left the house.I was still fixing an earring when I heard footsteps stop outside my door. I opened it to leave and found Sophie already there, like she’d been waiting.She looked at the dress first, then at me.“The Windsor Foundation gala.” She said it slowly, like she was tasting something bitter. “I used to help plan that event. Did you know that? Before everything.”“I didn’t.”“I used to be the one people expected to see next to him at things like this.” Her arms crossed. “Now you’re wearing a dress his assistant picked, going to an event I helped build, and I’m sitting here.”“And whose fault is that?” I asked “I suppose I did that to myself, didn’t I. Have a wonderful ni
Francesca’s POVA few days passed quietly after the argument I’d overheard. Sophie kept her distance, and I finally got some peace.I spent my evenings in the garden again, sketching. One evening, Julian found me there and sat across. “You’ve been drawing that same design for a week,” he said.“It’s not right yet.”“What’s wrong with it?”I turned the sketchbook toward him. A ring, delicate, the stone setting slightly off-center on purpose. “The placement, It looks unfinished.”“It looks okay to me.” He said “Well it doesn’t to me.”He looked at the picture for a while before saying, “Can I borrow this page of the ring?“Why? I asked “I want to show it to someone.”“Who?” I asked suspiciously“Nobody important. Just someone I know.” He tore the page carefully, folded it once and stood. “You’ll get it back.” I didn’t ask again. He left with the sketch and I sat wondering what he was up to.Three days later, a small box arrived at my door, no note attached. Marta brought it up herse
Francesca’s POVMarta knocked on my door the next afternoon. “Your parents are here, Mrs. Windsor. Waiting in the drawing room.”“I didn’t invite them.”“They said it was urgent.”I set down my pencil and went downstairs anyway, because avoiding them would only give them more to talk about later.My mother stood when I walked in, arms already open like this was a reunion instead of a first visit since the wedding. “Francesca. You look well.”“You didn’t come to tell me that.”Her arms dropped slowly. My father, sitting in the armchair by the window, didn’t get up at all.“We were worried about you,” my mother said. “You never returned my call.”“You never called before that either. Not once since the wedding.”“That’s not fair.”“It’s accurate,” I said. “Which is different.”My father finally spoke. “Sophie mentioned you weren’t doing well here.”“Well I’m doing perfectly fine.”“She said you’ve been isolating yourself. Refusing meals with the family. She’s worried.” He continued.“So







