247/🍷 The Cork Megan Cole Refused to Let Bianca Hide

Chapter 08 - The House That Changed Its Name

By the time they returned to the DeLuca mansion, the dinner guests had been moved to the west salon with coffee and lies. No one had left. No one had been told the truth. In houses like Roman’s, scandal was never announced until someone important decided which version could survive.

Megan washed her hands in the staff bathroom and could not stop seeing the photograph.

A baby in Lucia’s arms. A date that did not fit. A message meant for Roman someday.

Her father’s name had been cleared in a cellar and buried beneath a worse question.

When she stepped into the hallway, Roman was waiting.

He had removed his tie. It should have made him seem less formal. Instead, he looked like a man stripped of one small defense.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Megan nearly answered automatically. I’m fine. The oldest servant’s prayer.

“No,” she said.

He nodded, as if honesty deserved room. “Neither am I.”

For a moment, they stood beneath portraits of dead DeLucas and listened to the muffled sound of wealthy people pretending not to gossip.

“You should send me home,” Megan said.

“I should have sent you home before Saint Agnes.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

“Why?”

He looked toward the salon doors. “Because when everyone else in that room chose silence, you chose the cork.”

It was not praise exactly. It was recognition. Megan felt it more deeply than she wanted to.

Roman led her to the library where Elias sat alone with a glass of water untouched beside him. The old man rose when Megan entered.

“I owe you more than an apology,” he said.

Megan held up a hand. “Not tonight.”

His eyes filled.

She softened despite herself. “Tomorrow, maybe.”

Roman placed Lucia’s photograph on the desk.

Elias stared at it again. “There was a rumor,” he said. “After Lucia’s first baby died. Some said the child was not dead. Some said Carlo Rinaldi had leverage over her because of it. I never believed gossip.”

“Who started it?” Roman asked.

“Carlo’s sister.”

“Name.”

“Antonia Rinaldi.”

Megan’s breath caught.

Roman noticed. “You know her?”

“My mother cleaned for her after my father died,” Megan said. “Only once. She came home shaking. She said the Rinaldis kept a nursery with no child in it.”

Roman’s face hardened.

Elias leaned forward. “Antonia died five years ago.”

Megan shook her head slowly. “No. She didn’t.”

Both men looked at her.

“She lives under another name in Evanston. My mother received money orders from her for three years. Small amounts. Always cashable, never traceable. I thought it was guilt.”

Roman’s eyes narrowed. “For Samuel?”

“Maybe.”

“Or for the child.”

The words entered the room and took a chair.

Before anyone could answer, the library doors opened.

Bianca stood there, no longer in tears, no longer pretending. Behind her were two of her family’s lawyers, men in gray suits who looked as if they had been born holding folders.

Roman did not move.

Bianca looked directly at him. “Our engagement contract gives the Rinaldi family temporary authority over shared event assets and reputation management in the event of scandal.”

Roman’s expression did not change.

She continued, voice steadier now. “Until tonight’s accusations are resolved, my attorneys advise that you release the staff member who lied about her identity and the sommelier with a documented family conflict.”

Megan almost smiled. Bianca was very good. Cornered animals bite. Cornered heiresses litigate.

Roman looked at the lawyers, then back at Bianca.

“You brought contracts to a dinner party.”

“I brought protection.”

“For whom?” he asked.

Bianca’s eyes flicked to the photograph on the desk.

Roman saw it.

So did Megan.

And from the hallway behind Bianca came a voice none of them expected.

“Not for the boy Lucia hid.”

An elderly woman stepped into view, leaning on a cane, wrapped in a black wool coat dusted with snow.