LXXXVII. Bitter warning taste

LXXXVII. Bitter warning taste
⋄ MARINA ARELLANO ⋄
Unlike the heirs’ wing, which is so luxurious that even the air feels precious, Elettra’s quarters seem much more modest. The difference between them is clear, but I can only guess why. Could it be the strong patriarchy that prevents them from treating the girls equally? Is she an illegitimate daughter? The possibilities are many.
Elettra’s quarters are not poor… far from it. But the difference stands out in a way that feels almost offensive. Luxury exists here, but it’s restrained, almost ashamed of itself. It’s almost as if Elettra deserves comfort but not grandeur. A place within the family, but never truly at its center.
My eyes move carefully around the room, noticing small details that reveal what no one says aloud. There are no portraits of her with her father, no solemn painting, no golden frame capturing affection, pride, or belonging.
But there are signs of her—books stacked on a side table, a blanket tossed over the chaise, an open bottle of perfume leaving a soft, clean fragrance in the air, with a floral note that feels too gentle and delicate for a woman as intense as she is.
I let out a sigh, sitting up straighter than needed.
Why did they call me here? Honestly, for a family that considers itself above ordinary people, whose rules are strict, they are quite disorganized. I wonder if, like me, Bianchis’ direct maids struggle with the heirs’ inconsistency as well.
When the door finally opens, twenty minutes after I was called to Elettra Bianchi’s small, discreet antechamber, I stand up even straighter. My eyes immediately go to her—tall, elegant, blonde—and for a moment, I feel stupid for not considering this earlier. She has this natural confidence and unmistakable aristocratic allure. It’s pretty obvious now that I know the truth.
My face even heats up with embarrassment.
She approaches with a wide smile that brightens more than the sun outside, too beautiful to be just polite and too genuine to hide any hidden intention. She wears a tight, dark red dress, not exactly modest, and far too provocative for her family’s standards.
In her hands, she carries several designer bags with practiced ease that reveals her familiarity, and I rush to help her, surprising myself as I gently extend my hands to take some of the bags, not out of calculation or ambition, but out of instinct.
“Sorry to keep you waiting... Marina, right?” Elettra bats her lashes, her smile growing wider as she walks through the closet, silently inviting me with a look.
“Yes,” I nod, following her. “It’s all right, Signorina...”
“There’s no need for that.” She turns a corner and pushes a mirror that is actually a sliding closet door. “You can just call me Elettra.”
The closet is larger than I expected, refined, impeccably organized, but still without the excess of the rest of the house. There are dresses protected by thin covers, rows of shoes lined up with Bianchi’s typical precision, stacked boxes, and half-open drawers revealing silk, linen, and soft leather.
I set the bags on a narrow divan in the middle of the room and step back, watching her do the same on another one, breathing deeply, exhausted after a long, tiring day.
“Thank you,” she says, and it’s not one of those empty gratitudes that people like the Bianchis usually say to seem less untouchable. She genuinely looks at me when she speaks, and somehow, that makes my chest feel a little warmer.
“It’s no problem.” I return the smile, but I quickly become aware of where I am again. "I’m just wondering what I can do for the Signorina.”
She suddenly stops arranging the bags and looks at me with a curious expression that quickly shifts to understanding, then to mischief, like a child who has just had a disastrous idea.
“Enzo didn’t tell you anything, did he?” Elettra steps closer and takes my hands in hers. She examines my fingers, noticing my nails are neatly trimmed, polished, and clean—she notices the softness that hints I’ve never truly worked as a maid, that I’ve never had to do hard labor.
Dangerous.
I resist the urge to pull my hands back and confirm her suspicions.
With luck, she must imagine I am here to seduce one of the heirs, which, in a way, is true. But I hope she convinces herself that I’m a social climber, a greedy woman trying to trap Enzo in a hopeless marriage, rather than seeing the truth and discovering that I’m an orphan buying my freedom by selling her brother’s secrets.
“He asked me to get you ready for Gran Serata,” she says, at last, raising her brown eyes back to my face, her hands still comforting around mine. “You’ll be accompanying him tonight.”
I blink—once, twice. Elettra’s words are so casual that, for a heartbeat, I think she said something else. But there’s not the slightest hint of mockery in her expression. No sign of deception... only the simple statement of a fact.
And that makes me laugh. One that slips out, disbelieving, short, and genuinely amused before I can stop it. I know I should try to hide it, make myself seem a little more polished, more obedient, harmless, and innocent, but for some reason, I can’t raise the walls fast enough. I can’t put on the mask when she looks at me with such honesty.
Honestly, it’d probably be pointless, anyway. It’s already too late.
Elettra tilts her head, and her smile takes on a curious edge, as if my reaction amuses her more than it should.
“I’m sorry. My brother really does have this terrible habit of ordering people around as if they were chess pieces. He’s very much like my father in that,” she murmurs thoughtfully, letting go of my hands to study me deeply. “Unfortunately for us, following Bianchi’s orders is in Milan’s survival manual. So, if Enzo wants you to be his escort tonight at an extremely boring party, it’s not very wise to refuse.”
“But why me?” I watch her back, the way she looks for something among the boxes. “I’m just a maid who literally just arrived. I’m nobody—”
“Dear,” she laughs softly, without looking at me. “I know you know how stunning you are. So instead of pretending to be humble with me, help me find your dress.”
Elettra’s honesty catches me off guard for a moment, and I part my lips, but close them before something absurd and unthought-out puts me in an even worse situation… and just take a deep breath.
It seems that I’m really going to the Gran Serata.
And I should feel happy about getting closer to Enzo, closer to reaching my goal… but still, I can’t ignore the bitter warning taste in my mouth.