Chapter 3

After the car pulled to a stop, I had just walked toward the front passenger seat when Raffaello reached out to stop me.

"Camilla sits in front," he said.

I looked at him. "Why?"

"Because she gets carsick easily."

Camilla stood beside us, looking troubled. "I can sit in the back too."

But Raffaello had already opened the car door for her.

"Get in."

Camilla glanced at me, then ultimately got in.

I sat alone in the back seat.

The whole way there, they chatted happily in the front. At times they talked about the foundation's evening gala, and other times about the cargo at the port.

Raffaello would occasionally turn around to ask me, "Why aren't you saying anything?"

"Because there's nothing to say," I replied.

He frowned. "Are you still sulking about the wedding?"

I looked out the car window. "No."

That satisfied him. "Good, then."

The seaside estate was Raffaello's gift to me as our marital home, and I spent half a year choosing the furniture.

The largest suite on the east side of the second floor faced the sea. I designed everything in that room myself—the curtains, the bed, the fireplace, right down to the carpet pattern.

But once Camilla went in, she planted herself by the floor-to-ceiling window and refused to budge.

"The air here is really nice." She pushed the window open. "Dr. Santoro has always told me to live somewhere close to the sea."

Mamma immediately perked up. "In that case, you should come by more often in the future."

Camilla shook her head. "This is Dafne's marital home. It wouldn't be appropriate for me to move in."

Raffaello swept his gaze over the room.

"If you like it, it's yours."

I sneered inwardly, not surprised in the least.

"The east wing has always been self-contained anyway. I'll have it converted into a suite for you," Raffaello offered.

I crossed my arms and asked, "And where will we live?"

"The west wing."

"But that area's quite small."

"We'll manage."

I gazed at him quietly for a few seconds, then finally gave in.

"Fine."

Raffaello smiled and rubbed my arm.

"Dafne, you've been great just as you are lately. You don't need to fight with Camilla over every little thing."

I offered no reply.

That night was the 20th anniversary of when Raffaello and I first met, and he had booked a private restaurant on the top floor of a building at the port.

At 7:00 pm, I sat alone by the window. Half an hour later, my phone rang.

"Camilla is experiencing chest pain," Raffaello said, a jumble of footsteps audible on his end. "I'm at the hospital."

Holding the wine glass in one hand, I asked, "Is it serious?"

"Dr. Santoro is still examining her." After a pause, he added, "I might not make it until later."

My fingers froze. "It's fine."

By the time I ended the call, the main course on the table had already gone cold.

I sat there for ten minutes before finally having the driver, Stefano Caruso, take me to the hospital.

The private hospital room was slightly ajar. Camilla was already sitting up, looking perfectly fine.

Dr. Santoro stood by the bed explaining the test results.

"Her ECG and blood tests are all normal. One night of observation and she should be fine."

I stood outside the door, with Raffaello's back to me. In his hand was a dark green velvet box, and inside was an emerald brooch. I recognized it as the one his Madre, Viola Bianchi, had passed down to him.

On the day we got engaged, Raffaello had said to me, "I'll personally put this emerald brooch on you before the wedding. From then on, it'll be yours."

And yet, he was pinning that brooch onto Camilla's chest at this very moment.

Mamma came over from the other end. The moment she saw me, her expression immediately darkened.

"Why are you dressed like that? This is a hospital, for god's sake."

I looked down at my dress. It was the one Raffaello liked most.

"Today is our anniversary."

Mamma scoffed. "Camilla just got admitted to the emergency room, and all you can think about is your anniversary?"

Just then, Raffaello finally noticed me. For a moment, his gaze was uneasy.

He looked away and said, "Dafne, I'll buy you a new brooch later."

I smirked at him. "Don't bother."

He frowned and said, "It's just a piece of jewelry. Don't take everything so seriously."

"You're right," I replied with a nod.

After returning to the estate, I gathered up all the things he had given me over the years—watches, earrings, old photographs, and the bottle of wine we had drunk when we got engaged. Then, I packed them all into a box.

The butler, Riccardo Ricci, would send it to the charity auction for me the next day.

Once that was all done, I crossed off another day on the calendar.

There were still three days to go.