Page 96 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
"Where is she?"
"Miss Colonna's still waiting in the sitting room. Been three hours."
I didn't answer. Turned toward the sitting room.
When I pushed open the door, Bianca sat on the couch flipping through some home magazine. Heard me come in, looked up, smile spreading across her face—that smile with just a hint of coquettish charm.
"Ezio, you're back. I thought you weren't coming home tonight—"
"What happened to Juliet?"
She blinked, then put on this puzzled expression, brow furrowing slightly. "Juliet? She's fine, isn't she? When I got here, she was doing puzzles. We chatted for a bit, she seemed tired, so I had Carmen take her for a bath..."
She said it naturally, voice casual, like she was recalling some insignificant detail.
I looked at her.
I'd seen this routine plenty of times. Every time she crossed a line, every time someone came asking, this was the act—eyes clear, tone gentle, matter-of-factly pushing it all back like the other person was making things up. Three years ago with the manor thing. Two years ago with the staff thing. Then all those times after—big and small—when she used my name to boss people around.
Every time, I'd accepted the explanation.
Because she'd miscarried.
Because I owed her.
Because I told myself those things hadn't crossed a certain line yet.
"Carmen said she cried for a long time," I said.
Bianca's expression didn't shift. She just set her wine glass on the coffee table, sighed lightly, voice taking on a note of helplessness. "Kids cry all the time. Maybe she was just cranky from being tired... Ezio, are you exhausted today? Let me have someone heat something up for you—"
"She told Carmen not to tell me."
That sentence landed, and Bianca finally stopped.
The room went quiet. Not long—two, three seconds—but in those seconds, something in her face made a subtle adjustment, like recalculating.
Then she turned, stepped closer, voice switching to something softer.
"Ezio, Juliet's a sensitive child, you know that. Sometimes she gets upset over little things... Tonight I just said a few things to her, wanted to help her understand her situation properly—"
"What things?"
"Just... about her upbringing, about how she needs a stable family."
"Bianca."
My voice didn't change. Didn't get louder, didn't get heavier. But she stopped.
All these years, she'd dealt with me enough times. She knew what that tone meant.
"What did you say to Juliet?" Not a question.
Bianca looked at me for a moment. Made a decision.
She sighed, walked to the couch and sat, folded her hands in her lap, looked at me with this unshakable frankness. "I just told her the truth, Ezio. That woman left her five years ago. Five years. Not a single phone call. Not one letter. Juliet needs to know what kind of person her mother is eventually. Better now than waiting for her to figure it out when she's older—"
"So," I cut her off, "you told her that her mother didn't want her?"
