Page 115 of Goldflame
As I get closer, it hits me—I met her at the Harvest of Wealth festival. I remember now. Eleanora introduced us briefly.
Bianca.
“Is everything okay?” I call out, closing the distance.
The guard turns, his expression tightening when he sees me. “Miss Aurelia, please return to the house. I’ll handle this.”
“It’s fine,” I say, waving him off. “I just want to make sure nothing’s wrong.”
I turn to Bianca, whose eyes widen at the sight of me. She’s pretty in a fragile, porcelain-doll way, with a dainty mouth that trembles slightly.
“Are you here to see Lorenzo?” I ask gently. She seems nervous. “You attended the Harvest festival, right? I remember meeting you.”
“Yes, I… I remember,” she says, her voice soft and hesitant. Her fingers twist the strap of her purse. “I’m here for my husband,” she says, lifting her chin slightly. The movement seems practiced, like she’s trying to show a confidence she doesn’t actually feel. “I need to speak with him.”
I blink at her. Is Lorenzo married? Why wouldn’t he have mentioned a wife? He’s engaged to Eleanora—or at least, he claims to be. Could he be keeping a wife secret while promising himself to my best friend?
That would really piss me off; he never came across as that kind of bastard.
“Your husband,” I repeat, struggling to keep my expression neutral. “You mean Lorenzo?”
A surprising laugh bursts from her. “No, no. I’m married to Dante.” She pauses, then clarifies. “Well, he used to be called Adrian.”
The world stops. Just… stops. Everything narrows to a single point—her face, her words echoing in my head like gunshots.
Adrian. Married.
“That’s not possible,” I say. The words are so thin I’m surprised Bianca hears me.
She extends her hand through the bars of the gate, a giant diamond on her wedding finger catching the light. “Nice to meet you again,” she says with surprising formality. “I’m Mrs. Harrow.”
Mrs.
Harrow.
Nausea floods my stomach and I take a step back, worried I might vomit on her. I stare at the ring on her finger, my mind desperately trying to construct explanations. She’s lying. She’s delusional. This is a sick joke orchestrated by Julian or Lady Harrow.
But as I look into her eyes, I see the truth. There’s hurt behind those dark pupils. The genuine confusion and pain of a woman who doesn’t understand why her husband has abandoned her.
She turns suddenly toward the house and starts shouting, her voice carrying across the distance. “Adrian! You can’t keep ignoring me! I know you’re here!”
I take a stumbling step backward, then another,unable to process the revelation that’s shattering everything I thought I knew.
Adrian is married.
Married.
Adrian is…
A liar.
All his declarations of love, all his explanations for the distance he kept for ten years, all the moments we’ve shared since his “resurrection”—all lies.
Was I just another chess piece being moved around the board for his convenience?
I turn and run, my bare feet slapping against the pavement as I flee back toward the garden. My vision blurs, tears or shock or both making the world swim.
When I reach the backyard, Adrian is crouched at Roby’s eye level, showing him how to position his fingers on the baseball’s seams. He looks up as I approach, his smile fading instantly when he sees my face.
