39

39
Emilia’s POV
I spent the rest of the morning trying to shake off the awkwardness of the encounter. My mind kept replaying the scene-Francesca running up to me, calling me “mommy” with all the innocence in the world, and the shocked look on the woman’s face. I couldn’t quite get a read on her reaction, but it was enough to rattle me. The idea that she could’ve been Francesca’s mother, even if it made no logical sense, had settled into my thoughts like a splinter.
I hadn’t seen the woman since she left the room. Alaric hadn’t mentioned her either during breakfast, and I didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. Instead, I tried to busy myself with small tasks around the house, staying close to Francesca, who seemed blissfully unaware of any discomfort. It was just another morning for her-drawing pictures in the living room, her favorite stuffed bear by her side.
By mid-morning, I decided to head to the kitchen. If nothing else, I could make myself a cup of coffee and try to clear my head. The house was unusually quiet, except for the faint hum of activity in the kitchen. When I walked in, I found the woman from earlier standing at the counter, chopping vegetables with practiced precision.
She looked different now. Gone was the poised, mysterious figure from Francesca’s room. She wore a simple apron, her sleeves rolled up, and her hair tied back in a loose bun. Her movements were efficient, almost graceful, and there was a sense of calm focus in the way she handled the knife. She seemed… normal. Almost too normal for someone I’d feared might be Francesca’s mother.
I hesitated at the door, not sure if I should interrupt. Before I could decide, she glanced up and noticed me. Her expression softened into a polite smile, though I could still see a trace of that earlier confusion in her eyes.
“Good morning again,” she said, her voice much lighter now. “You must be Emilia.”
“Yes, I am,” I replied, stepping into the room and leaning casually against the counter, trying to appear at ease. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
She let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Intrude? Not at all. I’m the one who should apologize. I think I startled you. I’m not sure we’ve been properly introduced yet.” She wiped her hands on a towel and extended one to me. “I’m Irene, the head chef here.”
The relief hit me like a wave. Head chef. Of course. That made so much more sense. I felt a little silly for jumping to conclusions, but I couldn’t help it. This world of Alaric’s was still so unfamiliar to me, filled with people I didn’t know. I took her hand, shaking it warmly.
“It’s nice to meet you, Irene. I’ve heard about you, I think.” I paused, trying to recall the few times Alaric had mentioned the staff. “Francesca loves your cooking.”
Irene’s smile widened, genuine and proud. “That’s good to hear. She’s a picky eater sometimes, but we’ve found a rhythm.” She turned back to the counter, picking up the knife again, but her demeanor had relaxed. “I hope I didn’t give you the wrong impression earlier. I was just spending some time with her before I started my work for the day.”
“No, it’s fine,” I assured her, though I could feel my cheeks warm slightly with embarrassment. “Honestly, I just didn’t know who you were, and I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in her room. It… caught me off guard.”
Irene nodded, her expression understanding. “I can see why. This house doesn’t always make it easy to tell who’s who. But rest assured, I’m not Francesca’s mother,” she added with a wry smile. “Though I do care for her as if she were my own. We all do.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “I’m sorry if that’s what it looked like. I just-she called me ‘mommy,’ and I didn’t know…”
Irene’s smile softened, and she set down the knife, turning to face me fully. “She calls you that?” There was no judgment in her voice, only mild surprise.
“Sometimes,” I admitted, looking away for a moment before meeting Irene’s eyes again. “I never asked her to, and I’ve tried correcting her, but she… she just says it.”
Irene’s face softened with an almost maternal kindness, and she nodded slowly. “That’s a good sign, you know. It means she feels safe with you. Francesca doesn’t use that word lightly.”
Her words touched something deep inside me, something I hadn’t allowed myself to fully feel. I swallowed hard, trying to maintain my composure. “I’m glad she feels that way,” I said quietly. “I just want what’s best for her.”
“You’re doing a good job,” Irene said, her voice gentle. “I’ve worked in this house for many years, and I’ve seen a lot of people come and go. Francesca hasn’t been this happy in a long time.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. It felt like high praise, and I didn’t know if I deserved it. I barely knew what I was doing most days, let alone take care of a little girl who had already been through so much.
“Thank you,” I managed, my voice a little thick with emotion. “That means a lot.”
Irene gave me a knowing look, as if she could read everything I wasn’t saying. She turned back to her chopping, the rhythmic sound of the knife filling the silence. “It’s not easy,” she said after a moment. “Caring for someone else’s child, especially in a place like this. But you’re doing well. And she’s lucky to have you.”
I wanted to ask her more-about what she’d seen in this house, about the people who had come before me. But I held back, not wanting to pry too much. Irene seemed like the type of person who saw everything, even if she didn’t say it out loud. And she had already given me more comfort than she realized.
I leaned against the counter, watching her work for a few minutes in companionable silence. It felt nice, having someone else I could talk to in this house.
“So,” I said after a while, trying to lighten the mood, “what’s for lunch today?”
Irene laughed softly, the sound light and genuine. “You’ll have to wait and see. But I promise it’ll be something good-Francesca’s favorite.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” I replied with a smile.
As I turned to leave, Irene called after me. “Emilia,” she said, her tone more serious now. “If you ever need anything, or if you ever have an issue… you can always come to me.”
I paused, meeting her gaze. There was a sincerity in her eyes that I hadn’t expected, and the fact that she had willingly extended an helping hand without a price…no one has ever done that for me here. “Thank you, Irene,” I said quietly. “I appreciate that.”
She nodded once, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. “Anytime.”