Cassio regarded the bowl, then me.

“Please.” Loulou’s living arrangements had to change, and they would change, but today was only my first day. I’d have to be clever about my battle against my husband. He took the bowl and disappeared. I headed over to the torn apart basket and set Loulou down. She curled into herself. She must have let out her frustration on her basket if its destroyed state was an indication. No wonder considering she’d probably spent most of her days alone in this room. What had happened in this house? I stroked her head when Cassio walked back in with the water bowl. He set it down, and the moment he stepped back, Loulou trotted over to it and drank.

I straightened. I couldn’t hold back anymore. “How long has she been locked inside this room?”

Cassio’s expression tightened. “The dog’s out of control. I won’t have it shit and pee everywhere, not to mention snap at my children and everyone else.”

“How can you expect Loulou to behave if nobody takes care of her? She isn’t a machine, she’s a living being, and from what I see she hasn’t been treated the way she was supposed to. If you have an animal, you have to take care of it and not treat it like a thing you can put in a corner and take out when you feel like it.”

“I didn’t want the dog! Gaia did, and then I was left to deal with it like everything else.” He snapped his mouth shut as if he’d said more than he wanted, breathing harshly. Loulou hid in her basket at his outburst.

I stood my ground. “Then why didn’t you give Loulou to people who want her?” I kept my voice calm. Meeting Cassio’s anger with my own seemed like an unwise choice.

Cassio shook his head. “Let’s go upstairs. I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Why?” I touched his forearm.

“Because Daniele lost his mother. He doesn’t need to lose this too!”

“I thought Loulou snaps at him.”

“She does,” Cassio said. “And she’s not allowed near him.”

“Then why—”

“Enough.” Cassio’s voice could have cut steel. He nodded toward the door. I walked out of the small room. Cassio closed it, locking Loulou in once more.

“Does Sybil walk her?”

Cassio gritted his teeth as he led me up the stairs. “No. It’s got that cat box in the room.”

“It needs to be walked. It’s not a cat.”

Cassio sent me a look that made it clear he expected me to shut up right this moment.

“I’ll walk it, then. You have a leash, right?”

He stopped on the second-floor landing, a vein in his temple throbbing. “You don’t have time to walk the dog. You’ve got my kids to take care of.”

His kids. He made it sound like I was his nanny—with the added bonus of sleeping with him.

“Kids need fresh air too.”

He gave me a condescending look as if I was a delusional child in need of reprimand. He didn’t think I’d be able to handle his children, much less a dog on top of it.

Maybe he was right, but one of us had to try. I had a feeling that no matter how in control of his soldiers, his city, and his life Cassio seemed, his own home and his family had slipped out of his hands. He was incapable of fixing it; maybe he’d even given up hope that it could be fixed. And now here I was, without the hint of knowledge about dogs or kids that went beyond what I’d read in books, supposed to deal with all this.

In the months since our engagement, I’d dreaded our wedding night. Now it seemed naïve that the simple act of sex had held so much trepidation for me. Sharing a bed with Cassio was the least of my battles. Fixing this family, making it somehow into my family, that was the most daunting challenge I could imagine.

Looking up into Cassio’s exhausted and wary eyes, I promised myself to master it.

Annoyance hummed under my skin. Giulia peered up at me calmly, thinking she knew everything. It was the advantage of youth—believing you knew how the world ran and convinced you could shape it to your ideals. She’d soon realize that ideals were just teenage foolishness.

“Come now,” I gritted out, not wanting to release the frustration of the last few months on her. Ultimately, it was my fault for allowing this marriage, for thinking an eighteen-year-old girl could be a wife and mother. The idea that Giulia could become Gaia 2.0 turned my stomach over.

Giulia opened her mouth as if to say more, but I sent her a warning look. She’d need to learn when to shut up. She pursed her lips but remained quiet.

I led her to Daniele’s room first. I opened the door but didn’t turn the lights on. Daniele’s bed was empty.

“Where is he?” Giulia whispered, worried, as she crossed the room toward the bed.

My heart clenched. Turning on my heel, I walked out and strode down the corridor. Steps followed me, and Giulia appeared at my side.

“Cassio?”

I didn’t say anything—couldn’t.

The door to the last room on the left was ajar as I knew it would be. I pushed it open. The light spilling in illuminated Daniele’s small form on the huge king-sized bed. He was curled into himself on top of the comforter, half covered by his own blanket. I took a deep breath, hating the feeling of guilt wilting my insides. Anger toward Gaia was an emotion I could handle better.

I could feel Giulia’s eyes on me, the myriad of questions she wanted to ask. In the silence of the room even her unspoken words frustrated me. She took a few hesitant steps toward Daniele. My hand shot out, clamping down on her upper arm with more force than intended. She winced, looking up at me in a wounded way that had nothing to do with my hard grip. I released her at once then walked past her toward the bed. For a moment, I watched my son’s tear-stained face. He was only two, three in a month, an age when tears were still okay. Soon, they wouldn’t be anymore.

I bent down and carefully picked him up, trying not to wake him. Whenever I did, he’d squirm away and start crying again. He didn’t wake, however. His tiny head leaned against my chest as I cradled him against my body, the blanket swaddling him.

Giulia followed me without a word as I walked out of the bedroom and carried Daniele back to his own room. I put him down on his bed, covered him, then stroked his hair lightly. Feeling Giulia watching me from the doorway, I straightened and headed to her. She stepped back so I could close the door.

Giulia scanned my face, her expression filled with compassion. “Does he always come to your bedroom at night?”

“It’s not mine,” I pressed out. “It’s Gaia’s. I sleep in the master bedroom.”

“Oh.” Confusion showed on Giulia’s face. “You didn’t share a bedroom with your late wife?”

I gritted my teeth, trying to stifle my anger and worse, that heavy feeling of sadness. “No.” I headed to Simona’s room. Giulia hurried after me. She couldn’t let it drop. She was too curious. “Because you don’t want to share a bedroom?”

I glared. “No. Because Gaia didn’t want to share a bed with me. Now stop the questions.” My voice was harsh, threatening—a tone meant for soldiers that displeased me, definitely not for my wife.

I turned away from Giulia’s hurt expression. My grip on the handle was crushing as I shoved open the door. Not waiting for Giulia, I crossed the room and headed toward the crib. Simona slept soundly. Some of the darkness in my chest lifted, never all of it though. I couldn’t even remember a time when my thoughts hadn’t been dominated by darkness. I stroked my daughter’s chubby cheek with my thumb then leaned down and kissed her forehead. I was on the way out when Giulia spoke up.