Chapter 1 - The Wrong Moretti
Camille grabbed Lucian Moretti’s tie and said:
“Ask me properly.”
Lucian looked down at the silver dessert fork lying beside his plate.
Three tiny scratches crossed its handle.
M. B. C.
Lucian stopped smiling.
This was no longer an etiquette lesson.
Camille Brooks did not know what the letters meant.
She only knew that the atmosphere in the Moretti dining room had changed so quickly that even the crystal chandelier seemed to have stopped moving.
A moment earlier, Lucian’s younger brother Matteo had been laughing so hard he nearly spilled his wine.
Now he was staring at the fork.
Lucian was staring at it too.
And every man standing along the walls had gone rigid.
Camille slowly released Lucian’s tie.
“Did I miss something?”
Lucian picked up the fork.
His expression had become unreadable.
“Where did you get this?”
Camille glanced at the place setting.
“It was already there.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
His voice was quieter now.
Dangerously quiet.
Camille crossed her arms.
“And I don’t answer questions asked like accusations.”
Matteo made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh.
Lucian looked at him.
Matteo immediately became fascinated by his napkin.
Camille had been inside the Moretti mansion for less than two hours and had already learned something important.
Everyone feared Lucian Moretti.
Everyone except her.
Maybe that was because she had spent fifteen years teaching people how to behave in rooms where money was used like a weapon.
Fortune 500 executives.
Professional athletes.
Politicians whose assistants trembled when they entered conference rooms.
Camille had coached debutantes who could destroy a rival with a smile and old-money widows who considered humiliation an art form.
Lucian Moretti was different.
Not because he was more frightening.
Because he was more controlled.
He did not raise his voice.
He did not slam doors.
He did not need to.
The room rearranged itself around his silence.
Camille hated men who mistook fear for respect.
Which was why, when his assistant had offered her three times her normal fee to spend six weeks teaching Matteo Moretti “appropriate public conduct,” Camille had nearly declined.
Then she had met Matteo.
He was charming.
Immature.
Provocative.
But not hopeless.
Lucian, however, had interrupted their first lesson four times.
He had answered questions directed at Matteo.
Corrected Camille’s schedule without asking.
Ordered a housekeeper to replace tea that was perfectly fine.
And finally snapped his fingers at Camille when he wanted her attention.
That was when she had walked across the dining room, put her palm on his chest, and said the word nobody in the mansion expected.
“Please.”
Lucian had stared down at her.
Camille had stared back.
“I hired you for my brother,” he had said.
“That’s your first mistake.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he knows he’s rude.”
Matteo had grinned.
Camille continued.
“You don’t.”
That had been the exact moment the housekeeper dropped the spoon.
Matteo started laughing.
Lucian did not.
Then Camille noticed the fork.
Now Lucian held it beneath the chandelier.
His thumb traced the scratches.
M. B. C.
“Matteo.”
The younger brother sat straighter.
“I didn’t put it there.”
“I know.”
That answer bothered Camille more than an accusation would have.
Lucian turned toward the head housekeeper.
“Mrs. Bellini.”
An older woman stepped forward.
“Yes, Mr. Moretti?”
“Who prepared this table?”
“I supervised it personally.”
“Was this silver in the dining set?”
Her face paled.
“No.”
Lucian looked toward one of the men near the door.
“Clear the room.”
Camille lifted a hand.
“Excuse me?”
The guards began moving.
Guests stood.
Staff disappeared through side doors.
Within seconds the dining room emptied until only Camille, Matteo, Lucian, and two men remained.
Camille picked up her handbag.
“Then I suppose today’s lesson is finished.”
Lucian stepped into her path.
“No.”
Camille looked up at him.
“No?”
“You stay.”
“I’m not an employee.”
“I know exactly what you are.”
“Then you know I decide when my services end.”
His eyes narrowed.
Camille waited.
Finally Lucian said, “Please.”
Matteo burst out laughing again.
Lucian didn’t even look at him.
Camille smiled.
“Better.”
She placed her handbag back on the chair.
Lucian seemed unsure whether to be annoyed or impressed.
He handed the fork to one of the guards.
“Find out who brought it into this house.”
The man nodded.
Camille glanced at Matteo.
The amusement had vanished from his face.
“What do the letters mean?”
Neither brother answered.
Camille waited.
Matteo looked toward Lucian.
Lucian said, “Nothing that concerns you.”
Camille sighed.
“You people are terrible conversationalists.”
She reached for her notebook.
“If we’re staying, Matteo and I can continue.”
Matteo stared at her.
“You want to continue the lesson?”
“That is why I’m here.”
“There may be someone inside the house who—”
Lucian cut him off with one look.
Camille noticed.
She noticed everything.
That was another reason people paid her.
Etiquette was rarely about forks.
It was about power.
Who interrupted whom.
Who apologized.
Who stood when another person entered.
Who was permitted to ignore a question.
And who had learned that silence was safer than honesty.
Matteo was afraid.
Not of the fork.
Of what Lucian might do because of it.
Camille sat down.
“Lesson one continues.”
Matteo rubbed both hands over his face.
“You’re insane.”
“No. I’m charging by the hour.”
Even Lucian’s mouth twitched.
Almost a smile.
Camille pointed toward Matteo’s glass.
“When someone proposes a toast, where should your eyes be?”
“On the person giving the toast.”
“Good.”
“When somebody insults you?”
Matteo smiled.
“I throw them into Lake Michigan.”
Camille stared at him.
Matteo sighed.
“I remain composed.”
“Better.”
Lucian leaned against the edge of the table.
Camille turned.
“And you.”
His eyebrow rose.
“I’m not participating.”
“You are now.”
“I’m paying you.”
“Which makes you the person most in need of knowing whether your money is being wasted.”
Matteo covered his mouth.
Camille continued.
“When someone enters your home, what is the first thing you should do?”
Lucian replied, “Determine whether they’re a threat.”
“Wrong.”
“It has kept me alive.”
“And single, I assume.”
Matteo actually slid lower in his chair from laughing.
Lucian gave Camille a long look.
“You ask whether they need anything,” she said.
“I already have staff for that.”
“No. You ask.”
“Why?”
“Because hospitality isn’t outsourcing kindness.”
Something shifted in Lucian’s face.
Only for a second.
But Camille saw it.
The lesson continued another forty minutes.
Lucian stayed for all of it.
He pretended he was there because of the fork.
Camille knew better.
He listened.
He corrected his own posture once.
He almost said please twice.
By the end, Matteo looked bored and Lucian looked irritated.
Which Camille considered progress.
When she finally stood to leave, Lucian walked her to the entrance.
That surprised her.
The mansion’s front hall was enormous, all marble floors and dark carved wood.
Camille put on her coat.
“You don’t have to escort me.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
Lucian looked toward the windows.
“It’s late.”
“I’ve been outside after sunset before.”
“You are very difficult.”
“I’m extremely polite.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
Camille smiled.
“Good. You learned something.”
He opened the door.
Cold Chicago air rushed inside.
Camille stepped onto the porch.
“Tomorrow. Ten o’clock.”
Lucian said nothing.
Camille looked over her shoulder.
He caught himself.
“Please.”
She grinned.
“Ten o’clock.”
She walked toward her car.
Halfway down the steps, Matteo came running through the doorway.
“Camille.”
She stopped.
Matteo glanced behind him.
Lucian remained inside.
“What?”
Matteo lowered his voice.
“You shouldn’t come back.”
Camille studied him.
“Because your brother hates being corrected?”
“No.”
All humor had disappeared from his face.
“Because whoever left that fork knew you would be sitting at that exact place.”
Camille’s smile faded.
Behind Matteo, Lucian suddenly turned toward the hallway.
One of his guards was running toward him.
He held a sealed envelope.
There was only one name written across the front.
CAMILLE BROOKS.
Lucian tore it open.
He read the first line.
Then he looked straight at her.
“Camille.”
She stepped back toward the door.
“What does it say?”
Lucian slowly lifted his eyes.
May you like
Someone had written only six words.
HE SHOULD HAVE LEFT YOU ALONE.
