Chapter 3
Eleanor Bellini didn't answer.
Instead, she reached for the champagne glass beside her plate.
Her hand shook so badly that the glass rattled against the silverware.
“Eleanor,” Luca repeated. “I'm asking you a question.”
Charles Bellini, Vanessa's father, pushed back his chair.
“This is a family matter, Moretti.”
Luca looked at him.
“Then it's unfortunate that your family has spent eight months lying to mine.”
Nobody spoke.
I stood beside Margaret, wishing I could make the room disappear around her.
She had come upstairs carrying a gift.
Now thirty strangers were watching her daughter’s life come apart.
Eleanor finally set down her glass.
“Margaret worked for me,” she said. “That's true. But there's more to it.”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
“Please don't make this worse.”
Eleanor ignored her.
“When Vanessa was seventeen, Margaret cleaned my house three mornings a week. Sometimes Vanessa came after school.”
Margaret nodded.
“She used to sit at the kitchen table and sketch dresses while I finished the upstairs rooms.”
Eleanor's expression softened.
“She was talented. I owned a small bridal shop then. I let her help with alterations.”
“You did more than that,” Vanessa whispered.
Eleanor looked at her.
“I paid for your first fashion course.”
“And my college application fees.”
“Yes.”
Charles straightened.
“Which is more than Margaret could afford.”
The words landed like a slap.
Margaret lowered her eyes.
Luca turned toward Charles.
“Don't mistake having money for being a better parent.”
Charles opened his mouth.
“I'm not finished,” Luca said.
He wasn't shouting.
Somehow, that made the warning stronger.
Eleanor drew a slow breath.
“Charles and I married three years ago. I'm Vanessa's stepmother now. But I knew her long before that.”
I looked at Margaret.
She was staring at her former employer with an expression I couldn't understand.
Not hatred.
Something closer to exhaustion.
“So you helped her,” Luca said. “Why tell me Margaret died?”
Eleanor glanced at Vanessa.
“That wasn't my decision.”
Vanessa gave a short, bitter laugh.
“Really?”
“Vanessa.”
“No, Eleanor. You don't get to stand there and act surprised.”
Luca moved closer to the table.
“What does that mean?”
Vanessa pressed her fingers against her forehead.
“When I was nineteen, I attended a scholarship dinner. Eleanor introduced me to people who could help my career.”
She swallowed.
“One woman asked about my mother.”
Margaret stopped breathing for a moment.
Vanessa continued.
“I told her my mother wasn't part of my life.”
Eleanor looked down.
“And I didn't correct her,” she admitted.
“Why not?” Luca asked.
“Because the woman assumed I was Vanessa's mother. She was impressed with the family connection. I thought correcting her would embarrass Vanessa.”
Margaret stared at Eleanor.
“Embarrass her?”
Eleanor's cheeks colored.
“That isn't how I meant it.”
“But that's what happened.”
Vanessa's voice cracked.
“It happened once, and then everyone kept asking about Eleanor. She knew designers. She knew people. She could open doors.”
Margaret looked at her daughter.
“And I cleaned their houses.”
Vanessa had no answer.
For the first time that evening, I saw something like genuine shame cross Eleanor's face.
“I should have corrected the misunderstanding,” she said.
Margaret's voice was quiet.
“Yes. You should have.”
Luca rested one hand against the back of a chair.
“So the story about Margaret dying began twelve years ago.”
Vanessa nodded.
“And you repeated it to me.”
“Yes.”
“Even after I told you my mother worked in the kitchen of this restaurant when she was young.”
Vanessa looked up.
“I remember.”
“She washed dishes for six years. She never hid that from anybody.”
His voice thickened.
“She made me promise I wouldn't be ashamed of where this family started.”
Margaret covered her mouth.
I had never heard Luca speak about his mother that way.
Eleanor looked toward the old woman.
“Margaret, I'm sorry.”
Margaret didn't accept the apology.
She simply asked, “Why didn't you tell him about the dresses?”
Vanessa stiffened.
Charles immediately interrupted.
“That's enough.”
Luca turned.
“What dresses?”
Margaret looked frightened by her own words.
“I shouldn't have said anything.”
“Mrs. Bellini,” Luca said gently, “what dresses?”
Margaret glanced at Vanessa.
“She told me Eleanor's business was having trouble. That they needed help getting some orders finished.”
Eleanor looked sharply at Charles.
“Margaret doesn't know anything about our accounts.”
“I didn't say I did,” Margaret replied.
Vanessa reached for her mother's hand.
“Mom, please.”
Margaret pulled away.
It wasn't angry.
It was the first time she'd refused to let her daughter decide what she could say.
“I spent twelve hours last Sunday sewing sleeves,” Margaret said. “My fingers were swollen by bedtime.”
I glanced at her hands.
The tiny needle marks suddenly meant something different.
She hadn't simply repaired a hem.
She'd been working.
Luca looked toward Eleanor.
“What business?”
Eleanor answered reluctantly.
“Bellini House. My bridal company.”
“And what does that have to do with our wedding?”
Charles spoke before she could answer.
“We're launching a holiday collection. Vanessa's wedding was supposed to be the centerpiece.”
Luca frowned.
“Vanessa and I discussed holding the wedding in February.”
Vanessa looked at him.
“I asked you to move it.”
“You said Eleanor wanted the family together for Christmas.”
“She does.”
“Is that the only reason?”
Vanessa stared at the tablecloth.
Eleanor reached into her silver evening bag.
She removed a folded cream-colored brochure.
For a moment, she hesitated.
Then she handed it to Luca.
I watched his expression change as he read.
He turned the brochure over.
Then read the front again.
“Twenty-eight holiday bridal orders,” he said.
Charles nodded.
“Our biggest collection.”
“Delivery before December twenty-third?”
“Yes.”
Luca's jaw tightened.
“That's less than three weeks away.”
Eleanor looked miserable.
“We were hoping your wedding would establish confidence in the collection.”
Luca held up the brochure.
“Confidence in what?”
Nobody answered.
Then I saw the gold lettering beneath Bellini House's name.
I had polished silverware for the Moretti family long enough to recognize their crest.
There it was.
Printed beside Eleanor's company logo.
Luca looked at Vanessa.
“Did you approve this?”
She nodded once.
He read the words aloud.
“The Bellini House Holiday Collection, in partnership with the Moretti family.”
His face went still.
“I never agreed to a partnership.”
Charles loosened his collar.
“It was a promotional arrangement.”
Luca looked directly at him.
“An arrangement with whom?”
Charles said nothing.
Eleanor's eyes filled.
May you like
And then Vanessa whispered the sentence that changed everything.
“Luca, the customers have already been told your family is backing the entire collection.”
