Page 21 of Crown of Blood

"His domain, yes. But the master keeps... separate quarters." Something flickers in her eyes. "For now."

I force myself to take a bite of egg, fighting nausea. The yolk breaks, golden and rich. Like blood spilling across pristine sheets.

Teresa's humming doesn't falter, but her eyes meet mine in the mirror as she opens the massive wardrobe across the room. There's knowledge there, in her eyes, wrapped in that slight curve of her lips.

The peony watches me while I pick at the eggs, its presence both comfort and warning.

Someone's been watching. Learning. Collecting little pieces of me I thought were still my own.

But how?

Teresa's song shifts to something darker, minor keys threading through the melody like thorns.

"You're not going to eat more than that?" Teresa clucks her tongue, snatching the half-eaten breakfast away. "Wasting good food when there's a wedding to prepare for? Your stomach will be growling right when you say 'I do.'"

The wordweddinghits me and I nearly fucking choke.

"Come now, up!" She tugs at my arm with surprising strength. "We have three hours before the ceremony, and trust me, dear, you'll need every minute to look your best for Luca."

I look at her with a frown. "I'm not sure how to take that, Teresa."

"Well, darling," Teresa says, looking me up and down. "You’re beautiful, but you're notmiraculous.Now get moving, we've got skin to glow and scars to hide. Luca's mother was the last bride to grace these halls. She set quite the standard, you know."

I stumble after her into the bathroom—the same one from last night's hazy memories. The massive sunken tub already steams with fresh water, oils swirling on the surface like liquid gold, making the entire room smell like lavender.

"I can bathe myself today," I protest weakly.

Teresa ignores me completely, already untying my nightgown. "A Ravelli bride is attended to properly. It's tradition. And Elena Ravelli—may she rest in peace—would never forgive me if I let you walk down the aisle anything less than radiant."

The nightgown pools at my feet. I stand naked again, arms crossed over my chest, goosebumps rising despite the steam.

"This is ridiculous," I whisper, but step into the water anyway.

The heat envelops me as Teresa's hands guide me down. She hums that same Italian melody while working shampoo through my hair, her fingers massaging my scalp with surprising tenderness.

I should feel humiliated. I'm a grown woman being bathed like a child. Yet there's something... soothing about surrendering to her care.

No one has touched me this gently since—

"You remind me of my mother," I whisper, the words escaping before I can catch them.

Teresa's hands pause briefly. "Is that right, dear?"

"Yeah. She used to wash my hair all the time. Before the Alzheimer's took her memories." I close my eyes against the unexpected sting of tears. "She wouldn't recognize me now."

"And your father?" Teresa's voice is carefully neutral.

I laugh, hollow and sharp. "Never met him. Just another man who walked away from me without a care."

Her hands resume their gentle work, rinsing my hair with warm water from a silver pitcher.

"Don't take it to heart,tesoro. Men walk away. But Ravellis... they claim what's theirs forever. You will be in good hands with Luciano."

I step out from the bath and Teresa wraps me in a towel warmed on the heated rack, tucking it around me and patting the water droplets away.

"My dear, there will be a wedding on these grounds today," Teresa says, her eyes bright with something like excitement. "First time in fifteen years. The entire family is buzzing. Before we leave this bathroom, I need to make sure you understand the importance of today."

"I think I get it. I was engaged before," I murmur. "To Marcus."

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