Chapter 7 - The Bride Who Never Existed
Meline did not invite Grant inside.
Eight years ago, perhaps she would have.
Eight years ago she had believed apologies meant change.
Now she kept the chain on the door.
“Talk.”
Grant glanced behind him.
“Not here.”
“Then leave.”
“Meline.”
“You have sixty seconds.”
His shoulders dropped.
“Your mother kept emergency funds for Alessandro.”
Meline stared.
“That is ridiculous.”
“I thought so too.”
Grant lowered his voice.
“When Evelyn got sick, I found an account linked to the shop. Eighty thousand dollars.”
“You stole it.”
“I moved it.”
“You moved it to Vegas?”
His face flushed.
“That came later.”
“Comforting.”
“I panicked.”
“Grant, you emptied our payroll account.”
“Because somebody was already asking questions about the other money.”
Meline’s anger cooled into suspicion.
“What questions?”
“Men came to the shop.”
“When?”
“Two weeks before I left.”
“My mother was in treatment.”
“I know.”
“You never told me.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of whom?”
Grant hesitated.
“Vittorio Moretti.”
Meline’s skin went cold.
“He knew Evelyn had money Alessandro had hidden.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing.”
“Grant.”
“I swear.”
Meline laughed bitterly.
“Your word used to be worth eighty thousand dollars.”
“I deserve that.”
“Yes.”
He slid an envelope through the opening beneath the chain.
“I kept records.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew someday somebody would come looking.”
Meline did not pick it up.
Grant continued.
“There’s a storage unit in Somerville. Your mother rented it. She made me promise never to tell you.”
“Why would she trust you?”
“She didn’t.”
That, at least, sounded true.
“She trusted paperwork. My name was on the company filings, so she needed my signature.”
Meline stared at him.
“Why return now?”
“I saw your shop on the news.”
“My shop was not on the news.”
“It will be.”
The words chilled her.
“What does that mean?”
Grant stepped backward.
“Ask Lorenzo why reporters are gathering outside Romano Capital tomorrow morning.”
Then he left.
Meline called Lorenzo.
Straight to voicemail.
She called Isabella.
Isabella answered immediately.
“You know.”
“Know what?”
A pause.
“Oh, hell.”
“Isabella.”
“Tomorrow morning a newspaper is publishing a story claiming Lorenzo and I are announcing an engagement.”
Meline gripped the counter.
“But that’s false.”
“Completely.”
“Who gave them the story?”
“We don’t know.”
Meline understood instantly.
“Someone wants attention on you.”
“Yes.”
“And away from something else.”
“Probably.”
“Why tomorrow?”
Another pause.
“Because tomorrow Lorenzo planned to formally close three financial entities connected to his father’s network.”
Meline looked at Grant’s envelope.
“So they create a circus.”
“Exactly.”
“And what are you going to do?”
Isabella sighed.
“Give them a better circus.”
At ten the next morning, twelve cameras crowded outside Romano Capital.
Meline watched from Hayes Bespoke on her phone.
Isabella emerged first.
Elegant navy suit.
Perfect hair.
Expression of a woman preparing to destroy somebody professionally.
Lorenzo followed.
Every reporter shouted.
“Mr. Moretti, are you engaged?”
“Ms. Romano, when is the wedding?”
“Was this arrangement planned by your families?”
Isabella stepped toward the microphones.
“No.”
The crowd quieted slightly.
She smiled.
“Since several outlets have demonstrated enthusiasm for fiction, let me make this simple.”
Lorenzo looked almost amused.
“Lorenzo Moretti and I are not engaged.”
Questions exploded.
“We have never dated.”
More shouting.
“And because apparently the public now requires details concerning my romantic preferences, Mr. Moretti would not qualify even if he begged.”
Lorenzo leaned toward the microphone.
“She’s mean.”
Cameras flashed.
Isabella continued.
“Our relationship is professional. Any suggestion of a marriage alliance is false.”
A reporter yelled, “Then is Mr. Moretti seeing someone else?”
Lorenzo’s expression changed.
Meline stopped breathing.
He could deny it.
He should deny it.
That would be safer.
Instead he stepped forward.
“My private life belongs to the people involved in it.”
Another reporter shouted, “Is there someone?”
Lorenzo looked directly toward the camera.
“Yes.”
Meline’s heart slammed.
Isabella glanced at him as if considering murder.
Lorenzo continued.
“She isn’t part of my business.”
Another question.
“Will you identify her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
His face hardened.
“Because some people still confuse caring about someone with owning access to her.”
Meline sat slowly.
The reporters kept shouting.
But she heard only that sentence.
He had not named her.
He had not denied her.
He had protected her choice without erasing her.
Maybe the man really was learning.
Her phone buzzed.
Lorenzo.
I know that wasn’t subtle.
Meline replied:
You have never been subtle in your life.
Three dots appeared.
Dinner tonight?
She smiled.
Yes.
Another message arrived.
I promise not to propose. Apparently I’m already engaged enough for one week.
Meline laughed aloud.
Nina looked up.
“You’re smiling at your phone.”
“No.”
“You absolutely are.”
“Work.”
Nina grinned.
Then the shop telephone rang.
Meline answered.
“Hayes Bespoke.”
A man spoke.
“Ms. Hayes?”
“Yes.”
“This is Arthur Caldwell, representing your landlord.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What does Mr. Brennan want now?”
“There has been a change in ownership.”
Meline straightened.
“What?”
“The building was sold this morning.”
“Sold?”
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
A pause.
“A private company.”
“What company?”
“Moretti Development Holdings.”
Meline’s smile disappeared.
Nina watched her face.
“What?”
Meline slowly lowered the receiver.
Lorenzo had just bought her building.
Without telling her.
All the lessons about choice.
All the promises about not controlling her life.
Gone in one signature.
Meline picked up her coat.
“Where are you going?” Nina asked.
“To cancel dinner.”
“With Lorenzo?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Meline opened the door.
May you like
“Because apparently the man learned how to flirt before he learned how not to interfere.”
Across town, Lorenzo Moretti was about to discover that protecting Meline Hayes without asking permission was significantly more dangerous than any enemy his father had ever made.
