The Song Nobody Was Supposed to Remember
Chapter 01 - The Song Nobody Was Supposed to Remember
“Stop playing.”
My voice came out louder than I intended.
The pianist’s hands froze above the keys.
Thirty-four guests turned toward me.
Vanessa Bellini stood beside Luca Moretti in a red satin gown, one hand still resting on his shoulder.
And I was standing near the grand piano in my black housekeeping dress, holding a silver tray I had nearly dropped.
Vanessa stared at me.
“Excuse me?”
I swallowed.
“Please. Don’t play that song again.”
Her expression sharpened.
Then she laughed.
“Oh, this is unbelievable.”
She looked toward the guests.
“Our maid has apparently decided she’s also the entertainment director.”
A few people smiled nervously.
I didn’t.
Because I had heard that melody once before.
Not at a wedding.
Not at a concert.
In a locked bedroom upstairs.
And the woman who had hummed it had begged me never to tell Luca she was still alive.
My name is Rachel Cole.
I was twenty-nine and had worked in Luca Moretti’s Chicago mansion for ten months.
I cleaned bedrooms, polished silver, carried trays, and learned very quickly that rich families had the same secrets as poor ones.
They just had bigger rooms to hide them in.
Vanessa stepped toward me.
“Put down the tray and leave.”
“Mrs. Bellini, I just need to ask who requested that song.”
Her smile disappeared.
“You do not need to ask anything.”
Luca had been silent until then.
He slowly turned toward the pianist.
“What was the song?”
The woman looked nervous.
“‘Blue Harbor,’ sir.”
Luca’s face changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
Vanessa saw it too.
“That’s enough,” she said quickly. “Play something else.”
Luca looked at her.
“Why?”
She gave a small shrug.
“It’s old. Depressing. I thought we agreed tonight should feel romantic.”
I tightened my fingers around the tray.
Because three weeks earlier, I had heard the same melody through a door Vanessa had told every member of the staff never to open.
The room belonged to Luca’s aunt, Sofia Moretti.
At least, that was what the old brass plate inside the linen closet said.
SOFIA M. — EAST SUITE.
Nobody had slept there in years.
That was what staff were told.
One rainy Tuesday afternoon, I was putting fresh sheets into the east-wing linen closet when I heard someone coughing behind the locked bedroom door.
I knocked.
No answer.
Then a woman whispered.
“Please.”
The spare key was hanging inside the linen cabinet because old houses are full of secrets disguised as poor inventory control.
I opened the door.
An elderly woman sat beside the window in a pale gray sweater.
Thin.
White threaded through dark hair.
One hand wrapped around a teacup.
On the table beside her was an old photograph of Luca as a child.
“Who are you?” I asked.
She pressed one finger to her lips.
Then whispered:
“You work for Luca?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
“My nephew.”
I thought she was confused.
Until she showed me the silver pendant hanging beneath her sweater.
On one side:
S.M.
On the other:
A tiny harbor engraved beneath three waves.
She began humming.
Softly.
The same melody now hanging unfinished in the ballroom below.
I asked Vanessa about the woman that evening.
Her face had gone cold.
“That’s a private nurse’s patient.”
“She says she’s Sofia Moretti.”
Vanessa stepped closer.
“And if you enjoy receiving a paycheck, Rachel, you will never repeat that name in this house.”
I obeyed.
I needed the job.
My father’s small plumbing company had failed two years earlier.
My younger sister was finishing nursing school.
My own savings had disappeared into rent, old medical bills, and the kind of emergencies that do not become interesting just because you are poor.
So I stayed quiet.
Until tonight.
Luca looked at me again.
“Rachel.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Why did you stop the music?”
Vanessa immediately interrupted.
“She’s trying to create drama.”
I shook my head.
“No, sir.”
My throat felt dry.
“I’ve heard that song upstairs.”
Luca frowned.
“Upstairs where?”
Vanessa’s champagne glass stopped halfway to her mouth.
I looked toward the staircase.
“The east wing.”
The room changed.
Luca went completely still.
“That wing is closed.”
“I know.”
“Who was playing it?”
Nobody breathed.
I answered quietly.
“A woman who told me her name was Sofia.”
Luca’s chair hit the floor behind him.
Vanessa stepped forward.
“Luca, she is lying.”
He didn’t even look at her.
“Aunt Sofia died when I was seventeen.”
I swallowed.
“That’s what I was told.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“Did you see her?”
“Yes, sir.”
Vanessa laughed too loudly.
“This is insane. Rachel found some confused old woman and now she’s inventing family history?”
Luca finally turned toward her.
“Why is there an old woman in the east wing?”
“There isn’t.”
I set down the tray.
“She was there three weeks ago.”
Vanessa’s face tightened.
“Was?”
I looked at her.
That single word told me something.
She knew exactly who I meant.
Luca heard it too.
He walked around the table.
“Vanessa.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Who is upstairs?”
“Nobody.”
“Then you won’t mind if I check.”
Her face went white.
“Luca, please.”
He stopped.
And for the first time that evening, Vanessa looked genuinely afraid.
Not angry.
Afraid.
I reached into my apron pocket.
“There’s something else.”
Vanessa snapped her head toward me.
“Rachel, don’t.”
I pulled out a small silver pendant.
The same one the elderly woman had worn.
“She gave me this yesterday.”
Luca stared at it.
Then he took it from my hand.
His thumb moved across the engraving.
A harbor.
Three tiny waves.
His voice changed.
“My father had these made.”
Vanessa whispered:
“Luca…”
He turned the pendant over.
On the back, beneath the initials S.M., someone had scratched a date.
Tomorrow’s date.
And underneath it—
LEAVE.
Luca looked at me.
“Where is she now?”
I shook my head.
“I don’t know, sir.”
Vanessa suddenly picked up her purse.
“I’m done with this.”
She took two steps toward the door.
Luca’s voice stopped her.
“Sit down.”
She froze.
Then one of the security men appeared at the top of the staircase.
His expression was wrong.
“Mr. Moretti.”
Luca looked up.
The man hesitated.
“The east-wing room is empty.”
Vanessa exhaled.
But the guard wasn’t finished.
“The bed is still warm.”
Luca slowly turned toward her.
Then the guard held up something he had found on the pillow.
A second silver pendant.
This one engraved with Luca’s initials.
Vanessa’s champagne glass slipped from her hand.
It shattered on the floor.
Luca looked at the pendant.
Then at the woman he was supposed to marry.
“Vanessa.”
His voice was terrifyingly calm.
“Tell me why a woman my family buried twenty-two years ago has been living upstairs—and why she disappeared tonight.”
Vanessa stared at the broken glass.
Then at me.
Finally at Luca.
“She came back because of the wedding.”
Luca’s face hardened.
May you like
Vanessa whispered:
“And if you find her before tomorrow, the wedding will be the least important thing she destroys.”
