“Mamas don’t like surprises.”
“I am learning that.”
“Do dads know stories?”
“Some.”
“Good. You can start with dragons.”
So he did.
Not well at first. His dragon had no name, no treasure, and a confusing career in architecture. Lena interrupted constantly. Ash eventually supplied blueprints for the castle. By the end, the dragon had become mayor of a mountain village and everyone was laughing.
Everyone except me, because I was trying not to cry.
For one beautiful, dangerous hour, we looked almost like a family.
Then Mrs. Pike came upstairs holding a yellow envelope.
“This was taped under the back counter,” she said. “I found it when I dropped a spoon.”
My name was on the front.
Not Sarah.
Sarita.
Only one person had ever called me that.
My grandmother.
My hands shook so violently that Luca took the envelope only after I nodded.
Inside was an old key, a bank receipt, and a folded letter written in blue ink.
My dearest Sarita,
If you are reading this, then someone has finally become desperate enough to look for what I hid.
I am sorry. I hoped your father would protect you better than he protected himself.
There are truths in our family that do not stay buried simply because good people stop asking questions.
The land is not the inheritance.
The land is the lock.
The key is what your father took from the Morettis before you were born.
Trust no signature. Trust no apology given too easily.
And if Luca comes to you with amber-eyed children between you, ask him what happened at Bellweather House the winter before your wedding.
I read the last line again.
Then I looked at Luca.
All the warmth left his face.
“Luca,” I whispered, “what is Bellweather House?”
PART 3
Luca did not answer right away.
That frightened me more than if he had denied knowing the name.
The letter trembled in my hands. Outside, rain tapped softly against the bakery windows, gentle and steady, as though the world had no idea it had just shifted beneath our feet. Mrs. Pike stood near the sink with her arms folded, her face solemn. The twins were in the living room, building a blanket fort with all the seriousness of architects defending a kingdom.
“Luca,” I said again, quieter this time. “What is Bellweather House?”
He lowered his eyes.
