“No.”
We’re both surprised by that. I had no idea it would come out so forcefully, and Dominic’s rapid blinking tells me he didn’t, either. I hurry on, talking over the pathetic groaning of my heart.
“My father specified in his will that she stays in the house until she dies. I have to honor that. It’s what he wanted.”
Dominic sputters, “But she cannot be trusted!”
“He loved her,” I say firmly. “He was alone for almost thirty years after my mother died, and for whatever reason, the marchesa made him happy. I won’t throw her out.”
I can’t believe I’m saying the words, but they feel right. The marchesa might be a snooty unlikeable witch, but she gave me a dress to wear to my father’s funeral, and she gave birth to the god who made me understand what s*x was really supposed to feel like,
