Page 16 of Obsession & Oath

We turn a corner, and the familiar scent of waxed wood and lavender polish hits me. It’s so specific to this place that it pulls me back before I can stop it.

Suddenly, I’m twelve again, sprinting down this hallway with my cousins just to see who could reach the library doors first.

The hallway widens as we approach the sunroom. Glass panes stretch from floor to ceiling, framing views of the gardens below. It’s still as stunning as I remember, I’ll admit that much.

The light is softer here, and the air smells faintly of rosemary from the pots arranged in neat rows by the window. My mother has always been proud of this room—of its elegance and order, the underlying domesticity that hangs in the corners.

She pushes open the glass doors, and the sound of her voice pulls me back to the present.

“Sit,” she says, gesturing to the small table set for two. The china is pristine, the silverware gleaming.

Everything is perfect, and I absolutely hate it.

“Welcome home, Dante,” she says, pouring us both a cup of tea.

Home. The word tastes bitter.

“Welcome indeed.” And suddenly, the half day of travel feels heavy in my bones. I swipe up my cup and sit back in my chair, taking an indulgent gulp.

My mother watches me through narrowed eyes. “I have many things to discuss with you.”

“Can they perhaps wait until I have recovered from my jetlag?”

“No.”

“Right then,” I concede with an exacerbated sigh. It was worth a try. “By all means, proceed.”

Evelina nods once. “We begin your transition to the position of don as of tomorrow morning. You will be accompanying me as I meet with the Ferraros and the De Lucas to discuss the current constructions in Modena...”

I take another long drink of tea as she continues to list her itinerary for the week. Names and places I only vaguely remember or can only pick up from contextual clues. She speaks as if I’ve never left, as if these people are universally known.

It’s infuriating, and I can already feel the headache forming from all the awkward conversations I’m going to have tomorrow. Talking with all these people who likely know exactly who I am and what my family represents.

“Can you write some of these names down?” I grumble as I pour myself another glass.

“No.”

Go figure.

She carries on as if my interruption is wholly insignificant.

She’s doing this on purpose, of course. It’s a particular brand of punishment for abandoning her all those years ago, and one I can admit to deserving.

I was a boy back then, one who felt the oppressive walls of this castle to be too stifling. It was a luxury to be able to abandon my responsibilities to this place for so long.

“Then we will be attending a dinner this weekend,” my mother trails off with a pointed look.

I finish off yet another glass of wine. “Dare I ask, with whom?”

Evelina purses her lips. “There are a group of ladies who meet?—”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Dante.”

I put my glass down a little too harshly. “I will take on the responsibilities of the family. I already gave you my word. But I will not be attending tea parties with a bunch of desperate bachelorettes.”

“You are to be engaged before you return to America,” she counters with the authority of a matriarch.

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