Chapter 12. Small Cracks

The day drifted slowly, indistinguishable from the one before.

Margherita sat curled on the armchair by the window, dressed now in soft jeans and a loose sweater—a mercy after days of silks and lace. Beyond the glass stretched the back garden, muted by early autumn light. It looked peaceful. Deceptively so.

Behind her, Gabriella moved quietly about the room, collecting teacups and folding the blanket at the foot of the bed. The girl couldn’t have been older than twenty—small, neat, careful in every motion, as if afraid the walls themselves were listening.

Margherita watched her for a while, then spoke. “Gabriella?”

The maid startled slightly, glancing up. “Yes, signorina?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Gabriella hesitated, her fingers tightening around the tray. “What is it?”

Margherita smiled faintly. “Nothing scandalous, don’t worry. I was just wondering…” She paused, pretending to consider her words. “If you have a book I could borrow. Any b