Chapter 1
“Take her away from my chair, Hannah.”
Vanessa Bellini stood beside the banquet table in a fitted red silk gown, pulling the fabric away from an elderly woman's trembling fingers.
Thirty-eight guests watched beneath the crystal chandeliers.
The woman was seventy-six-year-old Margaret Ellis.
She wore a simple gray dress and a cardigan with carefully mended sleeves.
“I'm sorry,” Margaret whispered. “I only wanted to see the stitching.”
Vanessa laughed.
“Oh, sweetheart. This dress cost more than you earned in six months. Please don't touch it with those hands.”
Margaret immediately pulled back.
Her cheeks reddened.
I felt something tighten in my chest.
Because those hands had spent forty-eight years sewing wedding gowns for women who could afford beautiful things.
And tonight, they were shaking so badly that she'd asked me to help her hold a water glass.
My name is Hannah Collins.
I'm twenty-five years old, and I've worked at Luca Moretti's Chicago mansion for eleven months.
I needed this job.
My younger brother was finishing nursing school, and I'd promised our mother I would help him graduate without taking on another loan.
Vanessa knew that.
But I'd never seen Margaret look so frightened.
She'd arrived an hour earlier with a small invitation tucked inside her handbag.
Luca had personally asked her to attend.
Margaret had been his late mother's closest friend.
She'd sewn the christening clothes for all three Moretti children.
And she'd made the wedding gown Luca's first wife, Catherine, wore twelve years earlier.
Now she was sitting alone at the far end of the table.
Until she'd noticed Vanessa's dress.
“Hannah.”
Vanessa snapped her fingers.
“Take Mrs. Ellis somewhere she won't bother the guests.”
Margaret looked down.
“I don't want to cause trouble.”
“Then stop behaving like a woman who's never seen a nice dress before.”
Several guests exchanged uncomfortable glances.
I reached for Margaret's hand.
“Mrs. Ellis was just admiring your gown.”
Vanessa's smile vanished.
“Did I ask you to speak?”
“No, ma'am.”
“Then remember your place.”
I swallowed.
But Margaret suddenly whispered, “Hannah, please. Let me look at the sleeve.”
Vanessa laughed again.
“Absolutely not.”
Margaret's voice trembled.
“There's something I need to check.”
“You're not inspecting my clothes. You're a guest, not my tailor.”
Then Vanessa leaned toward me.
“And if you encourage this nonsense again, you can pack your bags tonight.”
I thought of my brother's tuition.
The electricity bill waiting on our kitchen counter.
Then I looked at Margaret.
And stayed beside her.
A chair moved at the head of the table.
“What does Margaret need to check?”
Luca Moretti had stood.
Thirty-six years old. Dark hair. Black tailored suit.
His voice was calm.
But the room immediately quieted.
Vanessa smiled.
“Darling, your mother's old seamstress seems convinced there's something wrong with my dress.”
Luca looked at Margaret.
“Aunt Maggie?”
The old woman's eyes filled.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
Luca walked around the table.
Then he bent and kissed her cheek.
“Why are you sitting all the way down here?”
Margaret tried to smile.
“I was told the family seats were full.”
Luca looked toward the empty chair beside his own.
“Not anymore.”
Vanessa's jaw tightened.
“Luca, we've already arranged the seating.”
He ignored her.
“Hannah, would you help Margaret sit beside me?”
I nodded.
But Margaret held my hand.
“Before I move, Luca, may I ask Vanessa something?”
Luca pulled out a chair.
“Of course.”
Margaret looked at the red gown.
“Where did you buy that dress, dear?”
Vanessa shrugged.
“Milan. A private designer.”
“When?”
“Last spring.”
Margaret's fingers began trembling.
“Was it made especially for you?”
Vanessa laughed nervously.
“Obviously.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
Luca noticed.
“Aunt Maggie?”
She looked at him.
Then whispered something that made my stomach drop.
“That dress was made in Chicago.”
Vanessa stopped smiling.
Luca frowned.
“What?”
Margaret pointed toward the narrow embroidered pattern running down Vanessa's sleeve.
“I stitched those little flowers myself.”
Nobody spoke.
Vanessa folded her arms.
“Are you seriously claiming you made my dress?”
Margaret shook her head.
“No, dear. I made the embroidery.”
Luca studied the sleeve.
“Who was it for?”
Margaret hesitated.
Then looked toward the empty chair beside Teresa Moretti.
The chair Catherine used to occupy.
“For your wife.”
The entire table went silent.
Vanessa's face changed.
“That's impossible.”
Margaret's voice trembled.
“Catherine brought me the fabric herself.”
Luca slowly turned toward Vanessa.
“You told me you'd never met Catherine.”
Vanessa swallowed.
“I hadn't.”
Margaret shook her head.
“Then why are you wearing something I made for her?”
Vanessa's voice sharpened.
“Because thousands of dresses look alike!”
Luca didn't move.
“Aunt Maggie, are you certain?”
Margaret nodded.
“Catherine asked me to embroider six little flowers on the left sleeve.”
Luca counted them.
Six.
Margaret continued.
“She chose them because Sophie was six months old when she decided to have the dress made.”
Luca stared at the silk.
His daughter was now nine.
Catherine had died three years earlier.
He looked toward Margaret.
“Why have I never seen it?”
The old woman's eyes filled.
“Because Catherine never finished the gown.”
Vanessa stepped backward.
Luca turned toward her.
“Where did you get this dress?”
She hesitated.
“From the designer.”
“Which designer?”
“Luca, this is humiliating.”
He spoke quietly.
“Then answer me.”
Vanessa couldn't.
Margaret reached for my hand again.
“Hannah, help me stand.”
I supported her elbow.
She stepped closer to Vanessa.
Then she pointed toward the inside edge of the sleeve.
“May I show him?”
Vanessa immediately pulled away.
“No!”
The word echoed through the dining room.
Every guest turned.
Luca's expression hardened.
“Vanessa, let her look.”
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Vanessa slowly extended her arm.
Margaret lifted the silk.
Her trembling fingertip found a tiny line of uneven blue stitching.
“There,” she whispered.
Luca leaned closer.
“What is it?”
Margaret's voice broke.
“Catherine asked me to leave that one stitch unfinished.”
“Why?”
“Because she wanted to finish it herself when she came back.”
Luca went still.
“Came back from where?”
Margaret looked confused.
“From the trip she was taking with Sophie.”
Silence.
Luca stared at her.
“Catherine wasn't taking Sophie anywhere.”
Margaret's face changed.
“She told me she'd already spoken to you.”
Luca shook his head.
“No.”
Vanessa suddenly reached for his arm.
“Darling, this was years ago. People remember things differently.”
But Luca didn't look at her.
He was watching Margaret.
“What trip?”
The old woman's eyes filled with tears.
“She said she and Sophie would be staying with her sister for a while.”
Luca's expression tightened.
Catherine had died two weeks after Margaret last saw her.
And Luca had spent three years believing she'd been planning to leave him.
“Why would she tell you that?” he asked.
Margaret squeezed my hand.
“Because she was frightened, sweetheart.”
Vanessa went pale.
Luca slowly turned.
“Frightened of what?”
Margaret looked toward the red dress again.
“She wouldn't tell me.”
Then she whispered:
“But she asked me to make two identical blue stitches inside the sleeve.”
Luca frowned.
“Why two?”
Margaret's lips trembled.
“She said if someone ever wore that dress without her permission, I'd know exactly who had taken it.”
Nobody breathed.
Vanessa stepped backward.
Luca looked at her.
“Why would Catherine think someone would steal her dress?”
Margaret began crying.
“Because someone had already been coming into her bedroom when she wasn't home.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“Luca, don't listen to this.”
But Margaret wasn't finished.
She turned toward me.
“Hannah, sweetheart, help me look at the other sleeve.”
I gently lifted the fabric.
There was one blue stitch.
Not two.
Margaret covered her mouth.
“Oh, Catherine.”
Luca's voice dropped.
“What does that mean?”
The old woman stared at Vanessa.
“It means Catherine found the person she was frightened of.”
Vanessa's face turned white.
Luca looked directly at his fiancée.
“Vanessa, how did you get my wife's dress?”
She didn't answer.
Margaret suddenly gripped my wrist.
And whispered:
“Hannah, tell him what Vanessa asked you to take out of the master bedroom yesterday.”
My heart stopped.
Because I remembered.
The cedar chest beside Luca's wardrobe.
The one Vanessa had ordered me to empty before the wedding.
And the little girl's voice I'd heard from behind the dining room curtains that afternoon.
Please don't throw away Mommy's things.
Luca looked at me.
“Hannah?”
My hands were shaking.
“Mr. Moretti, Vanessa told me everything in that chest belonged to someone who was never coming back.”
Margaret began sobbing.
Luca turned toward Vanessa.
“Who gave you permission to open Catherine's chest?”
Vanessa said nothing.
Then Margaret whispered the words that made the entire table go silent.
“Luca, Catherine didn't make that dress for herself.”
He looked at her.
“What?”
Margaret's voice broke.
“She was making it for the woman she believed was going to marry your brother.”
Luca froze.
His younger brother Michael had died four years earlier.
One year before Catherine.
Vanessa had always told Luca she'd never met Michael.
He slowly looked at his fiancée.
“Vanessa… were you engaged to my brother?”
And when Vanessa finally opened her mouth, Margaret caught Luca's hand.
“Don't let her answer yet, sweetheart.”
May you like
The old woman was shaking.
“First, ask her why Michael canceled that wedding the week before he died.”
