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Emilia’s POV
The maid, Rosetta, moved around the room like a ghost, her steps light and deliberate. She set down a tray on the table near the bed—a steaming bowl of soup, a glass of water, and a neatly folded napkin. I stayed perched on the edge of the armchair by the window, as far from her and the bed as I could manage without leaving the room entirely.
“You should eat something,” she said gently, her voice thick with an accent I couldn’t place.
“I’m not hungry,” I muttered, keeping my arms crossed over my chest.
She hesitated, her dark eyes flicking to me with a mixture of pity and concern. “You’ve been through a lot, signorina. It will help.”
I didn’t respond, staring out at the sprawling villa grounds instead. Perfectly trimmed hedges, a fountain bubbling softly in the cente
