Chương 6
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Rafael’s mouth shifted.
“Because those are two separate things.”
Adrian stared at him.
That answer stayed with him.
The police arrived twenty minutes later.
Nobody had called them from inside the ballroom.
A guest had.
The report had been vague: confrontation, possible fraud, disturbance at a wedding.
Two officers came in expecting drunk relatives.
They found a sealed ballroom with hotel management, attorneys being called, an old medical bracelet on a tray, and a groom who looked as though the floor beneath his life had been replaced while he stood on it.
No one was arrested.
The officers took names.
The hotel documented the incident.
Owen explained that nobody had threatened physical violence and that the tear in Teresa’s dress had been self-inflicted at a prepared seam. That sentence sounded absurd enough that one officer asked him to repeat it.
Teresa wanted to go home.
Rafael did too.
Adrian stopped them near the door.
“Mrs. Alvarez.”
She turned.
He hesitated.
He seemed embarrassed by the formality.
“What did you name him?”
Teresa’s face went still.
Rafael looked at the floor.
They had never written the name on official paperwork because the baby had been taken before they were asked.
But they had chosen one.
“Mateo,” she said.
Adrian swallowed.
“Mateo.”
“Yes.”
He looked as if he wanted to ask something else.
He didn’t.
Teresa said, “You don’t have to be him.”
Adrian frowned.
“What?”
“That was our name. Before.”
She touched the shawl around her waist.
“Adrian is your name.”
He stared at her.
Something in his face loosened, then closed again.
Claire came beside him.
Teresa removed the shawl and held it out.
Claire shook her head.
“Keep it.”
“I’ll have it cleaned.”
“I don’t care about the shawl.”
Teresa nodded.
“I know.”
She and Rafael left through a service corridor to avoid the guests.
In the elevator, Teresa pressed the button for the lobby and then leaned against the mirrored wall.
Rafael stood beside her.
For twelve floors neither spoke.
At eight, Teresa said, “You were right.”
Rafael looked straight ahead.
“I don’t want to be right.”
“We hurt them.”
“Yes.”
“I thought if he saw me, he would know.”
Rafael closed his eyes.
“Teresa.”
“I know how that sounds.”
The elevator stopped at six for a young couple returning from the hotel pool.
They stepped inside wearing sandals and matching white robes.
The man glanced at Teresa’s torn dress.
The woman noticed Rafael’s expression and looked away politely.
Nobody spoke.
At the lobby, the couple got out first.
Teresa watched them walk toward the elevators on the opposite side, still talking quietly about whether room service would be open.
The world had not ended.
It irritated her.
Outside, Rafael ordered a rideshare because neither of them trusted themselves to drive.
They sat on a bench beneath the porte cochere.
A bellman rolled luggage past them.
Cars arrived.
Cars left.
Somebody argued about a valet ticket.
Teresa stared at her wedding ring.
“I made him find out in front of everybody.”
Rafael sat with his elbows on his knees.
“Yes.”
She turned.
“You could say something kinder.”
“You told me not to lie to you.”
“I did not mean tonight.”
He looked at her.
Despite everything, she almost smiled.
Then her face collapsed.
Not into sobbing.
Just exhaustion.
Rafael put his arm around her.
She leaned against him.
For thirty-four years, he had been the only other person on earth who carried the exact shape of the absence she carried.
If Adrian was their son, that shape had just changed.
It had not disappeared.
That was the strange part.
Their dead baby might be alive, but the years remained dead.
Nothing could give them back the first fever, the first day of school, scraped knees, teenage anger, graduations, ordinary Tuesdays.
Finding him would not restore what had been taken.
It would create something else.
Neither of them knew what.
Across town, Adrian and Claire spent their wedding night in separate rooms.
Not because they had fought.
Because neither knew how to be married in the middle of that particular night.
Claire’s sister helped her out of the dress.
Adrian sat in the suite living room with his bow tie undone and called Daniel Mercer until the attorney finally answered.
Mercer sounded groggy for two sentences.
Then fully awake.
“Yes,” he said when Adrian asked whether the Alvarez family had contacted him.
“Did my mother tell you not to tell me?”
A pause.
“Adrian, attorney-client privilege complicates—”
“Whose privilege?”
Another pause.
That was enough.
Adrian stood and walked toward the windows.
Below him, the city was mostly dark glass and moving headlights.
“Daniel.”
“I represent several Vale entities and members of your family in different capacities.”
“Did she tell you to keep this from me?”
“I think we should meet in the morning.”
“Did she?”
Mercer exhaled.
“Yes.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
“What did you find?”
“I found enough that I advised further investigation.”
His knees weakened.
He sat on the arm of the sofa.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the Alvarez claim should not be dismissed.”
“Do you think Teresa Alvarez gave birth to me?”
“I do not have enough verified evidence to tell you that.”
“Do you think it’s possible?”
“Yes.”
Adrian stared at the unopened bottle of champagne on the coffee table.
The hotel had left it with strawberries and a card congratulating the newlyweds.
Someone had spelled Claire’s last name wrong.
“What did my mother say when you told her?”
Mercer was silent.
“Daniel.”
“She said she would handle it.”
Adrian laughed again, that same wrong sound.
“Did you ask how?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“She instructed me not to contact you.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I believed my obligations required me to follow my client’s instruction while continuing to assess the claim.”
“Which client?”
Mercer did not answer quickly enough.
Adrian said, “I’m done.”
“Adrian.”
He hung up.
His phone already contained forty-seven unread messages.
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