Chapter 13 - Cleaning the BloodstainsThe following month was a whirlwind of joyous preparation and new beginnings.
Under my direction, the historic estate on Long Island was opened to the public for the first time in sixty years, hosting weekly charity garden tours to benefit pediatric neurological research.
The domestic staff, who had once lived in fear of arbitrary dismissals and cruelty under Giselle, were now treated as respected members of the extended household, with private quarters, educational stipends, and fair working hours.
One Saturday morning, I walked into the grand kitchen.
The scent of fresh yeast, simmering blackberry jam, and roasted coffee beans filled the warm air.
Mrs. Gable stood at the marble island, rolling out pastry dough with a cheerful smile.
“Good morning, Miss Maya,” Mrs. Gable greeted me warmly, wiping flour from her hands. “The fresh blackberries arrived from the Hudson Valley orchards this morning. Master Dante requested his mother’s favorite jam tarts for afternoon tea.”
“I’ll help you roll the dough, Mrs. Gable,” I smiled, stepping up to the counter and reaching for an apron.
Mrs. Gable immediately caught my wrist with gentle firmness, tutting softly under her breath.
“You will do no such thing, young lady,” the old housekeeper scolded affectionately. “The Donna of this house does not roll pastry dough on a Saturday morning. You have a dress fitting with the Italian designers in forty-five minutes.”
I laughed, leaning down to kiss the old woman’s cheek. “You spoil me, Mrs. Gable.”
“You earned every bit of it, child,” she whispered, her eyes twinkling. “Now go on. Master Dante is waiting for you in the conservatory.”
I walked down the long, sun-drenched corridor to the glass conservatory.
The glasshouse was in full, magnificent bloom. Hundreds of rare white and purple orchids cascaded from the hanging cedar baskets, their sweet, exotic fragrance filling the warm air.
Dante stood beside the central fountain, wearing a casual white linen shirt and tailored slacks, watching the koi fish swim beneath the lily pads.
When he heard my footsteps on the damp brick pathway, he turned around.
His face lit up with that rare, breathtaking smile that never failed to make my heart race.
“There you are,” he murmured, walking forward to catch me around the waist, pulling me against his broad chest.
He buried his face into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply.
“Vanilla, clean rain, and sweet orchids,” he whispered against my skin. “The only scent I ever want to come home to.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck, smiling against his cheek.
“Mrs. Gable kicked me out of the kitchen, Dante. She said I’m not allowed to touch a rolling pin.”
“Mrs. Gable is a very wise woman,” Dante chuckled, his hands resting naturally on my hips. “And she knows that your hands have far more important work to do.”
He reached into his pocket and produced a small, antique velvet box lined with dark silk.
My breath hitched in my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
“Dante...” I breathed, looking up into his soulful gray eyes.
May you like
He didn't hesitate.
He dropped onto one knee on the weathered brick pathway of the conservatory, surrounded by the blooming orchids and the gentle trickle of the fountain.
