Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Wasn't Supposed to Speak|
“Because she didn't want me at the table.”
Teresa Moretti's words hung over the dining room like smoke.
Nobody moved.
Not the twenty-six guests.
Not the servants standing against the walls.
Not even Isabella Bellini, who had spent the entire evening smiling as though she owned the mansion.
Luca Moretti looked at his mother.
Then at his fiancée.
“Is that true?”
Isabella gave a nervous laugh.
“Luca, darling, your mother is upset. You know how emotional she gets when she's tired.”
Teresa straightened in her chair.
“I'm tired of being spoken about as though I'm not in the room.”
A few guests lowered their eyes.
I was still holding the silver tray.
The cold roast beef trembled slightly as my hands began to shake.
Luca noticed.
“Emma. Put that down.”
I obeyed immediately.
Then he turned to one of the footmen.
“Ask Marco to prepare my mother's dinner again. Fresh.”
“Yes, sir.”
Isabella folded her arms.
“This is becoming ridiculous.”
Luca didn't look at her.
“Ma, come sit beside me.”
Teresa glanced at the chair he had pulled out.
For one heartbreaking second, she looked uncertain.
“Are you sure?”
Something changed in Luca's expression.
He stepped closer.
“It's your home, Ma.”
She smiled faintly.
“I used to think so.”
The words hit him harder than any accusation.
He offered his arm.
Teresa rose slowly, her arthritic knees protesting.
When she reached the table, Luca waited until she was comfortable before returning to his own chair.
Then he looked at Isabella.
“Sit down.”
She stared at him.
“Excuse me?”
“Sit.”
The command was quiet.
But every guest heard it.
Isabella lowered herself into her chair.
Luca turned toward his mother.
“I want you to tell me exactly what happened.”
Teresa hesitated.
Then looked at me.
“Emma brought me my dinner,” she said. “I told her I wanted to eat with everyone.”
I nodded.
“She did, sir.”
Teresa continued.
“Then Isabella came into the hallway and told me I would disturb the guests.”
Isabella's face reddened.
“That is not what I said.”
Teresa looked directly at her.
“You said my coughing would make everyone uncomfortable.”
A terrible silence followed.
Luca's eyes narrowed.
“Coughing?”
Isabella hurried to explain.
“Your mother had a little cough yesterday. I was only concerned about her health.”
“I coughed because I swallowed my tea too quickly,” Teresa replied.
One elderly guest gave a startled cough of his own.
Nobody laughed.
Luca leaned back.
“Isabella, did you tell my mother she would disturb the guests?”
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Then looked toward me.
“Emma misunderstood the entire situation.”
My stomach dropped.
There it was.
The easiest answer.
Blame the maid.
“She has been confused about instructions before,” Isabella continued smoothly.
I felt my face burning.
That wasn't true.
In the two months I'd worked at the mansion, I'd never received a formal complaint.
But my younger brother Daniel needed money for college applications.
My father was still recovering from a serious back injury.
Losing this job would hurt all of us.
I opened my mouth to apologize.
Then Teresa reached across the table.
“Don't you dare.”
Everyone looked at her.
She wasn't speaking to Isabella.
She was speaking to me.
“Emma, don't apologize for telling the truth.”
My throat tightened.
Luca slowly turned toward his fiancée.
“Has Emma been disciplined before?”
Isabella blinked.
“What?”
“You said she's been confused about instructions. Has anyone formally reported that?”
“Well, not formally—”
“Then don't invent complaints about my staff.”
Isabella stared.
“I am your fiancée.”
“And she's telling me what happened in my house.”
The room fell silent again.
For the first time, I understood why people feared Luca Moretti.
He didn't need to raise his voice.
But something else surprised me.
He was listening.
Really listening.
To a maid.
To his mother.
To people Isabella had been trying to silence.
Dinner continued, though nobody seemed particularly hungry.
I returned to the kitchen, where Marco immediately handed me a clean tray.
“Fresh roast, fresh soup,” he whispered.
Then he looked at my face.
“Are you okay, kid?”
I nodded.
He didn't believe me.
“Be careful,” he said softly. “Mrs. Bellini doesn't forgive embarrassment.”
I knew.
That was what frightened me.
Twenty minutes later, as I carried the new dinner toward Teresa, Isabella caught my sleeve near the serving entrance.
Her fingers dug into my arm.
“You think you've won something tonight?”
I froze.
“Ma'am, I only—”
“Listen carefully.”
She leaned close enough that I could smell her expensive perfume.
“You are replaceable. Don't forget it.”
My eyes filled with tears.
Then another voice spoke behind her.
“Take your hand off her.”
Luca.
Isabella released me instantly.
She turned with a bright smile.
“Darling, I was just explaining the household schedule.”
Luca looked at my arm.
Then at her.
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
He held her gaze.
“Then explain why Emma looks frightened.”
Isabella's smile faltered.
I stepped backward.
“I'm fine, sir.”
Luca looked at me.
For a second, I thought he would demand an answer.
Instead, he said, “Serve my mother. Then take the rest of the night off.”
I nodded.
“Thank you.”
As I passed him, I heard Isabella whisper, “You're choosing a servant over me?”
Luca answered quietly.
“No. I'm choosing not to ignore what I'm seeing.”
I brought Teresa her fresh dinner.
She smiled.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
Then she slipped something beneath the edge of my tray.
A folded piece of paper.
I looked at her.
She touched my wrist.
“Read it somewhere private.”
My heart started pounding.
I didn't open it until I reached the pantry.
Inside were five words, written in shaky blue ink.
She's been taking my letters.
Beneath the message was a name.
Arthur Whitcomb.
And one final sentence.
Please find out why he stopped answering me.
I stared at the note.
Because Arthur Whitcomb wasn't a friend or a relative.
I knew his name.
May you like
He was the attorney who had handled Teresa Moretti's late husband's estate.
And three days earlier, I had personally watched Isabella carry a thick envelope addressed to him out of Teresa's bedroom.
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