Chapter 4 - THE BRIDE WHO COUNTED THE DAYS
Vivien found me in the library that evening.
She wore an ivory dress and carried a wedding-planning binder.
"Darling, we need to finalize the seating arrangements."
I looked up.
"Of course."
She smiled.
"You're being unusually agreeable."
"Am I?"
"Usually, you hate these details."
I closed the book on my desk.
"Maybe I'm learning."
She laughed.
Then settled beside me.
"Our wedding is in twelve days."
"I know."
"Afterward, we'll finally have time to focus on the family businesses."
I studied her.
"What would you change?"
She smiled.
"Nothing drastic."
"Tell me."
She hesitated.
"Well, your mother's trust arrangements are terribly outdated."
There it was.
I kept my expression neutral.
"Are they?"
"Your father intended to modernize them."
"Did he?"
"Of course."
She touched my hand.
"And once we're married, we should review everything together."
I nodded slowly.
"Perhaps."
Vivien leaned closer.
"Your mother would want that."
I looked directly into her eyes.
"Would she?"
For one fraction of a second, her smile faltered.
Then she recovered.
"Naturally."
I smiled.
"Then let's ask her."
Vivien went still.
"What?"
"Tomorrow. I'll have an independent specialist evaluate her communication abilities. If she can express her wishes, I want to hear them."
Vivien's fingers tightened around the binder.
"That would be cruel."
"Why?"
"She'll be exhausted."
"The specialist can decide what's medically appropriate."
Vivien looked away.
"Adrian knows her condition."
"Then he'll have no objection to another opinion."
Silence.
She stood.
"Lorenzo, you're being strange."
I rose.
"Am I?"
She looked at me.
"What's happened?"
I wanted to tell her.
I wanted to ask whether she'd stood beside my father while he died.
Whether she'd watched my mother struggle to speak.
Whether she'd threatened a three-year-old child because she feared the truth.
Instead, I said:
"I'm beginning to pay attention."
Vivien stared.
Then smiled tightly.
"Goodnight, darling."
She left.
The moment the door closed, I called Rocco.
"Keep someone watching her. No confrontation. No threats. Just document where she goes and protect the household."
"Understood."
"And Rocco?"
"Yes?"
"If she tries to enter my mother's room tonight, stop her."
A pause.
"On what grounds?"
"On the grounds that Isabella's medical team has restricted visitors pending evaluation. Make sure the restriction is properly documented."
"Understood."
I hung up.
Then looked toward my father's portrait above the fireplace.
May you like
For the first time since his funeral, I wondered whether I had mourned an accident.
Or a murder.
