The Dress in Emma’s Arms
Chapter 01 - The Dress in Emma’s Arms
“Get that filthy dress out of here!”
Vanessa Bellini’s voice cut across the marble foyer hard enough to stop forty conversations at once.
Emma Sullivan stood beneath the chandelier carrying an ivory wedding gown that had once been beautiful enough to make people quiet for entirely different reasons.
Now the hem was wet with mud.
One lace sleeve had been torn.
Several inches of handmade trim had been cut away in jagged sections.
Muddy water dripped from the satin onto Emma’s black housekeeping shoes.
Vanessa marched toward her in a deep-red silk gown.
“You stupid little maid. I specifically told you to throw that thing away.”
Emma tightened her arms around the dress.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I couldn’t.”
Vanessa stared at her.
Then past her, toward the engagement photographer and the guests gathering near the staircase.
“Do you have any idea what tonight costs?”
Emma did not.
She knew what her mother’s arthritis medication cost.
She knew what her younger brother’s tuition payment cost.
She knew what a week without wages would do to all three of them.
She should have obeyed.
Three hours earlier, Vanessa had called her into the upstairs storage room.
An old cedar chest stood open beneath a row of shelves.
Inside lay the wedding gown.
Ivory satin.
Handmade lace.
Tiny blue flowers embroidered along the neckline and hem.
Emma had grown up watching her mother sew.
Not casually.
Professionally.
Thirty years bent over bridal alterations, christening dresses, funeral hems, dance costumes, and the expensive gowns of women who forgot her mother’s name five minutes after leaving the fitting room.
Emma recognized work.
The flowers had been stitched by hand.
Hundreds of hours.
Maybe more.
Vanessa pointed.
“Dumpster.”
Emma hesitated.
“Isn’t this Mr. Moretti’s mother’s dress?”
Vanessa sighed.
“Yes.”
“Perhaps he’d like to keep it.”
“Are you seriously suggesting I need my fiancé’s permission to clear storage in the house I’m about to live in?”
Emma lowered her eyes.
“No, ma’am.”
“Good.”
Then Vanessa leaned closer.
“Take it through the service exit. I don’t want anyone seeing you carry that thing through the house.”
Emma lifted the gown.
That was when she noticed the cut hem.
Fresh thread.
Uneven edge.
Half a blue flower sliced clean through.
Twenty minutes later, standing beside the outdoor dumpster, Emma remembered Vanessa’s new wedding veil.
Custom Paris, Vanessa had said.
The veil carried tiny blue flowers along its edge.
Almost identical.
Emma stood there for five full minutes.
Then turned around.
Now she was in the foyer.
And Luca Moretti had finally seen the dress.
His champagne glass slipped from his hand.
It struck the marble and shattered.
No one moved.
“Emma?”
His voice sounded nothing like the voice that made contractors pale and security men stand straighter.
“Where did you get my mother’s wedding dress?”
Emma’s name registered almost as much as the question.
He knew it.
She had worked in the mansion nearly a year and had spoken to him perhaps six times.
Vanessa turned.
“Luca, darling, please. It was taking up half the storage room.”
He did not look at her.
He walked toward Emma.
Slowly.
His eyes fixed on the gown.
“May I?”
Emma nodded.
Luca touched the torn sleeve with two fingers.
Then lowered himself onto one knee.
No performance.
No awareness of the guests.
He lifted a section of lace.
“My mother made this herself.”
His voice broke on the last word.
Emma saw the room change.
Not because a mafia boss was kneeling.
Because grief had made him ordinary.
“She worked on it every night for almost a year before she married my father.”
Vanessa stepped forward.
“Luca, everyone is watching.”
He ignored her.
His fingers reached the damaged hem.
Stopped.
“Who cut this?”
Vanessa laughed too quickly.
“What?”
He raised the ruined lace.
“Who cut my mother’s dress?”
“It was falling apart. I had the seamstress remove damaged sections.”
Emma swallowed.
Vanessa saw.
“Emma.”
The warning came low.
Emma looked at Luca.
“The lace wasn’t damaged, sir.”
Vanessa spun toward her.
“Shut your mouth.”
Luca stood.
Still holding the gown.
“Let her speak.”
Emma’s mouth went dry.
“I saw Miss Bellini’s veil this morning.”
Vanessa’s face lost color.
“And?”
Emma pointed at the blue embroidery.
“The flowers are the same.”
No one breathed.
Luca looked toward Vanessa.
“Where’s your veil?”
“At the boutique.”
“Have it brought here.”
“Luca, don’t be ridiculous.”
His voice dropped.
“Did you cut my mother’s wedding dress to make your veil?”
Vanessa stared at him.
Then threw up both hands.
“Fine. Yes.”
Several guests made small sounds.
She turned toward them, embarrassed more than ashamed.
“I wanted something meaningful. Something from your family.”
Luca looked down at the mutilated hem.
“My mother saved this for Isabella.”
Vanessa froze.
“What?”
“My sister.”
His throat tightened.
“She’s getting married in six months.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Yes, you did.”
Vanessa said nothing.
Luca’s fingers moved over the dress.
Then suddenly stopped.
He looked at Emma.
“Was there anything else in the cedar chest?”
“Only the dress.”
His head turned toward Vanessa.
“Where’s the wooden box?”
Her hand tightened around her purse.
“What wooden box?”
“The one under the gown.”
“I didn’t see one.”
Luca stared.
Emma felt the atmosphere change again.
This was no longer about lace.
Luca took out his phone.
“Check the storage room.”
Vanessa caught his arm.
“Luca, please. It’s an old box.”
He looked down at her hand.
Then at her face.
“How do you know what’s inside it?”
She released him.
Nobody spoke.
Then another housekeeper appeared at the top of the staircase.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Luca turned.
“There’s a truck behind the house.”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
The housekeeper continued.
“The driver says Miss Bellini paid him to collect the rest of your mother’s belongings.”
Emma’s stomach dropped.
The cedar chest had not been alone.
Six large boxes had sat beside it.
Every one labeled:
TERESA MORETTI.
Luca looked at Vanessa.
“What else did you throw away?”
“Luca, you don’t understand.”
The housekeeper swallowed.
“Sir, the driver says he was told to destroy everything before midnight.”
Vanessa grabbed the back of a chair.
Luca carefully placed his mother’s gown into Emma’s arms.
“Take this to my study.”
Then, to security:
“Stop the truck. Bring every box back.”
Vanessa stepped in front of him.
“Please. You cannot open the wooden box.”
Luca stopped.
“Why?”
No answer.
“What did you find inside my mother’s things?”
Vanessa’s face changed.
Not guilt.
Fear.
Then Emma noticed something small.
A thread caught on the clasp of Vanessa’s purse.
Ivory.
With one tiny blue flower hanging from it.
Not from the veil.
May you like
From inside the missing wooden box.
And whatever Teresa Moretti had hidden there, Vanessa had already opened it.
