He Let Me Die for Her, So I Refused His Ring novel · Chapter 2 of 32

Chapter 2: Her Father's Chair

Livia takes her late father's seat at dinner and wagers the ring on Wednesday at ten, then finds her license, bag and passport gone and a new lock on her door.

Dinner at the Santoro house was served at seven, and nobody was ever late.

The table seated twenty. Everyone had a chair, and the chairs never changed.

Ettore Santoro sat at the head. Massimo sat on his right. Bianca sat on his left, where my father had sat until the day he died.

My place was at the far foot, by the kitchen door, where the plates came out.

I had sat there since I was twelve. In my first life I never once asked to move.

Tonight I walked up the whole length of the room with the captains watching me.

I pulled out the chair next to Bianca, on Ettore's left, and sat down.

Bianca looked at me, and then at the empty place she had just stopped using.

Nobody spoke. A fork touched a plate somewhere down the table.

Ettore lifted his eyes from his soup. He was sixty-two and had white hair and a heavy jaw, and he did not hurry over anything.

"That chair was your father's," he said.

"I know," I said. "He'd have wanted someone to use it."

Massimo put his spoon down. "Papa, she turned down the ring this afternoon."

"I heard," Ettore said. "The whole house heard."

"She says Adriano Corvi is coming to the gate on Wednesday to ask for her."

Ettore looked at me for a long moment.

"Is that true?" he asked.

"He'll come at ten," I said.

"You've met him?"

"No."

"Has he written to you? Has he called?"

"No."

"Then how do you know what he'll do on Wednesday?"

Bianca's hand found mine under the table cloth and squeezed it twice, which was what she used to do when we were small and someone shouted at me.

I let her hold it, and I didn't answer.

"A reasonable question," Ettore said, "and you don't answer it."

"I can't give you a better answer, Uncle Ettore," I said. "But if he doesn't come, I'll wear the ring."

Massimo's head came up.

"Friday evening, in front of the captains. I'll put it on myself and I won't say another word about it."

"And if he does come?" Ettore said.

"Then he's received at the front door, not shot at the gate, and he's allowed to say what he came to say."

"That's absurd," Massimo said. "The man's family has been spitting at ours for ten years."

"It's a wager," Ettore said, and he said it to the whole table. "I've heard worse."

He lifted his glass an inch off the cloth.

"Wednesday at ten. If a Corvi walks in, he walks in unharmed, and he may leave unharmed as well. If nobody comes, my son's ring goes on her hand on Friday."

"Papa," Massimo said.

"Eat," said Ettore.

The captains went back to their plates, and the talk started again, low.

Under it, I could hear Massimo breathing through his nose.

He didn't look at me for the rest of the meal. He looked at Bianca, and she looked at her glass.

After dinner I went to help clear, because I still did, and Bianca followed me into the kitchen.

The cook had already gone. The light over the sink was the only one on.

"You scared me," she said. She leaned against the counter and picked a grape off a bowl. "You've never done anything like that in your life."

"I know."

"I'm on your side. You know that, right?"

"I know."

"So tell me how you know about Corvi." She said it gently. "Did somebody introduce you? Did you meet him at school?"

"I read about him."

"Where?"

"In the news."

She laughed, soft and warm. "You, reading the news. Livia, it's me."

"It's the truth."

Bianca looked at me for a second longer than she needed to. Then she kissed my cheek.

"All right," she said. "I'll stay out of it. But if you need me, you tell me first. Before Massimo, before anyone."

"I will."

She went out. I stood with a dish towel in my hands and the tap running.

I did not wonder why my sister was so interested in a man I had never met.

I only thought that it was good to have someone ask.

I took the back stairs up to my room and opened the door.

The bed was made, and the window was shut. Everything looked the same, and nothing was where I had left it.

The folder with my medical license was gone from my desk.

So was my leather bag, with my stethoscope inside, and my passport from the drawer.

The lock on the inside of the door was new. It was a key lock, and the key was on the outside.

Somebody had been in my room while I sat at dinner.

Somebody had taken everything that would let me leave.

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