Chapter 3 - The Name on the Birth Certificate
Elena locked the bookstore door twenty minutes early.
Maggie took Noah upstairs to Elena’s apartment while Adrian stood near the front windows, speaking quietly into his phone.
He had transformed before Elena’s eyes.
The shaken man who had stared at Noah’s face was gone.
This Adrian she recognized.
Controlled.
Precise.
Cold enough to make other people nervous.
“Find out who followed me from Burlington,” he said. “Gray sedan, Vermont plates. I want the traffic cameras between Hawthorne Ridge and Main Street.”
He listened.
“No police yet.”
Elena crossed her arms.
“Why not?”
Adrian turned.
“Because I don’t know what this is.”
“And somehow that makes it better?”
“No.”
He ended the call.
“It makes it something I need to understand before I expose you to more attention.”
Elena gave a humorless laugh.
“You’ve been here thirty minutes and you’re already talking about exposing us to danger.”
His expression tightened.
“Elena.”
“No.”
She walked behind the counter and began switching off machines.
“You came here by accident. Fine. You saw Noah. Fine. Now you leave town tomorrow after your meeting and this ends.”
“That isn’t happening.”
She slammed a cabinet closed.
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“The Adrian I remember.”
He stared at her.
“The man who walks into a room and decides what everyone else is allowed to do.”
“I am not leaving without knowing whether Noah is my son.”
“He is not property.”
“I didn’t say he was.”
“You don’t have to.”
For several seconds only the fire spoke.
Adrian took off his coat and laid it over a chair.
The gesture made him look less imposing.
Elena suspected it was deliberate.
That irritated her more.
“You want to know why I didn’t tell you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“You already know.”
“No, Elena. I know what happened from my side.”
“Your side?”
“Yes.”
She laughed again.
“Great. I’d love to hear it.”
Adrian hesitated.
That alone surprised her.
Four years ago, he had never hesitated.
“My father was dying.”
Elena’s anger paused.
“What?”
“Pancreatic cancer.”
She stared.
Adrian’s father, Vittorio Moretti, had been ruthless, loud, and almost offensively alive the last time she had seen him.
“He died six months after you left.”
Elena looked toward the staircase.
“I didn’t know.”
“No. You didn’t.”
“You never told me.”
“I couldn’t.”
The old resentment returned immediately.
“You couldn’t tell the woman you said you loved that your father was dying?”
“It wasn’t that simple.”
“It usually wasn’t with you.”
Adrian looked at the floor.
“The company was collapsing.”
Elena frowned.
“The Moretti Group?”
“At the time, yes. My father had hidden debt. A lot of it. Two major investors were preparing to pull out. One of our lenders had evidence that could have triggered a criminal investigation into transactions I didn’t authorize.”
“And this had something to do with me?”
“Yes.”
Her stomach turned.
“How?”
Adrian looked directly at her.
“Your brother.”
Elena went still.
“My brother had been dead for three years.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t use him.”
“I’m not.”
Adrian walked toward the counter.
“Evan worked for Moretti Capital before he died.”
“I know where my brother worked.”
“He discovered internal payments being routed through shell companies.”
Elena stared.
“Evan was an accountant.”
“He was also very good at recognizing fraud.”
“You never told me any of this.”
“Because after his accident, the records disappeared.”
Elena felt a strange pressure behind her ribs.
“Accident?”
Adrian’s face changed.
One word.
Wrong word.
She saw it.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean his death was investigated as an accident.”
“But?”
“Elena—”
“But?”
Adrian exhaled.
“There were questions.”
Her fingers went cold.
Four years earlier, Evan Parker had died when his car went through a guardrail on an icy road in Connecticut.
Police called it weather.
Elena had spent months learning to breathe afterward.
“What questions?”
“I found evidence later that he had been communicating with someone inside my company. Someone who wanted him to stop looking.”
Elena walked backward until she hit the counter.
“You knew?”
“Not when he died.”
“When did you know?”
“Shortly before I ended things with you.”
The sentence hit harder than she expected.
“You thought I was in danger.”
“I knew you could be.”
“So you threw me away.”
“I thought distancing you from me would protect you.”
Elena stared at him.
Then she slapped him.
The sound cracked through the empty bookstore.
Adrian’s head turned.
He did not raise a hand.
Did not speak.
Elena’s palm burned.
“You arrogant son of a bitch.”
“I know.”
“You decided for me.”
“Yes.”
“You let me believe you stopped loving me.”
“Yes.”
“You let me leave New York pregnant and completely alone.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“That part I didn’t know.”
“But you created it.”
“Yes.”
She wanted to hit him again.
Instead she gripped the counter.
Adrian remained where he was.
No excuses.
No anger.
Somehow that made everything worse.
“You don’t get points for admitting it now.”
“I’m not asking for any.”
“Good.”
“I’m asking about Noah.”
Elena shook her head.
“Of course you are.”
“He has my eyes.”
“Lots of people have hazel eyes.”
“He has my mother’s chin.”
“You’re imagining things.”
“He was born almost exactly eight months after you left.”
She flinched.
Adrian saw.
“Elena.”
She turned away.
“No.”
“Tell me.”
“He is mine.”
Adrian stopped breathing.
Elena corrected herself bitterly.
“My son.”
Silence.
“That isn’t what I asked.”
She looked at him.
“Yes.”
Adrian did not move.
The fireplace popped.
Snow whispered against the windows.
Somewhere upstairs Noah laughed at something Maggie said.
Adrian’s eyes filled.
Not dramatically.
Not with tears spilling down his face.
Just enough moisture to make Elena realize the truth had reached somewhere his control could not protect.
“My son,” he whispered.
Elena hated how those two words affected her.
“He does not know you.”
“I know.”
“He does not need his life turned upside down.”
“I know.”
“He has never asked why he doesn’t have a father because I told him families come in different shapes.”
Adrian’s throat moved.
“I missed everything.”
“You weren’t invited.”
That landed.
He nodded once.
“You’re right.”
Elena expected him to argue.
He didn’t.
That frightened her.
“What happens now?” he asked.
“You leave.”
“No.”
“There it is again.”
“I will not disappear from his life after learning he exists.”
“You disappeared from mine easily enough.”
His face tightened.
“I made the worst decision of my life. I won’t repeat it.”
“You don’t get to repair yourself using my son.”
“Our son.”
“Do not.”
“He is, Elena.”
“Biologically, maybe. Emotionally? No.”
Adrian absorbed that.
“You want a DNA test?”
“No.”
“I do.”
“Why? You already believe me.”
“Because I want there to be no question later. Not from my family. Not from lawyers. Not from anyone who might use uncertainty against him.”
The phrasing chilled her.
“Use against him?”
Adrian looked toward the snowy windows.
“That man who came in earlier.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“But you recognized him.”
“I’ve seen him outside board meetings.”
Elena’s stomach tightened.
“Whose?”
Adrian hesitated.
“Victor Salazar.”
She remembered the name.
A Moretti Group executive.
Older than Adrian. Smooth. Well-liked by financial magazines.
“What does he want?”
“Control of the company.”
“And Noah matters because?”
Adrian looked at her.
“If Noah is legally my son, he becomes part of the Moretti family trust.”
Elena felt sick.
“How much money?”
“That isn’t important.”
“How much?”
“Eventually? Hundreds of millions.”
She stared at him.
“No.”
“Elena—”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“It isn’t something I can erase.”
“You people put poison in everything.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You people?”
“Your family. Your company. Money. Secrets. Trusts. Men following people into bookstores.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“I am trying to keep him safe.”
“You just met him.”
“And I would still burn every hotel I own before I let someone hurt him.”
The words came out too fast.
Too real.
They both heard it.
Adrian looked away first.
A small voice came from the stairs.
“Mommy?”
Noah stood halfway down.
Maggie hovered behind him.
“I’m hungry.”
Elena immediately softened.
“I made pasta.”
“With the green stuff?”
“Spinach.”
“I don’t like spinach.”
“You liked it Tuesday.”
“I changed.”
Adrian’s mouth twitched.
Noah noticed.
“You laugh weird.”
Adrian cleared his throat.
“I didn’t laugh.”
“You almost did.”
“I apologize.”
Noah came down another step.
“Are you staying for pasta?”
Elena answered quickly.
“No.”
Adrian answered at the same time.
“I don’t think so.”
Noah frowned.
“Why?”
Adrian looked at Elena.
Because despite everything, for once he understood that the next answer was not his to choose.
Elena rubbed her forehead.
“You can stay for dinner.”
Adrian blinked.
“One dinner.”
He nodded.
“One.”
It was terrible.
Awkward.
Strangely ordinary.
Noah complained about spinach, asked Adrian whether rich people had to eat vegetables, and informed him that dragons probably hated hotels because they liked caves.
Adrian answered every question seriously.
At one point Noah spilled water.
Adrian reached for a napkin at the same moment Elena did.
Their hands touched.
Both pulled away.
After dinner Noah took his dragon book to the rug.
Adrian sat nearby.
Not too close.
Noah looked at him.
“Do you want to help find the pants?”
Adrian glanced at Elena.
She said nothing.
He sat on the floor.
In an eight-thousand-dollar suit.
And searched through a children’s book for a cartoon dragon’s missing trousers.
Elena watched from the kitchen doorway.
Her chest hurt.
Not because it was beautiful.
Because it could have happened four years earlier.
A whole life had been stolen by one terrible decision.
Later, after Noah fell asleep upstairs, Adrian put on his coat.
“I’ll stay at the Bellweather Inn.”
“Tomorrow you go to your meeting.”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“I’d like to see him again.”
Elena crossed her arms.
“We’ll talk.”
“I can accept that.”
He opened the door.
Snow swirled around him.
“Elena?”
“What?”
“I am sorry.”
She looked away.
“Sorry doesn’t give me four years back.”
“I know.”
He left.
Elena locked the door.
For several minutes she stood with her forehead against the glass.
Across the street, Adrian reached his SUV.
Then stopped.
Something had been placed beneath the windshield wiper.
He pulled out a photograph.
Elena watched his body go still.
He looked immediately toward the bookstore.
Then crossed the street again.
Fast.
When Elena opened the door, snow blew inside.
“What?”
Adrian handed her the photograph.
It showed Noah.
Outside his preschool.
Taken that morning.
On the back, someone had written five words.
THE MORETTI HEIR HAS PRETTY EYES.
Elena looked at Adrian.
“What have you brought to my door?”
May you like
And for the first time since arriving in Vermont, Adrian had no answer.
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