Chapter 2 - THE MEASURING TAPE
"Put that measuring tape back, Emily."
Vanessa Bellini's voice cut across the dining table.
I froze beside thirteen-year-old Abigail Moretti's chair.
The soft yellow measuring tape was still in my hand.
Abigail stood in a pale-blue evening dress, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Her dinner plate was empty.
Not because she'd finished eating.
Because Vanessa had ordered the waitstaff to take it away before the first course.
Twenty-eight wealthy guests watched beneath the chandeliers of Luca Moretti's Chicago mansion.
"Please, Miss Vanessa," I whispered. "She doesn't want to be measured in front of everyone."
Vanessa slowly lowered her champagne glass.
Her fitted red silk gown shimmered beneath the warm lights.
"Then perhaps Abigail should have thought about that before eating between meals."
The little girl's chin trembled.
"I'm sorry."
Vanessa sighed.
"You're always sorry, sweetheart. But that doesn't make your bridesmaid dress fit."
I glanced toward Abigail's napkin.
A small dinner roll was hidden beneath it.
She'd been holding it there for almost twenty minutes.
Too frightened to eat it.
Too hungry to put it back.
I gently moved the measuring tape away.
"Why don't you sit down, honey?"
Abigail caught my wrist.
"Miss Emily?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Please don't tell Daddy about the bread."
My throat tightened.
Before I could answer, Vanessa pushed back her chair.
"Emily, I didn't ask you to interfere."
"She hasn't eaten anything, ma'am."
"She's thirteen. She isn't going to starve because she misses one dinner."
Abigail lowered her head.
A tear dropped onto the white tablecloth.
Then a man's voice interrupted us.
"Vanessa."
Luca Moretti had risen from the head of the table.
Thirty-six.
Dark swept-back hair.
Tailored black suit.
The kind of man who rarely raised his voice because everyone around him had learned to listen the first time.
He wasn't looking at the measuring tape.
He was looking at his daughter.
"Abby?"
She immediately straightened.
"Yes, Daddy?"
"Why are you standing?"
Before she could answer, Vanessa gave a little laugh.
"Oh, darling, don't make a fuss. Abigail asked me to check her dress size for Saturday. Emily's turning it into some embarrassing ordeal."
My stomach dropped.
Because Vanessa had just explained why she was measuring Abigail.
And Luca hadn't even asked.
My name is Emily Sullivan.
I was twenty-five years old, had worked at the Moretti estate for thirteen months, and had spent the last hour pretending I hadn't watched a little girl being made to feel ashamed of her own body.
Normally, I stayed invisible.
I cleaned bedrooms.
Pressed linens.
Served dinner.
And sent nearly half my paycheck home to help my mother, who couldn't work after her second hip surgery.
Her rent was due Friday.
Missing another paycheck wasn't an option.
And Vanessa knew it.
She'd reminded me that afternoon.
"If Abigail embarrasses me at the wedding because you've been sneaking her food, Emily, you won't be working here next week."
So I'd kept quiet.
Until I saw the measuring tape.
Abigail was thirteen.
Tall for her age.
Soft-spoken.
The kind of girl who always saved the prettiest cookie for someone else.
Her mother, Caroline, had died three years earlier.
And Abigail had spent much of the time since trying not to make her father worry about her.
She was a good student.
Loved painting.
Collected pressed flowers.
And still wore the little silver bracelet Caroline had given her on her tenth birthday.
Two weeks earlier, Luca had taken her shopping for a dress to wear at his wedding.
She'd chosen pale blue.
Not because it matched the decorations.
Because it was her favorite color.
When she'd stepped out of the dressing room, Luca had smiled.
"That's the one, sweetheart."
Abigail had turned toward the mirror.
"You really think so?"
"I know so."
She'd been so happy.
But after Vanessa took over the wedding fittings, something changed.
Abigail stopped joining the family for breakfast.
She started asking whether she looked different in certain dresses.
And twice, I'd found her sitting alone in the dining room, staring at food she hadn't touched.
Now Luca was watching her.
"Abby."
His voice softened.
"Did you ask Vanessa to measure you?"
The little girl glanced toward his fiancée.
Then nodded.
"Yes, Daddy."
Luca studied her face.
"Why?"
Her lips trembled.
"Because my dress doesn't fit anymore."
Vanessa smiled.
"There. See?"
But Luca wasn't smiling.
He looked toward the measuring tape in my hand.
Then back at his daughter.
"The blue dress?"
Abigail nodded.
"Yes."
"The one we bought together?"
"Yes."
He frowned.
"You tried it on last Sunday."
Abigail lowered her eyes.
"I know."
"And it fit."
Her chin trembled.
Vanessa immediately interrupted.
"Children change quickly, Luca. That's why we have final fittings."
He slowly turned toward her.
"Then why are you measuring her at dinner?"
Vanessa smiled tightly.
"Because the seamstress is here tonight."
Luca glanced toward the guests.
"Which seamstress?"
A middle-aged woman in a charcoal-gray dress raised her hand slightly.
"That would be me, Mr. Moretti."
Vanessa's expression changed.
Only for a second.
But I noticed.
So did Luca.
He looked back at Abigail.
"Sweetheart, did you want to do this in front of everyone?"
She shook her head.
"No."
"Then why didn't you say so?"
Her eyes filled.
"Because Vanessa said I had to learn not to be embarrassed about my size."
The room became quiet.
Vanessa sighed.
"For heaven's sake. I was trying to help her feel confident."
Luca looked toward his daughter.
"Does being measured in front of twenty-eight people make you feel confident?"
Abigail shook her head.
"No."
"Then we're finished measuring."
He gently took the tape from my hand.
Folded it.
And placed it beside Vanessa's champagne glass.
Then he noticed Abigail's empty plate.
"Abby?"
She looked up.
"Yes, Daddy?"
"Where's your dinner?"
Her face went pale.
"I wasn't hungry."
Vanessa immediately smiled.
"She had a snack earlier."
Luca looked toward the serving cart.
Then back at me.
"Emily."
My stomach tightened.
"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"Was Abigail served dinner?"
I swallowed.
"No, sir."
Vanessa put down her fork.
"Because I asked the staff to hold her plate. She said she wasn't hungry."
Luca looked toward his daughter.
"Did you ask them not to bring it?"
Abigail stared at her hands.
For several seconds, she didn't answer.
Then she shook her head.
"No."
The silence was immediate.
Luca slowly turned toward his fiancée.
"Then why did you cancel her dinner?"
Vanessa folded her arms.
"Because we have an important wedding fitting on Saturday morning."
He frowned.
"And?"
"Her dress has become tight."
Luca waited.
Vanessa sighed.
"Luca, surely I don't need to explain why eating a large dinner the night before a fitting isn't ideal."
His expression changed.
"Are you telling me my daughter isn't allowed to eat because of a dress?"
Vanessa looked offended.
"That's a ridiculous way to put it."
"Then explain it."
She hesitated.
"I'm trying to teach her discipline."
Luca glanced at the untouched plates around Abigail's chair.
"Discipline?"
"Yes."
He looked toward me.
"Emily, did Vanessa tell you not to serve Abigail?"
My mouth went dry.
I could feel Vanessa watching.
I thought about my mother's rent.
The pharmacy bills.
And the warning I'd been given that afternoon.
But Abigail was standing beside me.
Her face was wet with tears.
And her fingers were still pressed protectively over the dinner roll beneath her napkin.
"Yes, sir."
Vanessa immediately pushed back her chair.
"That isn't the whole story."
Luca didn't look at her.
"What did she say?"
I swallowed.
"She said Abigail had already eaten enough today."
Vanessa gave a sharp laugh.
"Because she had."
Luca looked toward his daughter.
"Abby, when did you last eat?"
She stared at the tablecloth.
"At school."
"What did you have?"
Her voice was barely audible.
"An apple."
The room became completely still.
Luca slowly crouched beside her.
"Just an apple?"
Abigail nodded.
"Yes."
His expression changed.
"And you haven't eaten since?"
She shook her head.
"No."
Vanessa sighed.
"She's exaggerating. There are snacks available all over this house."
Abigail flinched.
Luca noticed.
He slowly turned toward Vanessa.
"Then why is she hiding a dinner roll under her napkin?"
My stomach dropped.
Abigail immediately covered the bread with both hands.
"I'm sorry."
Her voice broke.
"I wasn't going to eat it."
Luca looked at her.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
Then he gently took one of her hands.
"Sweetheart, why would you need to apologize for being hungry?"
Abigail began crying.
"Because Vanessa said I was ruining the wedding."
The silence was unbearable.
Vanessa closed her eyes.
Luca slowly stood.
"What did you tell my daughter?"
Vanessa gave an uncomfortable laugh.
"I said she needed to be mindful about her dress."
He looked toward Abigail.
"Is that what Vanessa said?"
The little girl shook her head.
"No."
Her voice trembled.
"She said I'd make you look bad in the photographs."
Luca went completely still.
"What?"
Abigail wiped her cheeks.
"She said people expect your family to look a certain way."
Vanessa immediately interrupted.
"That's not what I meant."
Luca slowly turned toward her.
"Then what did you mean?"
She couldn't answer.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then he looked toward me.
"Emily."
"Yes, sir?"
"Did Abigail ask you for food?"
My eyes filled.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Just before dinner."
"What happened?"
I swallowed.
"Miss Bellini told me not to give her anything."
Vanessa stood.
"Emily, that's enough."
My stomach tightened.
She looked directly at me.
"You're fired."
The words hit me so hard I almost dropped the serving tray.
"Miss Bellini, please—"
"I will not have a dishonest housemaid undermining me in front of our guests."
Then Luca spoke.
"No."
Vanessa turned sharply.
"Excuse me?"
"Emily isn't fired."
She stared at him.
"She has been sneaking food to your daughter after I specifically told her not to."
Luca looked at Abigail.
Then back at Vanessa.
"She's thirteen."
Vanessa folded her arms.
"And old enough to learn responsibility."
He didn't raise his voice.
"She doesn't need to earn dinner."
Nobody spoke.
Luca looked toward me.
"Emily, are you afraid of losing your job?"
My eyes immediately filled.
"Yes, sir."
"You won't."
I swallowed hard.
"Thank you, Mr. Moretti."
Then Luca pulled out the chair beside his own.
"Abby, come sit here."
The little girl hesitated.
"That's Vanessa's chair."
He looked toward his fiancée.
"She can use another one."
The dining room became silent.
I helped Abigail sit.
Luca looked toward me.
"Would you please bring my daughter a fresh dinner?"
"Of course, sir."
"And bring some bread, too."
Abigail immediately looked up.
"Really, Daddy?"
He smiled gently.
"Really."
Her eyes filled.
"But what about my dress?"
Luca crouched beside her.
"What about it?"
She swallowed.
"What if it doesn't fit on Saturday?"
His expression softened.
"Then we'll have it altered."
Her chin trembled.
"And if it still doesn't fit?"
"Then we'll find another dress."
She stared at him.
"You're not mad?"
Luca shook his head.
"Abby, listen to me."
She did.
"You are not supposed to change yourself to fit a dress."
His voice grew quieter.
"The dress is supposed to fit you."
Abigail began crying.
He pulled her into his arms.
And in front of twenty-eight wealthy guests, the most powerful man in Chicago held his daughter while she sobbed against his shoulder.
I had to look away.
Because I'd spent the last hour watching that little girl apologize for being hungry.
And now her father had finally given her permission to eat.
When I returned with her dinner, Abigail looked up at me.
"Thank you, Miss Emily."
"You're welcome, sweetheart."
She reached for her fork.
Then hesitated.
Luca noticed.
"Abby?"
She glanced toward Vanessa.
"Can I really eat all of it?"
His face changed.
He gently touched her shoulder.
"Eat until you're comfortably full, sweetheart."
For the first time all evening, she smiled.
Just a little.
I thought the worst was over.
I thought Abigail could finally enjoy dinner beside her father.
But when dessert arrived, she wasn't looking at the chocolate cake.
She was watching the seamstress seated near the end of the table.
Her fingers tightened around her napkin.
"Abigail?"
She looked up.
"Yes, Miss Emily?"
"Would you like some dessert?"
She shook her head.
"Maybe later."
"Are you feeling all right?"
She hesitated.
Then whispered, "Do you think the lady will tell Daddy?"
I frowned.
"Tell him what?"
Abigail looked toward the seamstress.
"The thing about my dress."
My stomach tightened.
Luca noticed.
"Emily?"
I looked up.
"Yes, sir?"
"Is something wrong?"
Before I could answer, Abigail spoke.
"Daddy?"
He turned immediately.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
Her voice trembled.
"Did you really tell Vanessa you didn't want to walk beside me at the wedding anymore?"
The entire table became quiet.
Luca frowned.
"What?"
Abigail looked down.
"She said you were disappointed."
His expression changed.
"Disappointed in what?"
The little girl's eyes filled again.
"Me."
For several seconds, Luca couldn't speak.
Then he gently pulled his chair closer.
"Abby, why would I be disappointed in you?"
She swallowed.
"Because my dress got too small."
Vanessa immediately reached for her champagne glass.
"Oh, Abigail, that isn't what we discussed."
Luca slowly turned.
"Let her speak."
Abigail's voice broke.
"She said you didn't want people seeing me next to you if I looked different from the other girls."
Luca went completely still.
"Other girls?"
Abigail nodded.
"The bridesmaids."
He stared at her.
"Sweetheart, you aren't a bridesmaid because of how you look."
She seemed confused.
"Then why?"
His voice softened.
"Because you're my daughter."
Her face crumpled.
"Really?"
"Really."
He touched her hand.
"And I've been looking forward to walking down that aisle with you since the day we chose your dress."
Abigail began crying.
Vanessa looked away.
Then Luca slowly turned toward the seamstress.
"Mrs. Whitaker?"
The woman straightened.
"Yes, Mr. Moretti?"
"You're responsible for the wedding alterations?"
She nodded.
"Yes."
"Did Abigail's dress fit when we bought it?"
Mrs. Whitaker hesitated.
Then answered quietly.
"I wasn't present at the purchase, sir. But I fitted her last week."
Luca nodded.
"And?"
The seamstress looked toward Vanessa.
Her expression changed.
"At the first fitting, it was comfortable."
The room became quiet.
Luca frowned.
"Then why is Abigail being told she can't fit into it?"
Mrs. Whitaker slowly lowered her napkin.
"That's what I've been trying to understand."
Vanessa went completely still.
Luca noticed.
He leaned forward.
"What do you mean?"
The seamstress swallowed.
"Miss Bellini brought the dress back to me three days ago."
Luca looked toward his fiancée.
"Why?"
Vanessa hesitated.
"For a final alteration."
Mrs. Whitaker shook her head.
"No."
The single word stopped her.
Luca slowly turned toward the seamstress.
"Then what did she ask you to do?"
The woman looked uncomfortable.
"She asked me to make the waist smaller."
Abigail stopped breathing.
Luca stared at her.
"Smaller?"
Mrs. Whitaker nodded.
"Yes."
"Was the dress too loose?"
"No, sir."
The dining room became completely silent.
Luca slowly looked toward Vanessa.
"Then why did you have it taken in?"
Her eyes filled.
"I thought a more fitted silhouette would look elegant."
Mrs. Whitaker quietly spoke again.
"Mr. Moretti, there's something else."
Luca turned.
"What?"
The woman swallowed.
"Miss Bellini told me not to mention the alteration to Abigail."
Abigail slowly lowered her fork.
Luca went still.
"Why?"
Mrs. Whitaker hesitated.
"She said she wanted Abigail to believe the dress had become tight on its own."
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Luca turned toward his fiancée.
"You had a perfectly fitting dress made smaller and told my daughter she'd gained too much weight?"
Vanessa began crying.
"Luca, please. I was trying to motivate her."
He stared at her.
"Motivate her to do what?"
She couldn't answer.
Abigail was shaking now.
She looked toward the seamstress.
Then toward her father.
Her little voice broke.
"So it wasn't me?"
Luca turned immediately.
"Sweetheart?"
Her eyes filled.
"The dress."
She swallowed.
"It didn't get too small because I did something wrong?"
For a moment, Luca looked as though he couldn't breathe.
Then he crouched beside her.
"No, baby."
He gently took her hands.
"You didn't do anything wrong."
Abigail began crying.
"I thought if I didn't eat, it would fit again."
Luca closed his eyes.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
Then he pulled her close.
And held her while the entire dining room sat in silence.
Vanessa covered her face.
But Mrs. Whitaker wasn't finished.
"Mr. Moretti?"
Luca slowly looked up.
"Yes?"
The seamstress appeared deeply troubled.
"I need to explain why I accepted the alteration."
Vanessa immediately stood.
"That's enough."
Luca turned toward her.
"Sit down."
"Luca, please—"
"Sit down, Vanessa."
His voice never rose.
But she obeyed.
Mrs. Whitaker took a shaky breath.
"Miss Bellini told me Abigail's doctor had recommended a gradual return to normal eating after an illness."
Luca's expression changed.
"What illness?"
The seamstress looked confused.
"She said Abigail had been having problems controlling her eating."
Abigail's face crumpled.
Luca slowly stood.
"My daughter hasn't been diagnosed with anything like that."
Mrs. Whitaker went pale.
"Oh, my goodness."
Vanessa began shaking her head.
"I was concerned about her."
Luca looked at her.
"Then why didn't you speak to me?"
She couldn't answer.
Mrs. Whitaker continued.
"There's another reason I'm telling you this now."
Luca turned.
"What?"
The woman glanced toward Abigail.
Then back at him.
"Miss Bellini asked me to bring two dresses to your wedding rehearsal."
Luca frowned.
"Two?"
The seamstress nodded.
"One was Abigail's blue dress."
"And the other?"
Mrs. Whitaker looked toward Vanessa.
"A dress for another girl."
The room became still.
Luca slowly turned.
"What other girl?"
Vanessa stared at her champagne glass.
For several seconds, she didn't answer.
Then Mrs. Whitaker spoke.
"Miss Bellini's twelve-year-old niece."
Abigail lowered her head.
Luca noticed.
He looked toward his daughter.
"Abby?"
She wiped her cheeks.
"I know."
His expression changed.
"You know what?"
The little girl swallowed.
"Vanessa said if my blue dress didn't fit on Saturday, her niece would walk with you instead."
The silence was immediate.
Luca slowly turned toward Vanessa.
"You were planning to replace my daughter at our wedding?"
Vanessa's voice trembled.
"Only if she couldn't fit into the dress."
He stared at her.
"The dress you deliberately had made too small?"
She couldn't answer.
For several seconds, Luca stood completely still.
Then he looked toward Mrs. Whitaker.
"Can Abigail's original dress be restored to the size she chose?"
The seamstress nodded.
"Yes, sir."
"Then please do that."
"Of course."
"And if there's any difficulty, we'll find a different dress."
He turned toward Abigail.
"But the girl walking beside me won't change."
Her face crumpled.
"Really, Daddy?"
He knelt beside her again.
"Really."
She threw her arms around his neck.
I thought it was finally over.
I thought Abigail could stop worrying about her dress, her dinner, and whether she belonged beside her own father.
But then she pulled back.
Her eyes were still wet.
"Daddy?"
Luca smiled gently.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Can I tell you something else?"
"Anything."
She glanced toward Vanessa.
And the fear returned to her face.
Luca noticed.
"Abby?"
The little girl swallowed.
"Vanessa didn't just want me to wear a smaller dress."
The room became quiet.
Luca frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Abigail's voice trembled.
"She said if I couldn't fit into it, I had to make a special announcement before the wedding."
Vanessa went completely pale.
Luca slowly turned toward her.
"What announcement?"
She couldn't answer.
Then Abigail reached for my hand.
"Miss Emily?"
I crouched beside her.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Can you stay?"
My throat tightened.
"Of course."
She looked toward her father.
And whispered:
"Vanessa said I had to tell everybody I didn't deserve to walk beside you anymore."
Luca stopped moving.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then he quietly asked, "Why would she want you to say that?"
Abigail's eyes filled again.
"Because she said you needed people to understand it was my choice."
Luca slowly looked toward Vanessa.
"You wanted my daughter to take the blame for being removed from my wedding?"
Vanessa began crying.
"Luca, please. I never meant for it to go this far."
He didn't move.
"Then how far did you mean for it to go?"
She couldn't answer.
Abigail tightened her fingers around mine.
Then whispered something that made every guest at the table stop breathing.
"Daddy, there's one more thing."
Luca turned immediately.
"What is it, baby?"
Her voice broke.
"Vanessa said if I made the announcement without crying, you might finally be proud enough of me to let me sit at the family table again."
Luca went completely still.
His eyes moved toward his daughter's empty dinner plate.
Then toward the measuring tape beside Vanessa's champagne glass.
And finally toward the woman he was supposed to marry on Saturday.
May you like
His voice was barely audible.
"Vanessa... how long have you been telling my daughter she has to earn the right to eat dinner with me?"
