Chapter 9 - THE SECRET SEWN INTO A BLUE DRESS|
The blue dress hung at the back of Maren's closet beneath a protective garment cover.
It had been there since the day she moved into the mansion.
She had never worn it.
It was too precious.
The fabric was ordinary navy cotton with small pearl buttons along the front.
Her mother had bought it on sale the summer before Maren graduated from nursing school.
She wore it proudly to the ceremony.
In every photograph from that day, her mother was smiling.
Maren had always believed the dress held nothing more than a memory.
Now she stood before it with trembling hands.
Dante waited beside her.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
She nodded.
"Yes."
He helped remove the dress from the hanger.
Maren ran her fingers over the fabric.
"My mother made the alterations herself."
Dante studied it.
"She was a seamstress?"
"No."
Maren smiled faintly.
"She just believed everything could be fixed with enough patience."
Her smile faded.
"Even things that couldn't."
Dante looked at her.
He understood that sentence better than she knew.
They carried the dress to the sitting room.
Detective Mercer had returned with a forensic specialist.
Nico stood near the doorway.
Maren placed the dress on a clean table.
"She told me to remember it."
Mercer examined the garment without touching it.
"Do you think she concealed something inside?"
"Maybe."
Maren looked toward the hem.
"She shortened it before my graduation."
The forensic specialist carefully inspected the stitching.
Several minutes passed.
Then she pointed toward a small section near the side seam.
"This thread doesn't match."
Maren leaned closer.
The original stitching was navy.
The repaired section was a slightly darker shade of blue.
Her mother had always been particular about details.
The difference was almost impossible to notice unless someone was looking for it.
"Can you open it?" Mercer asked.
Maren hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Please."
The specialist removed several stitches.
A tiny plastic sleeve slipped onto the table.
Inside was a memory card.
Nobody spoke.
Dante felt Maren's hand find his.
Mercer looked toward the specialist.
"Document everything."
The card was placed in an evidence container.
Maren stared at it.
"My mother knew."
Dante squeezed her hand gently.
"We don't know what it contains yet."
But Maren shook her head.
"She knew something was wrong."
Her eyes filled.
"And she was frightened."
Dante drew her into his arms.
For a moment, she pressed her face against his chest.
He felt her shoulders shake.
He wished he could give her one more afternoon with her mother.
One more phone call.
One more letter about soup and the neighbor's dog.
Instead, he could only stand beside her while the past reopened.
Detective Mercer arranged for the card to be examined by the department's digital forensics team.
She warned that it might be damaged or encrypted.
Maren nodded.
Then she looked at the dress.
"May I keep it?"
"Of course," Mercer answered.
The specialist carefully repaired the opened seam enough to protect the fabric.
Maren returned the dress to its cover.
When she looked up, Dante was watching her.
"What?"
He shook his head.
"Nothing."
"You're staring."
"I was thinking about your mother."
Maren smiled sadly.
"What about her?"
"She must have been proud of you."
Maren's eyes filled again.
"She was."
Dante reached for her hand.
"I wish I'd met her."
Maren looked at him.
"She would have asked you very difficult questions."
He almost smiled.
"Like what?"
"Whether you ate vegetables."
Dante laughed softly.
"Terrifying."
"And whether you treated me well."
His smile faded.
Maren looked down.
"She would have known the answer."
Dante swallowed.
"Yes."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Maren said something that surprised him.
"But she would have given you a chance to change it."
He looked at her.
"Would she?"
"She believed people could become better."
Maren smiled faintly.
"She just didn't believe they could do it without admitting what they'd done wrong."
Dante nodded slowly.
"Smart woman."
"Very."
That evening, Maren asked to eat dinner downstairs.
Dante objected at first.
Bennett had recommended rest.
But Maren insisted she wanted to sit somewhere other than the bedroom.
They compromised.
Nico arranged a small dinner in the sunroom.
Clara brought soup, roasted vegetables, and fresh bread.
Dante sat opposite his wife at a round table.
It was the first quiet dinner they had shared in nearly a year.
Maren looked around.
"I forgot how beautiful this room is at night."
The glass walls overlooked the gardens.
Outside, little lights glowed among the trees.
Dante noticed how her expression softened in the warm light.
"Do you like it here?"
She looked surprised.
"The sunroom?"
"The house."
Maren considered the question.
"It's beautiful."
"That's not what I asked."
She lowered her gaze.
He waited.
Finally, she said, "Sometimes it feels like a museum."
"A museum?"
"Everything is expensive."
She glanced at the polished furniture.
"Everything has a story."
Then she looked at him.
"But nothing feels like it belongs to us."
Dante sat quietly.
He had inherited the mansion from his father.
He had kept almost everything exactly as it was.
The paintings.
The antiques.
The formal dining rooms nobody used.
The library that smelled of leather and old money.
He had never asked Maren what she wanted.
"What would make it feel like home?" he asked.
She smiled shyly.
"That would take some thought."
"Then think."
"You're serious?"
"Completely."
Maren looked toward the garden.
"I'd like a little vegetable patch."
Dante blinked.
"A vegetable patch?"
"Yes."
"We have six acres of professionally landscaped grounds."
"I know."
She laughed softly.
"And not one tomato plant."
He smiled.
"Anything else?"
"A place where Clara can sit and have coffee without feeling she's breaking a rule."
"Done."
"And I'd like to open the windows in the dining room."
Dante frowned.
"Why are they closed?"
"Your father disliked drafts."
He stared at her.
"My father has been dead for six years."
"Exactly."
Dante laughed.
A real laugh.
Maren looked startled.
Then she began laughing too.
For the first time in months, the sound filled a room that had been silent for far too long.
After dinner, he helped her back upstairs.
At the bedroom door, she stopped.
"Dante?"
"Yes?"
"Are you going back to your suite?"
He looked down the corridor.
The private rooms at the opposite end of the house had become his refuge.
His prison.
His excuse.
He turned toward her.
"Would you like me to stay?"
Maren hesitated.
"Only if you want to."
He touched her cheek.
"I want to."
Her eyes filled.
"All night?"
"All night."
He helped her into bed and settled beside her, careful of his shoulder.
For a while, they lay facing each other.
The distance between them seemed enormous despite the few inches separating their hands.
Then Maren whispered, "I don't know how to do this anymore."
Dante looked at her.
"Do what?"
"Be married to you."
His chest tightened.
She continued before he could answer.
"I know how to wait."
Her voice trembled.
"I know how to make excuses when people ask where you are."
She swallowed.
"I know how to pray."
Dante reached for her hand.
"But I don't know how to believe you're really staying."
He moved closer.
"Then don't force yourself to believe it tonight."
She looked at him.
"I'll show you tomorrow."
He touched her fingers.
"And the day after that."
Maren began to cry quietly.
Dante brushed away her tears.
"You don't have to trust a promise you haven't seen kept."
He kissed her forehead.
"Just let me keep it."
She closed her eyes.
For the first time in a year, she fell asleep with her husband beside her.
At two seventeen in the morning, Dante's phone lit up.
Detective Mercer had sent a message.
WE RECOVERED THE FILES FROM THE MEMORY CARD.
Dante carefully lifted the phone.
Another message followed.
YOUR MOTHER-IN-LAW WAS INVESTIGATING A MEDICAL FRAUD NETWORK.
He sat up.
Then the final message appeared.
DANTE, THE DOCUMENTS INCLUDE EVIDENCE THAT ADRIAN VOSS WASN'T WORKING ALONE.
Below it was a name.
A name Dante recognized instantly.
VITTORIO CARUSO.
His father.
The man who had died six years earlier.
May you like
The man who had built the family empire.
The man whose secrets were still reaching out of the grave.
