Chapter 2 - THE INVITATION
The invitation arrived on a Thursday morning.
It was made of thick ivory paper, edged in gold, and delivered by hand to the apartment Elena still shared with Dante. She recognized the Moretti crest before she read the names.
Dante Moretti and Victoria Carter request the honor of your presence...
Elena read the line once.
Then again.
Then a third time, as if the letters might rearrange themselves into something less cruel.
Victoria Carter.
Her sister had recently begun using her middle name professionally. She said Bennett sounded ordinary. She said Carter sounded like a woman who belonged in a boardroom.
Elena sat down.
The invitation slipped from her fingers and landed on the floor.
Dante came home twenty minutes later. He found her at the kitchen table, the invitation in front of her.
For a long moment, he did not speak.
“Tell me it's a mistake,” Elena said.
He took off his coat.
“It's not.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“You're marrying Victoria.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He looked at the invitation, not at her. “It's necessary.”
Elena laughed once, without humor. “That's what you say when you don't want to tell the truth.”
“It's not that simple.”
“Eight years, Dante. Eight years of you telling me you can't marry me. And now you can marry my sister?”
His jaw tightened.
“Victoria and I have an arrangement.”
“An arrangement?”
“It protects certain interests.”
“Does she know you still come home to me?”
He did not answer quickly enough.
Elena stood.
“Does she?”
“It's not what you think.”
“Stop saying that. Every time you say it, I discover something worse.”
Dante reached for her. She stepped away.
“Don't.”
“Elena, listen to me.”
“No. You listen to me. I waited for you. I defended you when people said I was wasting my life. I told myself you had reasons you couldn't share. I thought if I loved you enough, one day you would trust me with the truth.”
His face tightened at the word trust.
“I do trust you.”
“Then tell me why you're marrying her.”
He looked toward the hall. Two security men stood beyond the open doorway, pretending not to hear.
“Not here.”
“Where, then? In the car? In another locked room? After the wedding?”
“Elena—”
“Are you in love with her?”
“No.”
The answer came so quickly that she almost believed him.
“Then why?”
Dante's phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen and silenced it.
Elena noticed the name displayed before it disappeared.
Victoria.
“She is waiting for you,” Elena said.
Dante did not move.
“Go.”
“Elena, please.”
“Go marry my sister.”
He left without touching her.
Three weeks later, the wedding took place at a private estate outside Chicago. Elena had not planned to attend. She had packed most of her belongings and arranged a flight to Zurich, where an old university friend had offered her a place to stay.
But her father, who had been ill for months, asked her to go.
“Don't let this family break you,” he told her. “Whatever happens, you are still my daughter.”
So she went.
The ceremony was immaculate. White roses lined the aisle. Moretti security stood discreetly around the garden. Politicians, businessmen, and men whose names never appeared in newspapers filled the seats.
Dante stood at the altar in a black suit.
Victoria walked toward him in ivory silk.
When the officiant asked whether he would take her as his wife, Dante hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Then he said, “I do.”
Elena felt something inside her break.
Victoria's eyes found hers over Dante's shoulder. Her smile was small and victorious.
After the ceremony, Elena stood near the edge of the reception while guests congratulated the couple. She had intended to leave before anyone noticed her.
Victoria found her anyway.
“You came,” her sister said.
“I came for Dad.”
“Of course.”
Victoria held out her left hand. The diamond on her finger caught the light.
“Beautiful, isn't it?”
Elena looked at the ring.
“Yes.”
“You always said Dante would never marry.”
“I was wrong.”
Victoria tilted her head. “Were you?”
Elena met her eyes.
“Enjoy your wedding.”
She walked away before her sister could answer.
That night, she left Chicago.
Three weeks later, in a small apartment in Zurich, Elena stared at a pregnancy test with two pink lines.
She sat on the bathroom floor until the room went cold.
Then she pressed both hands against her stomach.
“I'm going to take care of you,” she whispered.
She did not call Dante.
She did not tell Victoria.
May you like
And when her son was born, she named him Leo.
========================================================================
