Chương 10
Luciana refused to sign anything.
Instead, she called Isabel.
Isabel listened for twenty-three seconds before hanging up.
“What did she say?” Elena asked.
“That you are destroying Adrian’s inheritance.”
“What did you say?”
“I said his inheritance appears to be poor judgment and expensive plumbing.”
“Mom.”
“She called again. I blocked her.”
A week after the canceled wedding, Elena returned to full work.
She fitted a bride named Keisha, whose mother objected to the depth of every neckline and had opinions about the moral character of tulle.
“Elena,” Keisha said quietly while her mother went to move the car, “I saw the video.”
Elena adjusted the side seam. “Most people did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
Keisha watched her in the mirror. “Are you okay making wedding dresses?”
The question was gentle. It still found the bruise.
“I don’t know yet,” Elena said.
Keisha nodded. “That’s fair.”
They stood in silence while traffic moved below the workroom windows.
Then Keisha looked down at the pinned hem. “My mother thinks ankles are a gateway.”
Elena laughed.
The fitting continued.
Ordinary work did not heal her. It gave pain appointments. For forty minutes she could think about a bodice. For an hour she could argue with a supplier about silk weight. Then she would open an email and see Adrian’s name, or catch the smell of his coffee on a sweater, and the day would tilt.
At home, she began placing his remaining belongings into boxes.
Not all at once.
One night she packed books. Another night she packed kitchen tools and kept the good vegetable peeler. She left his shoes by the door for three days because their absence made the entryway look wrong.
When Adrian came to collect the boxes, Elena waited in the living room.
He wore gray trousers and an open-collar shirt. Without the tuxedo, he looked less like the man beneath the arch and more like the person she had once planned to grow old beside.
He noticed the shoes.
“You kept the peeler,” he said.
“I bought it.”
“You hate peeling vegetables.”
“I hate your mother more.”
The words came out before she could stop them.
Adrian almost smiled, then did not.
“Fair.”
He carried the first box to the hallway. When he returned, he stood near the dining table where the wedding invitations had been assembled two months earlier.
“My mother is selling the car,” he said.
Elena said nothing.
“And some jewelry. She can return twenty-seven thousand within two weeks.”
“That leaves seventeen.”
“I’ll cover it.”
“How?”
“I sold my share in a development project.”
“You told me that project was your chance to become a partner.”
“It was.”
Elena looked at him.
“Do not do that to impress me.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because you should know where the money comes from.”
That was true.
She hated that he was learning things she had once begged him to understand.
He lifted another box.
“Where are you staying?” she asked.
“With Marco.”
Adrian’s cousin lived in a one-bedroom apartment in Silver Lake and owned a dog that disliked men in hats.
“How is that?”
“Humbling.”
“The dog?”
“The sofa.”
He walked toward the door, then stopped.
“The wedding food was donated,” he said.
“To where?”
“A shelter and two community kitchens. Marta arranged it.”
“I’m glad.”
“Mom objected because the menus had the Moretti House logo.”
“Of course she did.”
“She changed her mind.”
Elena suspected Adrian had changed it for her.
She did not ask.
At the door, he picked up the shoes. “I’m sorry about the grinder.”
“You took it.”
“I know. It seemed like something you would celebrate.”
After he left, Elena stood in the kitchen and listened to the refrigerator hum.
She had expected either relief or collapse. Instead she noticed that he had forgotten the blue ceramic bowl his father gave them. She carried it to the box of remaining items, then changed her mind and put it back in the cupboard.
Three days later, Luciana requested mediation.
Rachel advised Elena to attend.
“A settlement could recover the remaining money and secure written restrictions without litigation,” she said. “You are not required to reconcile. You are required only to sit in a room.”
The mediation took place in a conference suite with gray carpet and a bowl of wrapped peppermints no one touched.
Luciana arrived wearing black.
The choice was so obvious that Elena nearly admired it. Luciana had dressed herself as the widow of a future, dignified and wronged.
Adrian came separately.
He sat between the two legal teams but not beside his mother.
For the first hour, attorneys discussed numbers, documents, and language. Luciana remained composed until Rachel requested that she admit in writing Elena had not approved the bridal concept.
“I will not sign a humiliation,” Luciana said.
“It is a fact,” Elena replied.
“It is your interpretation.”
“Did I approve it?”
“You benefited from the discussions.”
“How?”
“Your business received attention.”
“After you copied my gown.”
Luciana looked at the mediator. “This is the emotional language I am talking about.”
Elena felt heat rise in her face.
The mediator, a retired judge named Evelyn Park, folded her hands. “Ms. Moretti, did Ms. Marín give permission for her image, name, or sketch to be included in the deck?”
“She knew we were exploring opportunities.”
“No,” Adrian said.
Everyone turned.
Luciana’s expression did not change, but one hand moved beneath the table.
Adrian continued. “She did not know.”
“You told me she would be excited,” Luciana said.
“I lied.”
“You did not lie. You believed she would understand.”
“I knew she would refuse.”
Luciana’s gaze sharpened. “You are confused.”
“No.”
“You are angry because she left you.”
“I’m ashamed because she should have.”
The sentence landed without force. Adrian did not look at Elena after saying it.
Luciana leaned back.
For the first time since the wedding, she seemed older than glamorous.
“You always do this,” she said to him.
May you like
“What?”
“Choose the person who is leaving.”
