Page 14 of Till Death Do Us Part

“We’re here.” A hushed voice calls to me, shaking my shoulder to pull me from my slumber. Rubbing a hand across my face, I peel my eyes open to see Nico staring at me from the open door. He offers me a hand, helping me out of the car before grabbing my bag from the boot.

“Thank you, Nico.”

“You’re very welcome, Mrs. Bianchi.”

“Wow.” A laugh falls from my lips at the use of my new name. It is the first time I have heard it in reference to myself and it sounds so odd. “That will take some getting used to, I’m sure. But the same thing as the whole ma’am thing. I’m not an old married lady. Just call me, Pippa.”

Nico smiles at me, nodding politely as he hands me my bag. Once again, he slides back into his seat and starts the engine before he pulls away, heading for the wrought iron gates of Antonio’s estate. I watch as the SUV drives out of sight, deep longing within me that I can’t drive away with it. Instead, I’m stuck here.

A large black mansion stands before me, beckoning me to enter. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I lift my bag and follow the pathway towards my new home. Anxious energy spreads through me, my body a trembling mess of nerves when I take the concrete steps and stop in front of the black door. There’s a knocker in the centre, shaped like a snake, and a bell to the left.

I hesitate for a long moment, unsure as to whether I’m supposed to knock or not, but the decision is taken out of my hands when the door swings open.

“Hello, dear.” I almost fall backwards as a woman steps out of the mansion and moves towards me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“That’s okay,” I tell her, grabbing onto a tall pillar beside me, while my other hand is pressed against my chest, trying to settle my racing heart. “My frayed nerves just got the best of me, I think.”

“Understandable, you’ve had some big changes as of late, I imagine,” she comments with a small smile. Her voice is kind, her smile even kinder. She has greying hair, cut into a sleek bob, and wrinkles that spread across her face. Her outfit is simple, a pair of dark grey trousers paired with a plain white shirt and a cream cardigan.

“I’m Margo, and you must be Mrs. Bianchi.”

“Call me Pippa, please,” I groan, lifting my hand and offering it to her. When she takes it, she places her other hand on top, patting me with her fingers a couple of times before stepping away. The gesture is so like something my father would do; I’m instantly taken to her. She turns, walking back through the open door, gesturing for me to follow.

The foyer is dark and cold as I enter. A wooden table to my left houses a bowl of keys, and a shoe rack to my right lays empty alongside a coat peg. There is a sprawling wooden staircase dead centre, taking you to the second floor.

“Shall we get a cup of tea and then I can take you on a tour?” Margo leads the way into a spacious kitchen. “Your father had bags of Yorkshire Tea shipped over for you.”

A chuckle falls from my lips, my heart warming at the gesture. Papá is extremely fussy when it comes to his tea-drinking habits. If it is not Yorkshire, he will not drink it. Moisture gathers in my eyes as the reminder of home hits me, and I have to take a steadying breath. While it may have only been several hours since I left the familiarity of London behind, it feels like a lifetime has passed.

Margo guides me around the mansion, starting with the east wing. She leads us into a large living room first, the space filled with an expanse of seating I doubt ever gets used, based on how fresh it all looks. Two large black corner sofas sit opposite one another, creating a square of sorts, and a rectangular glass coffee table sits in the centre, adorned with a bowl of potpourri and a tall candle. Two armchairs fill in the gaps between the sofas, also black, and a host of cushions in mixed shades of grey and white decorate the seats.

“This is the main area of the house,” she tells me, ignoring my scoff at the use of the word house. There is nothing homely about this place. “Though, as you can probably tell, most of the men stick to their own areas.”

“The men?”

“A handful of Antonio’s soldatos live here also, did he not tell you that?”

“No,” I answer with a shake of my head, my nose wrinkling. “There is very little Antonio has told me about anything. I’m surprised he even told me his name, honestly.”

“He’s a man of few words, that one,” she says with a short chuckle before guiding me out of the lounge and through another set of double doors a little farther down. My mouth opens in a silent gasp, thoughts of whoever else may live in this mansion long gone when I take in the expanse of bookshelves lining the walls.

A bay window sits opposite the door, where a large navy-blue loveseat takes real estate. There are a couple of blankets and cushions on the seat, making it the perfect spot to grab one of the thousands of books on display and tuck myself away for a day of reading.

“This is amazing.” My voice comes out in a hushed whisper while I take in every detail of the room. A large crystal chandelier lights the room in a soft golden hue, and there’s a tea and coffee station set up in one corner. This room could have been designed for me, and I’m going to pretend it was. “Can I live in here?”

Margo laughs before turning with a wide smile on her face. “This is your home now, Pippa. You are free to visit the library whenever you wish.”

“I’m not sure I will ever want to leave.”

“Then why don’t I show you to your bedroom,” she says, motioning to the door. “You can have a shower, change out of your travel clothes, and then I will get you a pot of tea together and some sandwiches, so you can curl up with a book down here.”

“Margo, I think I might love you.”

She says nothing more, just chuckles lightly to herself as we walk down a long hallway and into another wing of the mansion. Here, there are only a handful of doors, and she takes me to the one at the end. The bedroom is large, light, and very basic. Not at all what I was expecting after the couple of rooms I’ve seen.

The only furniture in here is a king-sized bed with plain grey sheets, two oak nightstands with a small lamp on each, and a vanity that sits opposite the bed with a fancy mirror with lights surrounding it.

Margo must see the confusion on my face, as she tells me, “I wasn’t sure how you would want your room decorated. Since this is your home now, it only makes sense for you to have a say in it. So you have the basics for now, until you decide to do some shopping and make it your own.”

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