Chapter 4 - The Envelope Beneath the Silver Tray)
Mara did not tell anyone about the pregnancy except Emma.
For twelve days they kept the secret.
Emma brought crackers before morning sickness.
Mara switched from coffee to tea.
She took the stairs slowly.
At night she searched apartment listings she could not afford.
Then Sebastian called her into the breakfast room.
Bianca was away at a charity luncheon.
Sebastian stood beside the table holding a folder.
"I heard you may be leaving."
Mara stiffened.
"Who said that?"
"Bianca."
"I'm not."
"She said you've been asking about apartments."
Mara's heart sank.
Privacy did not exist in this house.
"I won't live here forever."
"Fair enough."
He sat.
Mara remained standing.
Sebastian noticed.
"You can sit."
"I'm working."
"Sit anyway."
She did.
He pushed the folder toward her.
Inside was a summary of her mother's remaining debt.
Mara looked up.
"Why do you have this?"
"One of the family foundations funds medical debt relief."
"I didn't apply."
"I did."
Mara closed the folder.
"No."
Sebastian blinked.
"No?"
"I don't want this."
"It's not personal money."
"It became personal the moment you applied without asking."
He leaned back.
"You're proud."
"I'm careful."
"About what?"
"Owing people."
Something moved behind his eyes.
"That's not always a bad instinct."
Mara stood.
"I need to get back to work."
"Mara."
She stopped.
"Bianca is difficult."
Mara almost smiled.
"That's one word."
"If she ever crosses a line, come to me."
Mara looked at him carefully.
"Why?"
"Because no one should be afraid in their workplace."
She wanted to believe him.
But she remembered Eleanor's advice.
Rich people rarely gave without deciding what the gift meant.
"I'll keep that in mind."
As Mara reached the door, Sebastian spoke again.
"Were you ever close to Adrian?"
Her hand froze on the handle.
She turned slowly.
"What?"
"My brother."
Mara's pulse began pounding.
She had never heard anyone call Adrian Moretti merely Adrian inside this house.
"I don't know your brother."
Sebastian studied her.
Then why, Mara wondered, did he look relieved?
Before he could answer, Bianca entered.
She had come home early.
Her gaze moved between them.
"What am I interrupting?"
"Nothing," Mara said.
Bianca smiled.
"How reassuring."
That evening Mara returned to her room and opened an old box containing the few possessions she had saved from her mother's house.
At the bottom lay Adrian's note.
Please don't contact me again.
A.
She compared the A to a birthday card he had once written.
The angle looked different.
She had noticed before.
She had told herself grief made people obsessive.
Now Sebastian's question had reopened something.
Were you ever close to Adrian?
Why would Sebastian ask?
Mara went downstairs after midnight.
Emma was finishing the staff schedule.
"Can I ask you something?"
"At this hour? Must be important."
"Adrian Moretti."
Emma's pen stopped.
"What about him?"
"What is he like?"
Emma watched her carefully.
"Why?"
"I heard his name."
"This house is built on that name."
"Bianca doesn't like him."
"Bianca doesn't like anyone she can't control."
"Sebastian?"
"Complicated."
Mara swallowed.
"Has Adrian been here recently?"
"Not in nearly a year."
"Why?"
"Accident."
Mara stared.
"What accident?"
Emma's face changed.
"You didn't know?"
"No."
"Bad car crash in Italy. Almost killed him."
Mara gripped the chair.
"When?"
Emma told her.
The date was the day Adrian disappeared.
Mara sat down.
The room seemed to tilt.
"He was in Italy?"
"Yes."
"He was supposed to call me that day."
Emma went still.
"What did you say?"
Mara covered her mouth.
Everything rearranged itself.
The disconnected phone.
The abrupt checkout.
The note.
The silence.
"Emma."
"What?"
"Adrian Moretti used another name sometimes, didn't he?"
Emma's answer came slowly.
"Security aliases. When threats got bad."
"What name?"
"I don't know."
"Please."
Emma hesitated.
Then she whispered, "Cole."
Mara stopped breathing.
A door clicked behind them.
Both women turned.
Bianca stood at the end of the service corridor.
She had heard enough.
May you like
Her face remained perfectly calm.
But her right hand was clenched so tightly around the handle of a silver serving tray that her knuckles had gone white.
