Chapter 11 - The Letter That Wasn't About Money|
Luca read Sarah's letter three times.
I knew because I watched him from the library doorway.
Each time, he stopped at the same paragraph.
Each time, he pressed his fingers against his eyes.
Finally, he looked up.
“Claire?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Would you sit with me?”
I hesitated.
Then entered.
The library smelled of leather and cedarwood.
Snow drifted past the windows.
On the desk lay a cream-colored envelope.
Sarah's handwriting covered the front.
Luca pushed the letter toward me.
“I want you to read this.”
I stared.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
I unfolded the pages carefully.
The first part concerned Sarah's wishes for Lily.
She wanted her daughter to grow up with music.
Books.
Sunday dinners.
Friends.
A garden where she could get her hands dirty.
She wanted Lily to understand that kindness mattered more than money.
Then I reached the paragraph Luca had been reading.
If I am ever unable to raise Lily, I hope Luca finds someone who loves her for who she is, not for the Moretti name.
My throat tightened.
Someone who listens when she's frightened. Someone who doesn't mock her mistakes. Someone who understands that a crooked cake made with love is worth more than the most expensive dessert in Chicago.
I stopped breathing.
A crooked cake.
Sarah had written those words five years earlier.
Before Lily ever made the dessert that exposed Vanessa.
I looked at Luca.
He was watching me.
I continued.
I don't care whether that person comes from a wealthy family or has an impressive career. I care whether Lily feels safe with them.
The words blurred.
And Luca, if you ever love again, please choose someone who understands that I will always be part of our daughter's story.
I folded the letter.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then Luca whispered, “She knew what mattered.”
I nodded.
“She did.”
He leaned back.
“I spent years thinking Lily needed a mother figure because I couldn't give her everything.”
His voice cracked.
“So I chose Vanessa because she looked perfect on paper.”
I looked toward Sarah's portrait.
“She had the right clothes. The right connections. The right family.”
He shook his head.
“And I never asked whether Lily felt loved.”
I wanted to tell him that people could change.
That he was already becoming the father Lily needed.
But instead, I said something simpler.
“She needs you to keep showing up.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
That afternoon, he surprised Lily by picking her up from school himself.
They went to the bookstore.
Bought three new novels.
Stopped for hot chocolate.
Then returned home with a ridiculous amount of glitter glue because Lily had decided to make a scrapbook about Sarah.
For the next two hours, Luca sat beside her on the living room floor.
He helped cut photographs.
Read old birthday cards.
And told stories.
How Sarah once got lost driving to a picnic because she refused to ask for directions.
How she danced badly but enthusiastically.
How she always sang the wrong lyrics to Christmas songs.
Lily laughed until she hiccuped.
I watched from the kitchen doorway.
Then Mrs. Alvarez appeared beside me.
“He's finally coming back to us,” she whispered.
I nodded.
“He is.”
She studied my face.
Then smiled knowingly.
“And perhaps you're helping more than you realize.”
I blushed.
“Mrs. Alvarez…”
She laughed softly.
“I've worked in this house for twenty years, Claire. I know what love looks like.”
I looked away.
I wasn't ready to name what I felt.
Not yet.
There were too many complications.
Luca was my employer.
He was grieving.
He had a daughter.
And I was a woman who still worried about whether my mother's furnace would survive another Chicago winter.
That evening, Luca asked me to walk with him through the garden.
The paths were covered in snow.
The greenhouse windows glowed faintly.
He handed me a warm coat.
“It's cold.”
I smiled.
“Thank you.”
We walked quietly.
Then he said, “I've been thinking about your mother.”
I looked up.
“Why?”
“You said her furnace needs replacing.”
My stomach tightened.
“Yes.”
“I know a contractor who can give you an estimate.”
I shook my head immediately.
“Luca, you don't have to.”
“I know.”
He stopped walking.
“Claire, I'm not offering charity.”
I stared.
“I'm offering a contact. You can decide what to do with it.”
Relief washed over me.
“Thank you.”
He smiled.
Then looked toward the greenhouse.
“Sarah built that.”
I followed his gaze.
“She loved gardening,” he continued.
“When she died, I couldn't bear to go inside.”
I listened.
“Vanessa wanted it demolished.”
My stomach tightened.
“I'm glad you didn't.”
“Me too.”
He turned toward me.
“Lily wants to plant lemon trees in there this spring.”
I smiled.
“That sounds lovely.”
“She asked if you'd help.”
“Of course.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then whispered, “She loves you.”
My heart stopped.
I looked down.
“I love her too.”
He took a breath.
“And Claire…”
I looked up.
His expression was serious.
Almost vulnerable.
“I think I'm beginning to understand why.”
Before I could answer, the greenhouse door opened.
Lily appeared wearing an enormous winter coat.
“Daddy!”
Luca turned.
“What are you doing outside?”
She grinned.
“Mrs. Alvarez said you were having a romantic walk.”
I nearly dropped my gloves.
Luca stared.
Then laughed.
“Did she?”
Lily nodded.
“Are you going to kiss Claire?”
My face burned.
Luca looked at me.
For one second, something warm passed between us.
Then he crouched beside his daughter.
“Lily, that's a very personal question.”
She considered that.
Then shrugged.
“Okay.”
She grabbed my hand.
“Claire, can we make cake tomorrow?”
I laughed.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
She beamed.
And as we walked back toward the mansion, with Lily between us holding both our hands, I realized something frightening.
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I wasn't simply falling in love with Luca Moretti.
I was falling in love with the family he was learning to become.
