Chapter 3

I started keeping a closer eye on Fernanda.

She was sharp, or maybe just incredibly careful.

She never openly challenged me. With me, she acted almost overly respectful, borderline sucking up.

She'd have afternoon tea ready for me, remembered what kind of pastries I liked.

She played the role of the humble younger woman perfectly.

But her eyes were always quietly sizing up everyone in the house.

Mathew was cold to her, so she kept her distance and never provoked him.

My mother-in-law acted like Fernanda didn't exist, so Fernanda never bothered her.

All her energy was focused on Julio.

She knew everything about Julio.

His favorite coffee, his favorite dishes, even which parts of opera he liked to listen to.

She was like a walking, talking Julio manual.

That was just plain weird.

How could a girl in her early twenties know an older guy in his fifties inside out?

No way that was just "love at first sight" or "growing on you."

There had to be something deeper going on.

I started digging through old family photo albums.

There weren't many pictures of a young Julio, mostly corporate event shots.

I went through them one by one, looking for any connection to Fernanda.

In a heavy album, I found a faded black-and-white photo.

A young Julio stood in front of a theater stage, next to a woman in an opera costume.

Her face was blurry, but her eyes looked a lot like Fernanda's.

My heart skipped a beat.

I slipped the photo into my pocket.

That night, Mathew came home drunk again.

He barged into my room, reeking of alcohol.

"Sharon, tell me the truth. Am I useless?"

He leaned against the door, his eyes unfocused. "My dad... the woman I love... I can't handle either."

The woman he referred to wasn't me, but I chose not to reveal that I knew.

"You just haven't found the right way," I said.

"What way?" he asked, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "Do you have a plan? You must have a plan!"

I took the photo from my pocket and handed it to him.

"Do you know this woman?"

Mathew squinted at it for a long time, then shook his head.

"No. Who is it?"

"Look at her eyes. Closely."

He looked again, and his whole body jolted.

"Fernanda?" he blurted out. "How is that possible? This photo has to be thirty years old!"

"It's not Fernanda," I said. "But she's connected to Fernanda. Somehow."

Mathew sobered up fast.

He stared at the photo, then at me, his face a mix of shock and confusion.

"Who is she, then?"

"I don't know." I said, taking the photo back. "But I bet your dad does."

Just then, someone knocked on the door.

It was Fernanda.

"Mr. James, are you in there? Your father wants to see you in his study."

Mathew's face darkened instantly.

He yanked the door open. Fernanda was standing there, holding a cup of coffee.

She seemed surprised to see me, then gave an innocent smile.

"Oh, Mrs. James, you're here too. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

Her words were perfectly polite, but full of implication.

Mathew snorted, pushed past her, and stomped downstairs.

Fernanda watched him go, a hint of triumph in her eyes.

Then she looked back at me, smile still in place.

"Goodnight, Mrs. James."

She turned and left, her dress swishing.

I had a hunch.

A big drama was unfolding in Julio's study.

That was where the truth behind this whole mess would come out.