Chapter 1 - The Woman in the Red Dress
Emma Parker pressed her palm against Luca Moretti’s chest and whispered, “If you’re ashamed of me, don’t touch me.”
Luca looked down and saw a folded place card trapped beneath her fingers.
Someone had written two words on the back.
NOT FAMILY.
Luca realized the gala had never been about welcoming her.
For three long seconds, neither of them moved.
Emma could hear the chandeliers humming above them.
She could hear the faint clink of a champagne flute somewhere behind Luca.
She could even hear her own breathing.
But she could not hear a single conversation.
Two hundred guests had somehow become silent.
Luca Moretti stood inches from her, dressed entirely in black, one hand still half-raised from the moment he had tried to touch her waist.
At thirty-seven, Luca had the kind of presence that changed a room without effort. Men twice his age stepped aside when he walked through a doorway. Business owners returned his calls before the first ring ended. People who disliked him still lowered their voices when saying his name.
Emma had never been frightened of him.
Tonight, for the first time, she was frightened of what he might choose.
His dark eyes dropped to the place card she had picked up from the table beside them.
NOT FAMILY.
The handwriting was elegant.
Female.
Emma knew exactly whose handwriting it was.
She had seen it on the seating chart earlier that evening.
Isabella Moretti.
Luca’s mother.
Emma slowly pulled her hand away from his chest.
“I shouldn’t have come.”
His eyes lifted.
“Emma.”
“Don’t.”
The word was quiet.
That made it worse.
She had spent three hours pretending she couldn’t hear the whispers.
Who invited her?
She works at a community clinic.
That dress is trying very hard.
Luca could have anyone.
She’s not exactly what I expected.
The worst comments had not been shouted.
They had arrived as smiles.
As glances.
As compliments with poison hidden underneath.
One aunt had touched Emma’s arm and said, “You’re very confident to wear that color.”
A cousin had asked whether she had borrowed her jewelry.
Another woman had looked at Emma’s body, then at Luca, and whispered to someone beside her, “Temporary rebellion.”
Emma had smiled through every second of it.
Because Luca had asked her to come.
Because he had looked almost nervous when he said, “I want them to meet the woman I’m serious about.”
She had believed that sentence.
Now she wondered whether he had been serious enough to defend her when she wasn’t standing beside him.
Luca took the place card from her.
“Who wrote this?”
Emma almost laughed.
“You already know.”
His jaw tightened.
Across the ballroom, Isabella Moretti stood beneath a black-and-gold family crest.
She was sixty-two, perfectly composed, dressed in midnight blue, with silver threaded through her dark hair. She held herself like the room belonged to her because, in most practical ways, it did.
Beside her stood Luca’s uncle Salvatore.
His younger brother Marco.
His cousin Adrian.
And Bianca DeLuca.
Bianca was the blonde woman in the champagne dress who had been watching Emma all evening as if waiting for something to break.
Bianca had grown up with Luca.
Their families had expected them to marry once.
Emma knew that because Bianca had told her twenty minutes after meeting her.
Not cruelly.
That would have been easier.
She had smiled while saying it.
“We were practically promised to each other when we were children. Old families can be ridiculous.”
Then she had added:
“Luca always comes back to what makes sense.”
Emma had smiled.
“I guess we’ll see.”
Now Bianca’s face was pale.
Not triumphant.
Worried.
That surprised Emma.
Luca turned toward his family.
Nobody moved.
“Who changed Emma’s place card?”
Isabella answered calmly.
“There was confusion with the seating arrangement.”
Emma stared at her.
The original card had placed her beside Luca.
The new card had placed her at a table near the service entrance, between two distant business associates.
And on the back:
NOT FAMILY.
Luca held it up.
“Does this look like confusion?”
“Luca,” Salvatore warned.
“No.”
One syllable.
The room seemed to contract.
Luca looked at his mother.
“I brought Emma here because she matters to me.”
Isabella’s gaze moved to Emma.
“We understand that.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Perhaps this conversation should happen privately.”
Emma finally spoke.
“I agree.”
Luca turned.
She picked up her clutch.
“I’m going home.”
His expression changed immediately.
He stepped closer.
Emma backed away.
That was when he reached toward her again.
And that was when she said the words that turned the gala silent.
“If you’re ashamed of me, don’t touch me.”
Luca stared at her.
“Ashamed?”
“You let them do this.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You disappeared for forty minutes.”
“I was dealing with something upstairs.”
“And while you were dealing with it, your family decided to explain my place to me.”
“Emma—”
“I don’t need you to fight every person who doesn’t like me.”
Her voice remained steady even when her throat burned.
“But I will not stand beside a man who wants me privately and becomes careful about me publicly.”
Luca went completely still.
Emma hated that tears were threatening now.
She refused to let them fall.
Not here.
Not in front of Isabella.
Not in front of Bianca.
Not in front of people who had already decided that the woman in the red dress was too emotional, too ordinary, too much.
Luca glanced toward the place card.
Then toward his family.
Then back to Emma.
“Ashamed of you?”
He stepped closer.
Emma did not move.
“They should be ashamed for making you believe that.”
Someone behind them inhaled sharply.
Luca gently covered Emma’s hand with his and brought it back against his chest.
His heartbeat was steady beneath her palm.
“I don’t hide the woman I love.”
Emma froze.
He had never said it before.
Not those words.
Not in private.
Certainly not here.
Luca turned while still holding her hand.
“If anyone in this room has a problem with Emma, they have a problem with me.”
Salvatore’s face hardened.
“Be careful.”
“I am.”
“You’re embarrassing your mother.”
Luca gave a humorless smile.
“My mother is not the one standing here with an insult written behind her name.”
Isabella’s expression finally cracked.
“Enough.”
“No,” Luca said. “Not enough.”
Emma squeezed her eyes shut for half a second.
This was becoming bigger than her.
She had wanted respect.
She had not wanted a war.
“Luca.”
He looked at her immediately.
“Please.”
His expression softened.
Emma whispered, “I don’t want you burning down your family because somebody was cruel to me.”
Something passed through Isabella’s face.
Not guilt.
Fear.
Again, Emma noticed it.
Again, it made no sense.
Then Bianca stepped forward.
“Emma.”
Luca turned sharply.
Bianca stopped.
Her fingers tightened around her gold clutch.
“I need to tell you something.”
Isabella’s voice snapped across the room.
“Bianca. No.”
That changed everything.
Luca’s eyes narrowed.
“What does she need to tell Emma?”
Bianca looked at Isabella.
Then at Salvatore.
Marco shook his head once.
A warning.
Emma felt a cold sensation crawl up her spine.
This was no longer about a seating card.
Bianca opened her clutch.
Inside was a small white envelope.
Isabella crossed the distance between them faster than anyone expected and grabbed Bianca’s wrist.
“Not here.”
Luca stepped forward.
“Let her go.”
Isabella released her.
Bianca stared at Emma.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Bianca’s lips trembled.
“For thinking you were the problem.”
The ballroom remained silent.
Emma looked at Luca.
He looked just as confused as she felt.
Bianca continued.
“Tonight wasn’t arranged because the family wanted to meet you.”
Luca’s expression darkened.
“What are you talking about?”
Bianca held up the envelope.
“They wanted to see whether she recognized anyone.”
Emma stared at her.
“Recognized anyone?”
“Bianca,” Marco said.
She ignored him.
“My father found something three weeks ago. An old photograph. Your name was attached to it.”
Emma felt the blood drain from her face.
“My name?”
Luca moved beside her.
“What photograph?”
Bianca slowly slid the envelope open.
Isabella whispered, “Don’t.”
But Bianca was already pulling something out.
A faded photograph.
She held it by the edges.
Emma could see several people standing outside a restaurant.
One was Isabella, much younger.
Another was Salvatore.
A third was a man Emma had never seen.
And beside them stood a young woman.
Emma’s knees almost failed.
She knew that face.
“My mother.”
Luca looked at Emma.
Then at the photograph.
“Your mother knew my family?”
Emma could barely speak.
“My mother died when I was eight.”
Isabella closed her eyes.
Luca stared at his mother.
“You knew Emma’s mother?”
Isabella said nothing.
Emma took the photograph.
Her mother, Rachel Parker, was smiling.
Twenty-five years younger.
Her arm was linked with Isabella’s.
They looked like friends.
More than friends.
Like sisters.
Emma turned the photograph over.
There was handwriting on the back.
Rachel, Isabella, Salvatore — August 1998.
And underneath, written in different ink:
If anything happens to me, Isabella knows why.
Emma read it twice.
The room blurred.
Luca reached for her.
This time she let him.
“What happened to your mother?” he asked quietly.
Emma swallowed.
“A car accident.”
Isabella opened her eyes.
“No.”
Emma looked up.
Isabella’s face had lost all color.
“What did you say?”
“Your mother’s death wasn’t an accident.”
The guests began murmuring.
Salvatore stepped forward.
“That’s enough.”
Luca moved between him and Emma.
“You will not tell anyone when this is enough.”
Salvatore’s expression hardened.
“You have no idea what you’re touching.”
“Then explain it.”
“I can’t.”
Luca almost smiled.
“Can’t?”
Isabella suddenly reached into her purse.
Her hands were shaking now.
Emma had not believed anything could make Isabella Moretti shake.
She removed a second envelope.
Older than Bianca’s.
Yellowed along the edges.
Sealed.
Across the front was one name.
EMMA.
Emma stopped breathing.
“My mother gave me this twenty years ago,” Isabella whispered.
Luca stared at her.
“You had a letter for Emma for twenty years?”
Isabella nodded.
“Why didn’t you give it to her?”
A tear slipped down Isabella’s cheek.
“Because Rachel told me to wait until Emma was standing beside the one person in this family who might choose her over us.”
Nobody moved.
Luca slowly took the envelope.
Emma looked at his face.
“What does that mean?”
Isabella’s gaze shifted toward the ballroom doors.
Her expression changed.
Someone had entered.
Salvatore whispered one name.
“Gabriel.”
Emma turned.
May you like
The man standing at the door was holding another photograph.
And he was staring directly at her.
