Chapter 2 - The Question No One Expected
My voice came out quieter than I intended.
“He needs to nurse.”
For one second, nobody moved.
Not the flight attendant. Not the man with his hand inside his jacket. Not the retired actress who had been sighing like the baby’s cries were personally insulting her.
The father stared at me as if I had spoken another language.
“I’m sorry?” he said.
“I’m breastfeeding my daughter,” I said, forcing myself not to look back at Maya. “Your son may be hungry, but more than that, he’s distressed. He’s looking for skin-to-skin contact, a heartbeat, comfort. Sometimes a baby refuses a bottle when what he really needs is to feel safe.”
His jaw worked once.
“You’re suggesting—”
“I’m suggesting you let me try.”
The bodyguard stepped closer. “Absolutely not.”
But the baby screamed again, his tiny face turning red, his body rigid with exhaustion.
The father looked down at him.
And something in that terrifying man broke.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just a tiny crack in his expression.
A father who had run out of answers.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Claire.”
“Claire what?”
“Claire Bennett.”
He studied me with those cold gray eyes. “And you’re a nurse?”
“Labor and delivery. Six years.”
“You understand what you’re asking?”
“Yes.”
His gaze shifted to the sleeping shape of Maya in premium economy, then returned to me.
“You have a child.”
“Yes.”
“And you would do this for mine?”
I swallowed. “I would do it for any baby who needs help.”
The bodyguard leaned down. “Mr. Moretti, this is not safe.”
So that was his name.
Moretti.
The name landed heavily in the air. Even the senator lowered his newspaper.
The father—Mr. Moretti—looked at his son again. The baby’s cries had weakened, becoming broken little gasps.
“Find a private area,” he ordered the flight attendant.
She nodded quickly. “There’s an empty crew rest compartment near the galley.”
“Go,” he said to me.
The bodyguard blocked my path.
I lifted my chin. “Either you trust me, or you watch him scream until he passes out.”
For the first time, the giant man looked uncertain.
Mr. Moretti gave one sharp nod. “Let her through.”
The flight attendant led me behind the curtain. My hands trembled as I sat down in the small private compartment. A few seconds later, Mr. Moretti entered holding his son.
Up close, the baby looked even smaller.
Maybe four months old.
His dark hair was damp with sweat. His cheeks were flushed. His fists opened and closed helplessly against his father’s chest.
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“Theodore,” Mr. Moretti said.
“Theodore,” I repeated softly. “Hi, sweetheart. You’ve had a very hard day, haven’t you?”
The baby cried again.
Mr. Moretti looked away, his face tightening.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted.
The words startled me more than the screaming had.
“You’re holding him,” I said. “You stayed with him. That’s a start.”
His eyes lifted to mine.
For a moment, he didn’t look dangerous.
He looked lost.
I took Theodore carefully, settling him against me beneath the blanket the flight attendant handed over. I turned away slightly, protecting both my privacy and his dignity.
The baby rooted immediately.
Then he latched.
The crying stopped.
Just like that.
The silence felt enormous.
Mr. Moretti sat across from me, frozen.
Theodore’s tiny hand curled against my skin. His breathing slowed. His whole body softened, surrendering to the simple comfort he had been begging for all along.
Mr. Moretti stared at his son as if he had witnessed a miracle.
“He hasn’t been this quiet since…” His voice stopped.
“Since when?”
He looked at the floor.
“Since his mother died.”
The plane hummed around us.
And suddenly, I understood that this man wasn’t only carrying a crying baby.
He was carrying grief.
Then my phone buzzed in my pocket.
One message.
From Richard.
I know you left. You can’t hide Maya from me forever.
My blood went cold.
May you like
And for the first time since I stepped onto that plane, I realized Rome might not be far enough.
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