The Donna Who Vanished from the Portrait Chapter 02

The Donna Who Vanished from the Portrait Chapter 02

I opened my eyes.

For a heartbeat, I thought he had finally come to his senses, ready to reconsider the portrait arrangement.

Adrian stood in the doorway, still carrying the scent of cedar and whiskey from the great hall.

He didn’t step inside. He simply held out his hand toward me. “I’ve come for the key to the adjoining suite.”

I sat upright in bed. “What do you need that key for?”

“Sophie is terrified of thunder. She was sobbing, gasping between breaths. Nonna wants Elena moved into the suite next to the master bedroom so she can look after the girl more easily.”

There was only one guest suite adjacent to the master bedroom.

My mother had lived there for half a year while she recovered her health on the estate.

After she passed away, I had locked that door and kept the key in my nightstand drawer.

“The entire west wing sits empty.”

“The west wing is too far away. If something goes wrong with the child in the middle of the night, who will hear her crying?”

“I can sit with Sophie until she falls asleep, or I can have staff prepare rooms in the west wing right now. That adjoining suite is off-limits.”

Adrian fell silent for a moment and then walked into the bedroom.

He sat down on the edge of my bed, his palm brushing lightly over my cheek, his tone almost benevolent, as though he were doing me a favor.

“That’s exactly why I came myself. All of your mother’s things are still inside. I told the servants not to touch anything. You can pack her belongings yourself. That way you cannot later accuse the Moretti family of dishonoring her memory if something goes missing tomorrow.”

I met his eyes. “This is where I draw the line.”

“Margaret.” He pulled open the nightstand drawer, took out the key, and pressed it into my palm. “You have ten minutes. Take whatever you wish to keep. Have the staff move everything else to the west wing.”

His fingers closed tightly around mine, forcing me to curl my hand around the metal key.

“The master bedroom remains yours. I’ll still sleep on this side of the house. Let them stay just a few nights. What exactly are you fighting over?”

“And if I refuse to clear it out?”

Adrian’s voice dropped low. “I offered you the chance to handle this as a courtesy to you. This isn’t a negotiation.”

From the hallway came Elena’s muffled, tear-choked voice. “Adrian, Sophie keeps calling for you. I cannot calm her down.”

Adrian stood immediately.

Before he left, he picked up a cup of warm milk from the hallway tray and set it on my nightstand.

“Drink this. Don’t lock your door. I’ll be back shortly.”

I caught the sweet tang of honey.

I was severely allergic to honey. Elena drank milk with honey every single night.

Two minutes ticked by. He never returned.

From the adjoining suite came Sophie’s broken, sniffling sobs.

“Adrian, don’t leave…”

“All right. I won’t go.”

His reply was soft, almost a whisper, but I heard every word clearly.

I sat awake until three in the morning.

The milk turned cold. He never came back.

At dawn, I packed my mother’s keepsakes—pillowcases, an old hand-mirror, stacks of her letters—into two suitcases.

Adrian stepped out of the guest suite. His shirt collar hung loose. He leaned against the doorframe and watched me.

“Packing so carefully? Waiting for me to come begging you to behave?”

He walked over and pressed down hard on the lids of my suitcases. “They will move back to regular guest quarters once the portrait unveiling gala is over.”

I lifted my gaze toward him. “After the unveiling… they are really leaving?”

“When have I ever lied to you?” His hand slid down and closed around my wrist. “You know perfectly well where I sleep at night. Must you make me spell it out?”

I knew his promise was a lie, yet I hesitated.

I had already made up my mind to leave, but part of me still wanted to see whether standing my ground might make him yield, just this once.

“Fine. I’ll wait for the unveiling gala.”

Adrian arched an eyebrow, as if he had expected me to cave all along. “That’s my Margaret.”

“I’ll stay in the west wing for these next few days.”

His smile faded a little. “Don’t test me, Margaret.”

As I wheeled my suitcases toward the west wing, he leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear.

“Say whatever you like. But if you grow afraid in the night, you will still end up knocking on my door.”

That night, he deliberately left the master bedroom door slightly ajar.

At four in the morning, Adrian rolled over in bed, his arm reaching automatically for my side. His palm met only cold, empty sheets.

He whispered my name. No answer came.

I had told myself I would wait for the gala.