Bianca waited in our bedroom.
She had changed out of her evening dress.
The absence of the jewelry made her look less composed, but not less angry.
“You humiliated my brother.”
“He let my son be blamed for something he did.”
“It was a watch.”
“Yes.”
“You’re speaking as though he committed a crime.”
“I’m speaking about what he did after he dropped it.”
She folded her arms.
“Charles will have it repaired.”
“And Oliver?”
Her face tightened.
“He needs to learn not everything is about his feelings.”
I looked at her.
“He was accused.”
“He argues every time he’s corrected.”
“Was he wrong tonight?”
She glanced away.
“Tonight was complicated.”
“No. The watch was complicated. You blaming him was simple.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she said:
“Patrick has a great deal riding on how people see him.”
I knew what she meant.
He had been considered for a senior role in one of our hotels.
Not promised.
Considered.
“And Oliver doesn’t?” I asked.
“He’s nine.”
“Exactly.”
She stared at me.
I continued.
“His family is teaching him what people think of him. You decided your brother’s reputation mattered more than my son’s truth.”
Bianca shook her head.
“You always choose him.”
I looked toward the door.
That sentence answered more than she intended.
I slept in the guest room.
The following morning, I told Bianca she would stay elsewhere while we worked out what came next.
She objected.
Not quietly.
Oliver was already at school.
I had made sure of that.
She said I was allowing staff to interfere in our marriage.
I said Maria had not broken the watch or invented an accusation.
She said the photographs had been taken without her permission.
I reminded her the camera had been in use all afternoon in plain sight.
