That night, Simone came home earlier than usual.
It was only eight o'clock. He usually rolled in at dawn, smelling of cigar smoke and the back room of whatever establishment had required his attention. Sometimes he didn't come home at all. I'd learned not to ask. Asking was a weakness, and weakness in this house was something you wore alone.
He called out my name from the hallway. His voice echoed off the high ceilings, the marble floors, the emptiness that money can buy but cannot fill.
"Grazia."
I stayed quiet in the bedroom. The door was closed. The lights were off. I lay on my side with my hand still resting where the baby was, as if protecting something that I already knew I couldn't protect.
He didn't try again.
After a while, I heard the shower running. The pipes in the old estate groaned the way they always did. When he was done, he came into the bedroom without turning on the light. The mattress dipped as he slid in beside me.
Then I felt it. A warm sensation at my waist. His arm, wrapping around me from behind. His hand settling against my stomach.