had, that Leonidas was not worthy of love. Though Daisy’s kind heart had momentarily blinded her to his flaws, her love for him would not last. And it would not save him.
He was on a ticking clock. Any day now, she would realize what their baby already knew.
And by the end of the summer, his prophecy came true. As weeks passed and Leonidas refused to hold the baby again—for her own sake—he watched with despair as his wife’s expression changed from bewilderment to heartbreak, and finally cold accusation.
It was the happiest day of Daisy’s life when their baby was born in the first week of June.
At least, it should have been.
Labor was hard, but when it was over, she held her little girl for the first time. She looked up at her husband, wanting to share her joy.
But for some reason, his handsome face was pale, as if he’d just seen a ghost.
Their baby was perfect. Little hands, little feet, a scrunched-up beautiful face. They named her Olivia—Livvy—after Daisy’s mother, Olivia Bianchi Cassidy. Daisy was nervous, but thrilled to bring her back to the brownstone that had somehow become home to her, to the sweet pink nursery she and Leonidas had lovingly prepared.
It was hard to believe that was two months ago. Now, as Daisy nestled her baby close, nursing her in the rocking chair, she couldn’t get over how soft Livvy’s skin was, or how plump her cheeks had become in nine weeks. The baby’s dark eyelashes fluttered as she slept. Her hair was darker than Daisy’s, reflecting her namesake’s Italian roots, as well as Leonidas’s Greek heritage.
“Come and look at your daughter,” she’d said to him more than once. “Doesn’t she look like you?”
And every time, Leonidas would give their newborn daughter only the slightest sideways glance. “Yes.”
“Won’t you hold her?” she would ask.
And with that same furtive glance at his daughter, her husband would always refuse. Even if Daisy asked for help, saying she needed to have her hands free to do something else, like start the baby’s bath, even then he would refuse, and would loudly call for Mrs. Berry to assist, as he backed away.
Leonidas disappeared from the house, claiming he was urgently needed at work. He started spending sixteen-hour days at the office and sleeping in the guest room when he came home late.
He claimed he did not want to disturb Daisy and the baby, but the end result was that Daisy had barely seen her husband all summer. He’d simply evaporated from their lives, leaving only the slight scent of his exotic masculine cologne.
For weeks, Daisy had felt heartsick about it. Obviously, their daughter wasn’t to blame. Livvy was perfect. So it must be something else.
Back in March, during their honeymoon, when he’d told her about his tragic, awful childhood, it had broken Daisy’s heart. But it had also given her hope. Some part of Leonidas must love her, for him to be so vulnerable with her.
And so she’d been vulnerable, too. She’d told him she loved him.
For months after that, Leonidas had held her close, made love to her, made her feel cherished and adored. He’d let her draw his portrait in six different sketches, all of them in different light.
Now she felt like those sketches were all she had of him.
Had there been a shadow beneath his gaze, even then? Had he already been starting to pull away?
In the two months since Livvy’s birth, Daisy hadn’t had the opportunity to do another drawing of Leonidas. But she’d done dozens of sketches of their baby. Looking through them yesterday, she’d been astonished at how much the infant had changed in such a short time.
Mrs. Berry, seeing the sketches, had shyly asked if she could hire Daisy to do her portrait, too, as a gift for her husband’s birthday. Daisy had done it gladly one afternoon when the baby was sleeping, without charge. She’d done the drawing with her yellow dog stretched out over her feet, on the floor. Sunny had grown huge, and was always nearby, as if guarding Daisy and the baby from unknown enemies. She was particularly suspicious of squirrels.
Sunny always made her laugh.
Mrs. Berry had loved the drawing. Word of mouth began to spread, from the house’s staff, to their families. Friends who came from Brooklyn to see the baby saw the drawings of Livvy, and requested portraits of their own grandchildren, of their spouses, of their pets. Just yesterday, Daisy had gotten five separate requests for portraits. She