“Oh, that.” Katie seemed to consider her response for a second and said, “I think I should let the Principe explain that.”

Amelia was about to question her more when they arrived at the entrance to one of the drawing rooms.

“Here we are. Just knock and the Principe will tell you to come in.”

Katie left her quickly, so she did as instructed. Her heart was hammering at the anticipation of seeing Byron again.

She heard Byron call, “Come in.” That voice still sent shivers down her spine.

Amelia entered the drawing room and found Byron standing by the window. The room’s decor was aged and faded, like it had been frozen in time a hundred years ago. Aged, dark oak filled the room, and over in the corner a white sheet covered what looked like a piano.

When Byron turned around and smiled, Amelia had to remind herself that she was angry, because every part of her wanted to run and jump into her arms. She hurt you, she lied to you.

“Good morning, Amelia.” Byron indicted for her to sit down by the coffee table. “I had tea served. Would you like a cup?”

Amelia nodded, but said nothing. Byron sat down and poured the tea from the china teapot. It was an absurdly normal scene and it made Amelia’s anger bubble again.

“How very civilized,” Amelia said sarcastically. “So, are we going to have tea and crumpets, and ignore the fact that you and your family are some sort of supernatural creatures, and that you lied to me since the moment we met?”

Byron remained cool and put her cup in front of her, before using the sugar tongs to add two lumps of sugar to Amelia’s cup. She noticed Byron’s hand tremoring, and wondered why. Byron didn’t do nervous or scared, so what was having that effect on her?

“I always feel a cup of tea or whiskey helps with any conversation. For this conversation tea will suffice.”

“Are we going to tell the truth in this conversation or are you just going to tell me what I need to know?” Amelia asked.

“I will answer anything you ask of me. There’s no point in hiding any more. I’ve lost you anyway.”

The sadness with which Byron said that sentence made Amelia want to take Byron into her arms and tell her she hadn’t, but then her righteous anger and hurt kicked that sympathy away. “You’ve lost me? You were the one who ran, who left me with my heart crumbled on the floor after telling me you loved me.”

Byron pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly finding this conversation uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing else I can say but I’m sorry, and I did it to protect you.”

“Protect me? That’s a joke. Victorija might be your enemy, but at least she saved me.”