Cracks in the Perfect Fiancee
Nobody moved. Victoria’s face had gone pale beneath her makeup.
“Who?” he asked Mara.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I was six when she disappeared.”
“My grandmother raised me. She wouldn’t talk about my mother. Every time I asked, she said remembering her was dangerous.”
Victoria suddenly stepped forward. “That proves nothing. A servant finds an old piece of jewelry and invents a fairy tale—”
“I didn’t know what it meant,” Mara said, and for the first time there was steel under the softness. “I came here to work.”
Alessandro’s eyes hadn’t left Victoria. “Why are you nervous?”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You are.”
Alessandro said nothing for a long moment. Then he turned to the remaining servants. “Leave us.”
Mara stayed. “She stays,” Alessandro said.
The Photograph and the Grave With No Name
“I am not afraid of a maid,” Victoria said, but the color had drained from her face.
Mara drew a shaking breath. “My mother had a photograph. Of your family.”
“Where is it?”
“I don’t have it. My grandmother gave it to someone before she died.”
“Where is Isabella buried?” Alessandro asked Victoria.