When I told them about Simone's arrangement with Silvana, about the secret heir, about what it meant for the alliance between our families, my mother pulled me in for a tight hug. Her arms shook. "I told you," she whispered into my hair. "I told you he'd only hurt you."
My father was quiet for a long moment. The clock on the mantel ticked. Outside, a car passed on the street, its headlights sweeping briefly across the drawn curtains.
"Good riddance," he said finally.
I held it together for as long as I could. Then the wall cracked, and I let the tears come, sobbing against my mother's shoulder the way I hadn't since I was a girl. They'd never thought highly of Simone. They were a minor family, the Ferrantes, respected but small, and they'd seen the marriage for what it was from the beginning: a transaction dressed up in white lace and Sunday blessings. They were convinced he didn't truly love me.
And they were right.