"How could you accuse me like that?" she breathed, pressing her hand to her heart. "I was just trying to help. Your mother wanted to earn more for your wedding dowry. She came to me, Anneliese. What was I supposed to do—say no to that sweet old woman?"
My chest tightened like iron bands were being wrapped around my ribs. Blood rushed to my head, pounding in my ears like a war drum.
"Boy," Piper sneered, dropping the pretense like a mask she'd grown tired of wearing, "that old hag loved you like you were the whole world, didn't she?"
She leaned in close, her perfume cloying and expensive, her breath hot against my ear.
"One day," she whispered, "I stepped on Don Marconi's favorite peonies. On purpose. Crushed them right into the soil." Her voice was velvet wrapped around a blade. "The head of household staff said he'd dock her three months' pay. Your mother begged. On her knees. Right there in the garden, with dirt under her fingernails and tears running down her face."
My vision blurred. The world narrowed to a single point—Piper's smiling face.