Chương 7
“Call the bank,” Tessa said.
“What can they do?”
“Probably nothing about the old transfer. They can prevent a new one.”
They called. The representative was polite, sympathetic, and largely powerless. Because both account holders had full transactional authority, the transfer was valid. Elena could close the account only with Adrian’s cooperation, but she could open a separate account and move her share of the remaining money.
“How much is my share?” Elena asked after the call.
Tessa leaned against the table. “That is a lawyer question.”
“It was supposed to be our house.”
“I know.”
“I used to look at listings during fittings. Small ones. Terrible kitchens. I saved them.”
“I know.”
“We argued about drawer handles.”
“You preferred brass. He preferred cheap.”
“Brushed nickel.”
“Same moral category.”
Elena smiled, but tears finally came.
They arrived without drama. No sobbing, no collapse. Water moved down her face while she sat on the hard edge of the cutting table, still wearing the cotton robe, her hair half-fallen from the bridal bun.
Tessa stood beside her and looked at the opposite wall.
“I can leave,” she said.
“No.”
“I can hug you.”
“Not yet.”
“Good. I’m not elegant at it.”
Elena wiped her face with the heel of her hand.
Her phone lit again and again across the table.
At ten thirty, Luciana posted a statement.
It appeared first on the Moretti House account beneath a photograph of the villa at sunset.
Today’s private family celebration was interrupted by an unfortunate misunderstanding involving creative plans that were still under discussion. We ask for compassion for everyone involved, especially two families navigating an emotional moment. Moretti House remains committed to beauty, hospitality, and the enduring bonds of family.
The comments filled within minutes.
Tessa read it twice.
“I hate every noun in that paragraph.”
Elena’s hands went cold.
The statement did not name her, accuse her, or mention the dress. It did something more effective. It made her reaction sound unstable and the business plan sound mutual.
She called Adrian.
“Take it down.”
“I asked her to.”
“Ask better.”
“She owns the account.”
“You are listed as business director.”
“That was provisional.”
“Take it down.”
“I’m trying to manage this.”
“You are managing me.”
“No, I’m trying to keep her from panicking.”
“Why is her panic always an emergency and my pain always a discussion?”
He said nothing.
Behind him, Elena heard Luciana’s voice, close enough to the phone that she must have been standing beside him.
“Tell her we will speak tomorrow.”
Elena laughed once.
Adrian moved away. His next words were quieter. “I’ll get it removed.”
“Tonight.”
“Yes.”
“And send the records.”
“I’m compiling them.”
“Pietro probably has a folder.”
“He left.”
“Then call him.”
“I will.”
Elena looked at the statement again.
“Did you tell the guests I had a breakdown?”
“No.”
“Did your mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“You are standing next to her.”
“She told people you were overwhelmed.”
“I was betrayed.”
“I know.”
“No. You know I found out.”
The statement disappeared eleven minutes later.
Screenshots remained.
By midnight, Elena had received four versions from friends, three from strangers, and one from a woman who offered to help her monetize her “iconic exit.” She turned off the phone.
Isabel returned with sweatpants, clean underwear, Elena’s toothbrush, and a plastic container of rice and chicken.
“I went to the apartment,” she said.
“Was he there?”
“No. I took your passport and the box from your desk.”
“What box?”
“The one with your grandmother’s earrings.”
Elena touched her bare earlobes. She had removed the earrings without remembering.
“Where are they?”
“In your purse.”
Isabel set the food on the table. “I also brought the pink blanket.”
“I’m twenty-nine.”
“You are cold when you are sad.”
“I’m not five.”
“You were cold then too.”
Elena ate three bites because Isabel watched her. Tessa unfolded a muslin cover and draped it over the wedding gown.
The shape disappeared slowly, first the neckline, then the waist, then the skirt.
Elena slept for forty minutes on the punishment sofa.
At one seventeen, her phone rang from an unknown number. She declined it.
At one twenty, a message appeared.
Ms. Marín, my name is Daniel Cho. I represent one of the investment groups approached about Moretti House Bridal. I believe you should know that we were told you had already agreed in principle. Please contact me when appropriate.
Elena sat up.
Isabel slept in a fitting chair with her arms folded. Tessa had gone home after leaving the name of a lawyer on a sticky note.
Elena called the number.
Daniel answered with the careful alertness of someone who had expected the call.
“I’m sorry to contact you tonight,” he said. “I would not have, except the social media situation suggested there may be a material misunderstanding.”
“That is a polite description.”
“I work in investment. Polite descriptions are often the first stage of panic.”
His voice was calm, slightly dry.
“What were you told?” Elena asked.
“That you and Mr. Moretti intended to develop a private bridal collection connected to the villa. We were shown preliminary brand materials. We were told the wedding would function as a private proof of concept.”
“A proof of what?”
“Guest response, photography, event integration. The language was vague.”
“Was Luciana wearing my design part of it?”
“I saw a concept page that suggested a family reveal. I assumed you had approved it.”
“I did not.”
“I understand that now.”
“Did you invest?”
“No. We requested documentation on ownership, brand permissions, and projected operations. The answers were incomplete.”
“Who gave the presentation?”
“Mr. Santi led it. Ms. Moretti attended. Adrian spoke about growth projections.”
Elena looked at the dark workroom.
“When?”
“Last Thursday.”
Six days earlier, Adrian had come home late and said a hotel renovation meeting ran long. Elena had heated soup for him. He had eaten standing at the counter while telling her the florist’s final invoice looked too high.
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“Did he say I agreed?”
Daniel paused. “He said you were enthusiastic about building something that belonged to both families.”
