Chapter 2
THE MAFIA BOSS'S FIANCÉE ORDERED ME TO REMOVE AN ELDERLY WOMAN FROM THEIR ENGAGEMENT DINNER—THEN SAID, “SHE CAME THROUGH THE SERVICE ENTRANCE LOOKING FOR A FREE MEAL,” BEFORE LUCA EVEN ASKED WHY THE WOMAN WAS CRYING. BUT WHEN SHE LOOKED AT VANESSA AND WHISPERED, “I JUST WANTED TO SEE MY DAUGHTER,” HE SLOWLY PUT DOWN HIS GLASS.
“Take her back downstairs, Claire.”
Vanessa Bellini stood beside the dining table in a fitted red silk gown.
Thirty guests watched beneath the chandeliers of the Moretti family's historic Italian restaurant in Chicago.
Beside me stood a seventy-one-year-old woman wearing a faded navy coat.
Her gray hair was neatly brushed.
Her shoes were worn.
And she was holding a small velvet jewelry box against her chest.
“Mrs. Bellini,” I said quietly, “she hasn't done anything wrong.”
Vanessa laughed.
“Oh, sweetheart. We can't let every elderly woman who wanders in off the street join our engagement dinner.”
The woman's cheeks turned pink.
“I didn't come for dinner.”
“Then you shouldn't have come at all.”
I felt her hand trembling against mine.
My name is Claire Bennett.
I'm twenty-seven, and I've worked as a housemaid for Luca Moretti's family for almost a year.
Tonight, I'd been helping serve his engagement dinner in the restaurant's private upstairs dining room.
At five thirty, I'd found the elderly woman sitting on a bench near the service entrance.
She'd been there nearly forty minutes.
“Are you waiting for someone, ma'am?”
She nodded.
“My daughter.”
“Does she work here?”
The woman looked embarrassed.
“No, honey. She's getting engaged tonight.”
I smiled.
“How wonderful. What's her name?”
She hesitated.
Then whispered, “Vanessa.”
I'd thought there must be some mistake.
Vanessa had told everyone her mother had died years ago.
But the woman looked so hopeful.
She told me she'd spent the afternoon having her hair done at a little neighborhood salon.
It was the first time she'd paid someone to do it in three years.
“I wanted to look nice for her,” she said.
Then she showed me the jewelry box.
Inside was a simple pearl hair comb.
“Her grandmother wore this on her wedding day. I thought Vanessa might want it.”
Something about her voice reminded me of my own mother.
The way she'd saved things for special occasions.
The way she'd worried about being dressed properly when meeting people with more money than we had.
So I offered the woman a glass of water.
Then I brought her upstairs.
I thought Vanessa would be happy.
I was wrong.
“Claire!”
Vanessa snapped her fingers.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Then remove her.”
The elderly woman's eyes filled.
“Vanessa, sweetheart, I only wanted to congratulate you.”
Vanessa's expression hardened.
“Don't call me that.”
Several guests looked uncomfortable.
The woman lowered her head.
“I'm sorry.”
Vanessa stepped closer.
“And stop pretending you know me.”
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
“Mrs. Bellini,” I whispered, “she says she's your mother.”
Vanessa laughed sharply.
“My mother is dead, Claire.”
The old woman closed her eyes.
Then whispered something that made my chest ache.
“I know you wish I were, honey.”
A chair moved at the head of the table.
“What is going on?”
Luca Moretti had stopped speaking to his uncle.
Thirty-six years old.
Dark swept-back hair.
Black three-piece suit, with tattoos visible along his neck and hands.
Vanessa immediately smiled.
“Darling, Claire brought an uninvited woman into our private dinner. She's been claiming to know me.”
Luca looked toward the elderly woman.
Then at me.
“Claire, who is she?”
My mouth went dry.
“Her name is Margaret Bellini, sir.”
His expression changed.
“Bellini?”
The woman nodded.
“I was Margaret Dawson before I married.”
Luca slowly looked at Vanessa.
“You said your mother passed away when you were nineteen.”
Vanessa folded her arms.
“She abandoned me, Luca. As far as I'm concerned, she might as well be dead.”
The old woman's face crumpled.
“I never abandoned you.”
Vanessa turned sharply.
“Don't start.”
Luca stood.
“Vanessa, let her speak.”
Then he walked around the table.
“Mrs. Bellini, would you like to sit down?”
She shook her head.
“I don't want to ruin your evening.”
His expression softened.
“You're not ruining anything.”
He pulled out a chair.
But Margaret remained standing.
“I worked cleaning houses for thirty-eight years, Mr. Moretti.”
Luca listened.
“After Vanessa's father left, I cleaned offices at night, too.”
Her voice trembled.
“I wasn't always home when she wanted me there. I know that hurt her.”
Vanessa looked away.
Margaret continued.
“But I went to every school concert. Every graduation. I even took the bus across town to watch her get her first job.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“I never stopped being her mother.”
Luca slowly turned toward his fiancée.
“Why did you tell me she was dead?”
Vanessa swallowed.
“Because she doesn't understand the life I've built.”
“What life?”
“This one, Luca. Your family. These people.”
She gestured toward the guests.
Margaret looked down at her old coat.
And suddenly, I understood.
She was embarrassed by her mother.
Not because Margaret had done something terrible.
Because she'd spent her life cleaning other people's homes.
Luca seemed to understand it, too.
He looked directly at Vanessa.
“You told me you were proud of everything your family sacrificed for you.”
“I am.”
“Then why are you ashamed of the woman who made those sacrifices?”
Vanessa couldn't answer.
Margaret reached for the jewelry box.
“Please don't argue because of me.”
She placed it on the table.
“Vanessa, your grandmother wanted you to have this.”
For a moment, Vanessa looked at the pearls.
Her eyes filled.
Then she pushed the box away.
“I don't want it.”
Margaret nodded slowly.
“All right, sweetheart.”
Those words hurt more than anything Vanessa had said.
She sounded like a mother who'd spent years learning how to accept rejection without making her daughter feel guilty.
Luca gently touched Margaret's shoulder.
“You're welcome to stay for dinner.”
She looked up.
“Really?”
“Of course.”
He turned toward Vanessa.
“And nobody will ask her to leave again.”
I thought that was the end.
But Margaret suddenly caught my hand.
“Claire, honey, would you mind getting my coat?”
I frowned.
“Mrs. Bellini, you don't have to leave.”
She shook her head.
“I think I should.”
Then Luca noticed something.
A small strip of red silk caught beneath Margaret's fingernail.
He looked toward Vanessa's gown.
“Mrs. Bellini, have you seen Vanessa recently?”
Margaret hesitated.
“Yes.”
Vanessa immediately interrupted.
“Luca, that doesn't matter.”
But he continued.
“When?”
Margaret looked confused.
“Tuesday afternoon.”
Luca turned toward his fiancée.
“You told me you hadn't spoken to your mother in twelve years.”
Vanessa stopped moving.
Margaret's expression changed.
“Twelve years?”
She shook her head.
“No, sweetheart. Vanessa came to my apartment three days ago.”
The dining room went silent.
I looked at the woman's fingers.
Small needle marks covered the tips.
Margaret noticed.
Then she smiled sadly.
“She needed the hem of her engagement dress fixed. I used to sew all her clothes when she was little.”
Luca slowly looked toward the red gown.
“Vanessa?”
She couldn't meet his eyes.
Margaret continued.
“She stayed for almost two hours.”
Her voice began trembling.
“And she asked me for a favor.”
Luca pulled out the chair beside her.
“What favor?”
Margaret looked toward the elegant older woman sitting beside Vanessa's father.
The woman who'd been introduced to everyone that evening as Eleanor Bellini.
Vanessa suddenly whispered, “Mom, please don't.”
It was the first time she'd called Margaret Mom all night.
Luca noticed.
“Mrs. Bellini, what did Vanessa ask you to do?”
Margaret's eyes filled.
“She asked me to promise I wouldn't come to the wedding.”
Luca frowned.
“Why?”
The old woman looked toward Eleanor.
Then whispered:
“Because she said someone else was going to sit in the mother-of-the-bride's chair.”
Luca slowly turned toward his fiancée.
“Someone else?”
Margaret nodded.
“She told me you'd already met the woman.”
Vanessa covered her mouth.
Luca looked toward Eleanor.
Then back at Margaret.
“Vanessa introduced Eleanor to me as her mother eight months ago.”
Margaret began crying.
“I know, sweetheart.”
He stopped moving.
“Then who is Eleanor?”
Margaret looked at the woman in the silver evening gown.
And whispered something that made Vanessa grip the edge of the table.
“That's the woman I cleaned house for when Vanessa was seventeen.”
Luca stared at his fiancée.
Then asked quietly:
“Why have you spent eight months letting me believe another woman raised you?”
But Margaret wasn't finished.
She reached for the little velvet jewelry box.
“Mr. Moretti, there's something else Vanessa asked me to promise on Tuesday.”
Vanessa's face went white.
“Mom, don't.”
Margaret looked at her daughter.
Then back at Luca.
“She said if I ever told you the truth about Eleanor, you'd understand why she was so desperate to marry you before Christmas.”
May you like
Luca slowly turned toward the woman sitting beside his future father-in-law.
“Eleanor, what exactly have you and Vanessa been keeping from me?”
