And then I noticed his father’s old car was missing from the garage behind the barn. I shook my head, backing toward the house. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t have left me. He wouldn’t have gone without me.
I burst back through his house, my heart cracking as the truth began to set in. And then I saw a piece of paper on a pillow on his bed, the pillow I slept on . . . beside a single white rose. My feet were leaden as I walked toward it, my personal green mile.
With trembling hands, I reached down and turned it over, and I dropped to the floor in a confused swirl of devastation and pride. Achille had written—he had never written before—but the untidily formed words cut me in two.
My love,
I’m sorry.
I love you forever.
Achille.
A sob ripped from my throat as I was ravaged by a sadness so consuming I wasn’t sure I’d survive. He had left, the other half of my soul had left, and he had taken my heart with him too. All I could think of was how much pain he must have been in as he went. And where had he gone? Who else did he have? He was so alone.
I cried and I cried until my throat was raw and my chest ached. Eventually I lifted off the ground and walked back to the mansion. As I arrived at my balcony, Zeno was leaning against the balustrade. He took one look at me, at my crying face, and a strange expression flashed across his face. I almost believed it was one of shared sadness, and maybe regret too, but when he schooled his features back to his usual cold expression, I knew I must have been mistaken.
As I walked past him, I said, “He left.”
I was just about through my doors when Zeno said, “Good. Maybe now you’ll actually start doing your duty and forget him. We are getting married whether either of us likes it or not. It is what we must do. And it is about time you stopped fooling yourself into thinking you could run away into the sunset with a poor winemaker. It will never happen, Duchessa, not for the likes of us.”
With that he left.
Achille had left too.
And as I curled up on my bed, clutching the rose that Achille had brought me, I reread the letter he had written me. I read it until sleep took me, giving me a temporary reprieve from the unbearable pain in my heart.
Chapter Fourteen
One week later . . .
Caresa
“Duchessa, you look beautiful.”
I stared at my reflection in the floor-length mirror, yet I felt nothing. I was numb. I had been numb for the past seven days, since he’d left me. Today was the final dress fitting for my wedding day. It was strange really—here I was dressed exactly as I’d always envisioned, in my dream lace dress with long sleeves, a corseted waist and a flowing silk skirt. And wearing the floor-length veil adorned with silken vines that I had wanted since I was a child. Today should have been the happiest of my life.
It felt like the worst. I was in a nightmare I couldn’t escape from, and the hero I wanted to come and save me had left me alone. I had cried for seven days straight. Now there was just a deep, dark sense of nothing.
Maria, Julietta and her assistant lost themselves in the excitement, taking pictures for any last-minute alterations that would be made this week. But I stayed silent. I wasn’t sure what I could say anyhow.
“Wait until your parents see this, Duchessa! They get in next week, yes?” Julietta asked as she began to unzip me from the dress.
“Yes,” I replied. I was making sure I listened to them just enough to answer any questions.
“They will be in love!” Julietta said happily, clearly pleased with her work. As she should be—the dress and veil were exquisite. If I were in any mood to feel excited about such a thing, I would share in her joy of a job well done.
I changed into a robe as they packed everything up. I sat down, sipping a caffè as I stared into the flames of the fire that had been lit in my bedroom. It was coming up to Christmas now, and the house staff had decorated my rooms. They smelled of pine and cinnamon from the heavily decorated tree, and the crackling fire was never allowed to die.
Maria came and sat beside me. “Contessa Florentino has called, Duchessa. She would like to arrange a lunch sometime this week.” Pia. Pia wanted to see me.
I placed down my cup and shook my head. “No thank you. Please decline. I won’t be making any engagements this week.”
Maria sighed in frustration. “You cancelled all the ones from last week, Duchessa. And now this week too? It is Christmas soon, and the city expects you to make an appearance. You should have been in Florence days ago. There are festive parties to attend. Our society expects your presence at these functions due to you being their future queen.”
“Zeno can go in my stead,” I said and curled my legs onto the chair. I turned toward the fire, hugging my waist.
“The king will not leave either. I think he is waiting for you.”
I flinched as Maria called Zeno “king”. The word made me think of Santo, and the mess he made when he seduced Abrielle Bandini and took her from her husband. When he had a child and refused to acknowledge him as an heir, because our precious society deemed it inappropriate. Then what she said sank in. “Zeno is still here?”
“He has not left in a week either. You both left the ball and have been hiding in your rooms for a week. You are worrying us all. The king will only see his secretary.” Maria moved closer. “She said he had been injured. Maybe by fighting. He wouldn’t say.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said vaguely, then turned to stare again at the flames.
“Well, your parents are due to arrive next week. Will you be going to the palazzo to meet them or continue hiding here?”
“I don’t want to leave here,” I mumbled. In case he returns.
“The king has cancelled the Christmas banquet at the palazzo, but the wedding is set for the Duomo on New Year’s Eve, and you will have to be there a few days before. There is only so much time I can buy you both.” Maria got to her feet and, in a surprising move, laid her hand on my head. The affectionate gesture brought tears to my eyes. I had been so closed off, so devoid of affection since he left, that I didn’t realize what someone’s caring touch would do to me.
Maria kissed my head. “I know these marriages can be hard, especially on one as young as you. Societal marriages have a way of seeming cold and routine. All any bride wants for her big day is to be loved and have butterflies swirl in her stomach when her eyes land on her groom.” She stepped away, leaving the tears tracking down my cheeks. “But the king is a good man. And the fact that he has stayed here when you are feeling so low is testimony to how fond he has grown of you.”
Maria turned for the door. “I’ll clear your week. But from next week, Duchessa, you must make more of an effort.”
The moment she left me alone, I broke apart, wondering how I had got to this moment. And Zeno? Why was he still here? I had not spoken to him once since that night.
Seeing the time was almost eleven o’clock, I got up from the chair and got dressed. I pulled on Abrielle’s jodhpurs, a pair of short boots and a sweater. Wrapping myself up in a scarf, coat and gloves, I left my balcony and began the walk over to Achille’s home. As with every day since he had left, the closer I got to the cottage, the more mixed my feelings became. I loved this place, found comfort in its small walls, but not seeing Achille in the fields or in the barn was a dagger to the heart.
Yet every day I came. Every day I lived in hope that he would return.
I pushed through the gate and checked the house. It was empty, like every day this week, but it was clean and waiting for his return. I had made sure of it.
Not needing to stay there, I went to the barn and unlocked the doors. I heard the eager sounds of hooves on stall floors, and the briefest of smiles came to my lips. When I arrived at the stables, Nico and Rosa had their heads over the doors. I patted each one on their necks, kissing their noses. “You ready to come out? Sorry I’m late today, I had an appointment I couldn’t get out of.” I released them into the paddock and put out some hay. The grass was hidden beneath a light layer of snow and difficult for them to eat.
When the horses were happy, I went into the barn and took a deep breath. Today was the date Achille was meant to have started the bottling of the merlot. He wasn’t here, so I would have to do. He had talked me through the process weeks ago, and promised that he would let me help him when the time came. This year’s vintage, in Achille’s estimation, would be his greatest yet. I wouldn’t let all this destroy the wine.