Chapter 3 - The Sister Who Signed Her Name
Rosalie locked the bridal-suite door.
Naen stared at her.
“What are you doing?”
“Making one decision today without asking anybody’s permission.”
She slid the dead bolt into place.
For the first time since Lorenzo entered, Rosalie felt something resembling control.
It lasted approximately three seconds.
Then someone knocked.
“Rosalie?”
Miles.
Her entire body reacted before her mind did.
A familiar voice.
The man who slept beside her on Sunday afternoons.
The man who brought soup when she had the flu.
The man who had knelt beside the lake and asked her to marry him with hands that actually trembled.
The man whose photograph was now lying beside evidence that he had shaped her wedding into somebody else’s information-gathering opportunity.
“Baby?”
Naen’s face twisted.
Rosalie held up one finger.
Silence.
Miles tried the handle.
“Rosalie, are you okay?”
She looked at Naen.
“Did you tell him?”
“No.”
“Did anybody?”
“I swear.”
Miles knocked again.
“I know Lorenzo spoke to you.”
Rosalie’s eyes narrowed.
Naen whispered, “I didn’t.”
Rosalie believed her.
That was almost worse.
“Give me ten minutes,” Rosalie called.
Silence outside.
Then Miles said, “I think I should come in.”
“No.”
“Rosalie.”
“I said no.”
Another pause.
His voice changed subtly.
Still gentle.
Less soft.
“We shouldn’t let somebody else turn this into something it isn’t.”
Rosalie almost laughed.
“Ten minutes.”
A long pause.
Then footsteps moved away.
Rosalie waited until she could no longer hear them.
She turned.
“Start talking.”
Naen sat again.
For a moment she looked older than her thirty-eight years.
“I met Miles before you introduced us because he contacted me.”
“How?”
“He knew I was your sister.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“He found me through work. He said his company did research for clients considering business relationships with people in Lorenzo’s network.”
“And you thought that was normal?”
“I thought rich people investigated each other constantly.”
Rosalie almost said they do, but stopped.
That was not the point.
“What did he ask you?”
“About the estate. Events. Names.”
“Did you give them?”
“Public things. At first.”
“At first.”
Naen closed her eyes.
“He offered to pay me as a local consultant.”
Rosalie’s stomach turned.
“You’re a dental-office manager.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t find it strange that a research company needed a dental-office manager?”
“I needed the money.”
There it was.
Not an excuse.
An explanation.
Rosalie hated that explanations hurt more.
Naen told her about the hospital bill.
After their mother died, one final account had remained disputed. Rosalie thought the appeal had resolved it.
Naen had lied.
She had taken responsibility for the balance because she could not bear watching Rosalie continue working weekends.
Then Naen’s hours had been cut.
Her landlord raised the rent.
A credit-card company sued.
The medical debt moved to collections.
Miles appeared at exactly the moment panic made a bad decision look like a door.
“He offered five thousand at first,” Naen said.
“For what?”
“A few questions.”
“What questions?”
“Whether Lorenzo hosted political people. Whether people stayed overnight. How often big dinners happened.”
Rosalie’s hands curled.
“And you answered?”
“Things anybody around town could know.”
“Then why pay you?”
Naen looked down.
“I should’ve asked myself that harder.”
“Yes.”
“I know.”
“No, Naen. You know now.”
Her sister absorbed the blow.
Rosalie did not apologize.
“The second payment was for helping with the venue.”
“How much?”
“Seven thousand.”
“And after that?”
Naen’s voice shrank.
“More.”
“For my photographer?”
“Yes.”
“My guest list?”
“I gave Miles an early version.”
“My seating chart?”
“Yes.”
Rosalie looked toward the mirror.
A bride looked back.
Except she no longer recognized the woman.
“Did you ever stop to wonder why a man supposedly in love with me was paying my sister for information about my employer?”
Naen’s eyes filled again.
“He told me the consulting work had nothing to do with your relationship.”
“And you believed him.”
“I wanted to.”
“Why?”
Naen stood suddenly.
“Because not everything was about you, Rosalie.”
The words cracked across the room.
Both sisters froze.
Naen looked horrified.
Rosalie became very still.
“There it is.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
Naen wiped her face.
“You were always the good one.”
Rosalie stared at her.
“The what?”
“The one who handled everything. Mom needed somebody at the hospital? Rosalie. Somebody had to understand the insurance forms? Rosalie. Somebody needed to talk to the doctors? Rosalie. Then you got this job here and suddenly you were managing an estate and powerful people trusted you and everyone kept saying how capable you were.”
Rosalie could barely believe what she was hearing.
“You think I enjoyed that?”
“I know you didn’t.”
“Do you?”
“I was there too!”
“Sometimes.”
Naen flinched.
Rosalie immediately hated herself for saying it.
But the truth had been waiting years.
Naen’s voice dropped.
“I know I failed you when Mom was sick.”
Rosalie looked away.
“I would come to the hospital and you’d already handled everything. I would offer to call somebody and you’d already called them. I would try to help with bills and you’d say you had it.”
“Because somebody had to.”
“Exactly. There was never room to be needed next to you.”
Rosalie turned back.
“That is not a reason to sell my wedding.”
Naen crumpled.
“I know.”
“Say it.”
“I know.”
“No. Say what you did.”
Naen’s lips trembled.
“I took money from Miles to help him get access through your wedding.”
The words hung there.
Rosalie closed her eyes.
For weeks she had imagined this room differently.
Naen fastening her dress.
Their mother absent but somehow present.
Laughing.
Crying.
Maybe one stupid photograph of the sisters together before Rosalie walked downstairs.
Instead, Rosalie opened her eyes and asked the only question that mattered.
“Did you sell my wedding—or did you sell me?”
Naen’s face broke.
“Never you.”
“You gave him my life.”
“I thought he loved you.”
“You gave him access because I worked here.”
“I thought he loved you.”
“You keep saying that like it fixes anything.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Did he meet me because of you?”
Naen stopped breathing.
Rosalie knew.
“Oh, God.”
“No. Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?”
“He asked me about you before you met him.”
The room narrowed.
“How long before?”
“Two weeks.”
Rosalie gripped the edge of the table.
Miles had told her their meeting was accidental.
A bookstore in Marblehead.
He had reached for the same copy of a travel memoir.
She had joked that he could have it because she never went anywhere anyway.
He bought two coffees.
They talked for an hour.
Rosalie had replayed the story at engagement dinners until it felt like fate.
“Did you arrange the bookstore?”
“No.”
“Naen.”
“I told him where you sometimes went on Saturday mornings. That’s all.”
“That is arranging it.”
“I didn’t know he would date you.”
Rosalie laughed through tears.
“You gave a stranger my routine.”
“I knew who he worked for.”
“You knew what he told you.”
“Yes.”
Naen sounded exhausted now.
No more defenses.
Just facts.
“He started seeing you. I panicked. Then you were happy.”
“Was I?”
Naen looked at her.
Rosalie gestured to the dress.
“I can’t remember the last decision I made without somebody telling me what would be easier.”
A sound came from outside.
Not a knock.
A man’s voice.
Lorenzo.
Too low to understand.
Then Miles.
Sharper.
Rosalie crossed toward the door.
Naen caught her wrist.
“Don’t.”
Rosalie looked down at her hand.
Naen released her immediately.
“Sorry.”
Rosalie opened the door.
The hallway was empty except for one staff member at the far stairwell.
“Where are they?”
He hesitated.
“Mr. Falcone asked Mr. Ror to return downstairs.”
“And?”
“He declined.”
“Where did he go?”
The staff member looked toward the west corridor.
Rosalie knew that corridor.
Small drawing room.
Library.
Private office.
She gathered the heavy skirt in both hands and walked.
“Rosie,” Naen called.
Rosalie did not stop.
The ivory satin dragged behind her.
At the corner she heard Miles.
“You had no right.”
Lorenzo answered.
“I did not stop the wedding.”
“You poisoned it.”
“I gave her documents.”
“You’ve wanted this outcome from the beginning.”
Rosalie stopped outside the drawing-room door.
Naen caught up behind her.
Miles continued.
“You think because she works for you, you know her.”
Lorenzo’s answer was quiet.
“No. I think because she is a person, she deserves information before making a permanent decision.”
Rosalie pushed the door open.
Both men turned.
Lorenzo stood by the windows.
Miles was near the fireplace.
He looked exactly like himself.
That was the unbearable part.
His dark-blue wedding suit fit perfectly.
His boutonniere was slightly crooked.
Rosalie had planned to fix it before photographs.
He smiled when he saw her.
“Thank God.”
Rosalie did not move.
Miles took one step.
Lorenzo stayed where he was.
“Don’t,” Rosalie said.
Miles stopped.
His eyes went to the folder under Rosalie’s arm.
Something hardened.
Barely.
But she saw it now.
“You opened it.”
Not what is that?
Not what did he give you?
You opened it.
Rosalie’s heart beat once, hard.
“How did you know he had a folder?”
Miles glanced at Lorenzo.
“Come on, Rosie.”
“No. Answer.”
“He’s been digging into me for weeks.”
Lorenzo said nothing.
Rosalie watched Miles.
“You knew?”
“I knew he didn’t trust me.”
“Why?”
“Because he doesn’t trust anyone near you.”
Lorenzo’s jaw moved.
Rosalie raised a hand toward him without looking.
“Please.”
Lorenzo remained silent.
Miles saw that.
Something like satisfaction entered his face.
“There. You see? This is what he does. Everybody moves when he wants them to.”
“Not me.”
Miles’s smile weakened.
“No. Not you.”
“Then answer my question.”
“I knew he was watching me.”
“How?”
Miles exhaled.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Because I’m not stupid.”
“That isn’t an answer either.”
Miles looked at the dress.
For a second Rosalie saw tenderness.
Or remembered it.
“You look beautiful.”
Her throat tightened.
“Don’t.”
“I mean it.”
“Did you mean anything?”
Pain crossed his face.
Maybe real.
Maybe practiced.
Rosalie no longer trusted herself to tell the difference.
Miles lowered his voice.
“Everything between us was real.”
“Except how we met.”
His expression changed.
Naen made a small sound behind her.
Miles looked toward Naen.
One glance.
That was all.
Rosalie saw years of trust collapse inside it.
“You knew she told me.”
Miles’s eyes returned to Rosalie.
“We need to talk privately.”
“No.”
“Rosalie.”
“No more private conversations. That’s apparently how I ended up here.”
Lorenzo turned his face away, but Rosalie caught the faintest movement near his mouth.
Not amusement.
Something like pride.
Miles saw it too.
“You think this is funny?”
Lorenzo’s expression emptied.
“No.”
“You wanted her to see me as a liar.”
“I wanted her to see evidence.”
“You’ve been collecting scraps because you couldn’t stand that she chose someone else.”
Silence.
Rosalie felt the sentence strike somewhere she did not want to examine.
Miles took advantage of it.
He looked at her.
“You know what this is, Rosie.”
“No. I’m beginning to think I don’t know anything.”
“You know how he feels about you.”
Rosalie’s gaze snapped to Lorenzo.
He did not move.
“What?”
Miles laughed quietly.
“You really don’t?”
“Miles.”
“What? We’re telling truths now.”
Rosalie felt heat rise into her face.
She looked at Lorenzo.
He gave her nothing.
That, somehow, was an answer.
Miles stepped forward.
“Falcone has been waiting for me to make a mistake since the day you introduced us.”
Rosalie looked back at him.
“And did you?”
Miles’s mouth curved without humor.
“You already decided I did.”
“No.”
She tightened her grip on the folder.
“I’m asking you.”
Miles studied her.
The warmth left his face.
For the first time since she had known him, Rosalie saw the man beneath the steadiness.
Not a monster.
Worse.
A calculator.
He glanced toward Lorenzo and said calmly:
“I wondered how long it would take you to show her the black folder.”
Rosalie’s blood chilled.
Nobody had told him its color.
Lorenzo’s expression changed.
Miles realized his mistake one second too late.
Rosalie whispered:
“You knew exactly what he had.”
May you like
And suddenly the man waiting downstairs to marry her was no longer denying the secret.
He was measuring how much she knew.
