The Familiar

by Leigh Bardugo

“Never refuse wine, Luzia. You don’t know when you may be offered it again.”

But keeping her mouth shut was proving harder than expected. Maybe it had only been easy when no one bothered to speak to her.

He might very well loathe his mistress, but he was still a man, free to seek his fortune, free to go see puppet shows and play his songs in the sun.

Valentina sighed. She just wanted to crawl into bed. “You’re right. I’m stupid and sentimental. When we wed I was a foolish girl who hoped to love you. I grew into a foolish woman who hoped to please you. And now, well, I suppose I’m still a foolish woman who only hopes to be rid of you. Go away, Marius.” She turned from him, heading back toward the kitchen. “Go away and be glad I didn’t tell the vicar you sleep with a portrait of Martin Luther cradled in your arms.”