Chapter 2 - THE MAN SOPHIA BROUGHT HOME
“Why are you doing this?”
Dominic did not answer immediately.
Sophia watched him from across the marble island.
Four years working in his house had taught her that Dominic Moretti never filled silence simply because someone else found it uncomfortable.
Finally, he said, “Because your daughter asked me.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is part of one.”
“Three-year-olds also ask for ponies.”
“I am significantly easier to transport.”
Sophia stared.
Then, despite everything, laughed.
It escaped before she could stop it.
Dominic looked almost pleased.
That irritated her.
“You cannot come to Pennsylvania pretending to be my boyfriend because Lily drew you with a yellow crayon.”
“She used black for me.”
“That is not better.”
“She used yellow for the sun.”
“Dominic.”
There.
His first name again.
This time neither pretended not to notice.
His expression softened.
“My mother died when I was eighteen.”
Sophia went still.
Everyone knew Carlo Moretti, Dominic’s father, had died four years earlier. The newspapers had covered the funeral as if a head of state had passed.
Nobody spoke about Dominic’s mother.
“She was ill?” Sophia asked.
“For eleven months.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She spent the last month worrying about everyone except herself.”
He looked down at his coffee.
“My father. My younger cousin Matteo. Me.”
Sophia listened.
“I remember being angry with her.”
“Why?”
“Because she kept asking if I was eating enough.”
Sophia smiled faintly.
“That sounds like a mother.”
“Yes.”
“The last conversation we had, she asked me whether there was anyone in my life who made me happy.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“I told her I didn’t have time.”
Sophia’s smile disappeared.
“She died that night.”
Silence filled the kitchen.
Dominic looked at her.
“I have replayed that conversation for eighteen years.”
“That isn’t your fault.”
“No.”
He said it as though he had spent years learning the sentence.
“But if your mother is spending whatever time she has left worrying whether you will be all right after she is gone…”
He paused.
“I understand the impulse to give her one peaceful answer.”
Sophia looked toward the hallway leading downstairs.
Lily would wake soon.
Then she thought of Margaret.
Her mother in the old farmhouse kitchen.
Moments when Sophia had insisted she was fine.
I don’t need anyone, Mama.
Lily and I are enough.
Both statements were true.
Neither stopped Margaret from worrying.
“What exactly would you tell them?” Sophia asked.
Dominic leaned back.
“That depends on what you tell me.”
“This is absurd.”
“Probably.”
“My father will interrogate you.”
“I have experience with hostile negotiations.”
“My sister will know immediately.”
“Then we should make the story convincing.”
Sophia narrowed her eyes.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
She stood.
“No.”
Dominic nodded.
“Okay.”
That stopped her.
“That’s it?”
“You said no.”
“You’re not going to argue?”
“You asked why I was doing this. I answered. You said no.”
He lifted his coffee.
“The matter is closed.”
Sophia stared at him.
He had just made refusing him easier than most people made agreeing.
That bothered her even more.
At seven-thirty that evening, Margaret called.
Sophia put the phone on speaker while Lily colored at the small staff-room table.
Her mother sounded weaker than the day before.
“Baby?”
“I’m here, Mama.”
“You coming Friday?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Lily shouted:
“Grandma!”
Margaret laughed softly.
“There’s my little bug.”
“Mr. Moretti might come too.”
Sophia closed her eyes.
Across Manhattan, God presumably abandoned her.
Margaret went silent.
“Who?”
“My mommy’s boyfriend.”
“Lily!”
“What?”
Sophia grabbed the phone.
“Mama, she’s confused.”
Margaret sounded suddenly more awake than she had in months.
“Sophia Carter.”
“Do not start.”
“You have a boyfriend?”
“No.”
Lily whispered loudly:
“He asked.”
Margaret gasped.
Sophia stared at the ceiling.
“Lily, go brush your teeth.”
“But—”
“Now.”
Her daughter stomped toward the bathroom.
Margaret laughed.
A real laugh.
Not the thin polite sound illness had reduced her to lately.
Sophia’s chest hurt.
“Soph?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t care if it’s serious.”
“Mama.”
“I don’t care if it lasts one week.”
“That’s not—”
“I just want to know you’re letting somebody be kind to you.”
Sophia stopped.
Margaret’s voice softened.
“You’ve been carrying everything alone since that man left you pregnant.”
Sophia closed her eyes.
Lily’s biological father had disappeared before the anatomy scan.
No dramatic death.
No tragic accident.
Just a man who decided fatherhood interfered with the life he wanted.
Margaret had watched Sophia rebuild from it.
“I’m okay.”
“I know.”
“Then stop worrying.”
“I’m dying. I’m allowed.”
“Mama.”
“I would like to meet one man who looks at my daughter and understands he is lucky.”
Sophia’s eyes filled.
That sentence followed her upstairs an hour later.
Dominic was in his study.
She knocked.
“Come in.”
He looked up from financial reports.
“Yes?”
Sophia crossed her arms.
“The offer.”
His expression remained neutral.
“Yes?”
“One weekend.”
Dominic closed the folder.
“One weekend.”
“No business.”
“Agreed.”
“No men with guns standing beside the cake.”
“Difficult.”
She stared.
“I’m joking.”
“I genuinely cannot tell sometimes.”
“That is useful professionally.”
“You do not threaten my father.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Even if he deserves it.”
Dominic’s eyebrow lifted.
“Interesting.”
“He won’t like you.”
“Many fathers don’t.”
“He especially won’t like what he thinks you are.”
“What does he think I am?”
Sophia looked at him.
“A billionaire from Manhattan.”
Dominic almost smiled.
She added:
“He doesn’t know the other part.”
“Good.”
“You will keep it that way.”
“Yes.”
“And if my mother asks about our future?”
Dominic became serious.
“We answer whatever you want her to hear.”
Sophia shook her head.
“I don’t want to lie to her face.”
“Then don’t.”
“But we’re already lying.”
“Not necessarily.”
“What?”
He stood.
“We can say we’re getting to know each other.”
“We are not.”
“Aren’t we?”
Her pulse changed.
“That is not what I meant.”
“I know.”
He came around the desk.
Not close enough to crowd her.
Close enough that she noticed how tired he looked.
“If we go, I won’t promise your mother anything false.”
“Then what happens if she asks why you’re there?”
Dominic looked at her for a long moment.
“I’ll tell her your daughter asked me to come.”
Sophia’s mouth twitched.
“That sounds insane.”
“It is also true.”
Friday morning, a black SUV waited behind the Moretti estate.
Sophia came upstairs carrying one suitcase, Margaret’s old recipe book, Lily’s red backpack, and enough anxiety to power most of Pennsylvania.
Then she stopped.
Dominic stood beside the vehicle wearing jeans.
Jeans.
A dark sweater.
Brown coat.
No suit.
No tie.
No visible weapon.
Sophia stared.
“What?”
“You look…”
“Civilian?”
“That was not the word.”
“Disappointingly normal?”
“Disturbingly normal.”
Lily ran past her.
“Dom!”
Both adults froze.
Dominic looked down.
“Dom?”
“Mr. Moretti is too long.”
Sophia covered her face.
Dominic crouched.
“I suppose Dom is acceptable.”
Lily hugged his leg.
Sophia’s stomach did something profoundly unhelpful.
They drove west.
Manhattan became New Jersey.
New Jersey became Pennsylvania.
Glass towers gave way to rolling hills, bare November trees, and barns tucked between fields.
As they approached Carter land, Sophia began twisting her fingers.
Dominic noticed.
“You’re nervous.”
“No.”
“You have folded that napkin into sixteen shapes.”
She looked down.
“I am not nervous about you.”
“Comforting.”
“I’m nervous about Mama.”
He nodded.
Lily slept between them.
Sophia looked out the window.
“The last time I saw her, she could still walk to the porch.”
Dominic said nothing.
“She won’t now.”
Still nothing.
Good.
She did not need reassurance.
At the end of a narrow country road, an old white farmhouse appeared.
Cars lined the gravel drive.
A barn beyond it had been strung with wedding lights.
Sophia’s breath caught.
Home.
The SUV stopped.
Before the driver could open the door, the farmhouse front door swung wide.
Emma Carter ran out.
“Soph!”
Sophia was barely out before her sister crashed into her.
They held each other.
Laughed.
Cried.
Then Emma looked past Sophia.
At Dominic.
Her eyes widened.
“Oh.”
Sophia whispered:
“Don’t.”
Emma smiled slowly.
“Oh.”
Lily shouted:
“He’s Mommy’s boyfriend!”
Dominic stepped out of the SUV.
Sophia wanted the earth to open.
Then Henry Carter appeared on the porch.
Her father had aged since summer.
More gray.
More stooped.
Still built like someone who had spent forty years lifting things by refusing to admit they were heavy.
His eyes moved from Sophia.
To Lily.
To Dominic.
His expression hardened.
“Who’s that?”
Dominic walked forward.
Held out one hand.
“Dominic Moretti, sir.”
Henry did not take it.
“I know the name.”
Sophia’s stomach dropped.
Dominic’s gaze sharpened.
“How?”
Henry looked directly at him.
“Your father came to this farm twenty-seven years ago.”
Nobody moved.
Sophia stared at her father.
“What?”
Henry’s eyes never left Dominic.
“And if Carlo Moretti’s son came here for the same reason his father did…”
He stepped off the porch.
“…you can turn around right now.”
Sophia looked between them.
The fake-boyfriend problem had just disappeared.
Something far worse had taken its place.
May you like
Dominic Moretti had history with her family.
And apparently everyone knew except her.
