Ilaria stirred beneath the soft folds of her blankets, the morning light spilling across her chamber like a gentle accusation. The first thought that came to her mind, as it always was, drifted to the little ritual that had become her quiet joy.
Every morning, she would visit the kitchen and bake a warm bun from the dough that was left overnight and present it to him as a show of a wife's care. But today...today she lingered in her bed, the comfort of the linens tempting her to stay, to hide from the shadow of last night.
She had not prepared anything the night before, and she did not want to see him yet, not after being left behind; not after the ache that had clawed at her heart like a living thing. And yet, even as she sulked, consideration pricked at her heart.
What if he noticed her absence? What if he wondered why she had stopped her little visits? If he cared, even a fraction, it would be odd for her to vanish.
