Chapter 2 - THE SILVER ROSARY
The silence in the dining room was absolute. Twenty guests held their breath, their expensive wine glasses suspended in mid-air.
Adrian stared at his mother. The color had completely drained from his face, leaving his cheekbones sharp and pale under the chandelier’s light.
“Pregnant,” he repeated. The word sounded foreign in his mouth.
Eleanor adjusted her diamond necklace, refusing to break eye contact with her son. She didn’t look at me. To her, a maid was only visible when she was useful.
“She was nineteen, Adrian. She was running around with that mechanic from the marina. She was ruining her life and the DeLuca name. I sent her to a private facility upstate to spare you the scandal.”
“You told me she stole from your safe and ran away,” Adrian said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, quiet register.
“I protected this family!” Eleanor snapped, her aristocratic composure finally cracking. She slammed her hand on the table. “And I will not have my decisions questioned because of the malicious gossip of a woman who cleans our toilets.”
Julia stood up. The red satin of her gown rustled loudly in the quiet room.
“Nora isn’t gossiping, Eleanor,” Julia said smoothly. “She’s the only one in this room telling the truth.”
“You know nothing about this family, Julia. You are a guest here until the wedding ring is on your finger.”
Adrian stepped between his mother and his fiancée.
“The wedding is off,” Adrian said.
Eleanor’s eyes widened in triumph, assuming he meant Julia. But Adrian reached out and took Julia’s hand, pulling her gently toward him.
“The wedding is happening,” Adrian clarified, his voice carrying through the massive room. “But it won’t be in this house. And you will not be attending, Mother.”
Guests began to stand, murmuring excuses, leaving their napkins on their plates. The dinner was over.
Eleanor stood frozen as the room emptied, her chest heaving. “You will lose everything if you walk out that door, Adrian. The trust, the company, the house.”
“Keep it,” Adrian said. He looked at me. “Nora, pack your things. You aren’t working here another minute.”
I nodded, my hands shaking. As I turned toward the kitchen doors, Eleanor finally looked at me. Her eyes were pure ice.
“You’ll regret this, Nora. I know about your sister’s medical bills. Good luck paying them without my wages.”
I didn’t stop walking.
Thirty minutes later, I was in my small quarters above the garage, throwing my uniforms into a duffel bag. My heart hammered against my ribs. I had just thrown away my livelihood, but for the first time in five years, I could breathe.
There was a soft knock on the door frame. Adrian stood there, still in his tuxedo, with Julia beside him.
“We’re taking you to Julia’s apartment in the city,” Adrian said. “You’ll be safe there, and I’ll make sure you have a job at my firm by Monday.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, zipping my bag.
“Nora,” Adrian said, stepping into the cramped room. “You said Elena asked you not to throw away the things in her room. Did you keep them?”
I nodded slowly. “Your mother ordered me to burn everything the next morning. But I couldn’t do it. I boxed it up and hid it in the attic behind the holiday decorations.”
We went up to the dark, dusty attic. I pulled a heavy cardboard box from behind a stack of artificial Christmas trees. Adrian knelt in the dust, tearing the tape away.
Inside were Elena’s teenage diaries, a few sweaters, and a small wooden jewelry box.
Adrian opened the box. Resting on a bed of faded velvet was a heavy silver rosary.
Adrian’s breath hitched. “This was our grandmother’s. Elena never took this off. She believed it kept her safe.”
He lifted the rosary, and a small piece of folded, heavy-stock paper fell from between the beads. Julia picked it up.
“It’s a pawn ticket,” Julia said, frowning. “From a shop in South Boston. Dated three weeks after she left this house.”
“She didn’t go to a private facility upstate,” Adrian realized, his eyes darkening with rage. “My mother cut her off completely with nothing.”
Julia turned the ticket over. There was a handwritten note on the back in messy, rushed ink.
If something happens to me, tell Leo I loved him.
May you like
“Who is Leo?” I asked.
Adrian stared at the handwriting. “That’s not Elena’s handwriting. That’s my father’s.”
