Chapter 6 - VIVIEN’S VERSION
I met Vivien in person six weeks later.
Not because I wanted closure.
I wanted accuracy.
By then, I was thirty-six weeks pregnant.
My mother was recovering steadily.
Lucian remained stepped down from Moretti Maritime.
The board investigation had widened.
Enzo had hired his own attorneys.
The family charter dispute was heading toward litigation.
And Elise was undergoing cardiac evaluation in Chicago.
Vivien requested the meeting after Elise’s second specialist appointment.
We chose a private room at a hotel restaurant.
Public enough.
Quiet enough.
Rebecca sat two tables away.
Vivien arrived first.
Green scarf.
Same as O’Hare.
For one painful second, I was back beneath the departure board.
She saw my face.
Immediately removed the scarf.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
She folded it into her bag anyway.
We sat.
No hug.
No handshake.
“You look well,” she said.
“That’s a dangerous opening.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Better.”
She almost smiled.
Then her face became serious.
“Elise’s condition is manageable.”
Relief moved through me before I could stop it.
“That’s good.”
“Yes.”
“She’ll need monitoring.”
“Yes.”
“Medication?”
“Maybe later.”
“Restrictions?”
“Nothing severe right now.”
I nodded.
This little girl had become emotionally complicated for me, but concern for her health was not.
Children simplify morality where adults complicate it.
Then I asked:
“When did you meet Lucian?”
“Four years ago.”
“Where?”
“Vienna Museum Quarter.”
“Work?”
“Yes.”
“How long before the affair?”
“Three months.”
“Did he pursue you?”
Vivien hesitated.
“We pursued each other.”
Good.
No rewriting.
“When did you learn he was married?”
“I knew immediately.”
“Then why?”
She looked toward the window.
“I was thirty.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
She breathed.
“I had spent years taking care of my father after my mother died.”
I waited.
“Lucian was exciting.”
“Married men often are when someone else handles the ordinary parts.”
Vivien flinched.
Fair.
“I know.”
“Did he tell you we were unhappy?”
“Yes.”
“Were we?”
“Not the way he described.”
“What did he say?”
“That you had become more like partners than spouses.”
My throat tightened.
During that same period, Lucian and I still slept together.
Still laughed.
Still planned a nursery we did not know if we would ever use.
He had taken difficult intimacy and translated it into emotional death for another woman.
“What else?”
“That fertility treatment consumed everything.”
“That part was true.”
Vivien looked surprised.
I continued.
“It consumed a lot.”
“Did it make the affair reasonable?”
“No.”
“Did it make our marriage dead?”
“No.”
She nodded.
Then I asked:
“Did he ever say he would leave me?”
“No.”
“Did you want him to?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you demand it?”
“I did.”
“When?”
“After Elise was born.”
“And?”
“He said you had just miscarried.”
My eyes closed.
Our first miscarriage had occurred two months after Elise’s birth.
So Lucian delayed because I was grieving.
Then another cycle.
Then another procedure.
Then another excuse.
“Did you believe he would eventually leave?”
“For the first year.”
“And then?”
“I realized he was never leaving unless you forced the truth.”
That sentence stayed between us.
“Why keep sleeping with him?”
Vivien looked ashamed.
“Because sometimes understanding something does not immediately make you strong enough to stop.”
I understood that more than I wanted.
Not about affairs.
About people.
“How did it finally end?”
“Elise said something.”
I stared.
“What?”
“She was two.”
Vivien smiled sadly.
“Lucian was leaving after dinner.”
“Elise asked why Daddy always sleeps somewhere else.”
My chest hurt.
“Lucian froze.”
“Yes.”
“He left.”
“Then called the next morning.”
“What did he say?”
“That he could not keep teaching her to live around secrecy.”
The irony was almost unbearable.
“He said that two years before telling me.”
“Yes.”
“So he stopped sleeping with you?”
“For several months.”
“And then fourteen months ago.”
Vivien closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“His father’s death anniversary.”
“Carlo had been dead longer.”
“Lucian was in Vienna after an argument with Enzo.”
She looked ashamed.
“We drank.”
“You slept together.”
“Yes.”
“One time.”
“Yes.”
“Did you think it meant you were restarting?”
“For one night.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“He left at four in the morning.”
I hated the image.
Not because it changed my decision.
Because betrayal sometimes renews itself through unnecessary detail.
I stopped.
“I don’t need more.”
Vivien nodded.
Then she said:
“There is something you should know about the trust.”
“Everyone has something I should know about that trust.”
She almost smiled.
“Elise’s trust was my condition.”
I frowned.
“For what?”
“For allowing Lucian to remain in her life without public acknowledgment.”
That surprised me.
“You asked him to create it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I did not trust the Morettis.”
Smart.
“My father met Enzo.”
“I know.”
“He offered money.”
“Yes.”
“Then threatened custody.”
My body tightened.
“What?”
“Not legally. Not directly.”
“What did he say?”
“That if I embarrassed the family, Moretti lawyers would ‘review whether a transient consultant was the best primary home for a Moretti child.’”
Rage moved through me.
“Elise was an infant.”
“Yes.”
“Did Lucian know?”
“Afterward.”
“What did he do?”
“He nearly attacked Enzo.”
Of course.
Then created the trust.
“Matteo became trustee because?”
“Because I chose him.”
I stared.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He was the only Moretti who asked me what I wanted for Elise.”
That mattered.
Not perfect.
Still complicit.
But different.
Vivien continued:
“I told Lucian that if Elise remained private, she needed independent financial protection.”
“You were willing to keep her secret if she was protected.”
“Yes.”
“Do you regret that?”
“Every day.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Fear.”
The answer linked all of us.
Lucian feared losing me.
Vivien feared losing Lucian.
Lucia feared losing her son.
Matteo feared betraying his brother.
Everyone called fear something nobler.
Protection.
Loyalty.
Timing.
Family.
“What do you want now?” I asked.
“For Elise to know her brother.”
My hand moved to my stomach.
“Eventually.”
“Yes.”
“Not immediately.”
“I understand.”
“I need time.”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you want Lucian?”
Vivien looked at me for a long time.
“No.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“You shouldn’t because I say it.”
Good answer.
She continued.
“I loved him.”
Past tense.
“Part of me probably always will.”
Honest.
“But I do not want the life we built.”
“What life?”
“Waiting.”
That one word carried years.
Waiting for Lucian to arrive.
Waiting for him to leave.
Waiting for the next trip.
Waiting for him to decide when Elise could be acknowledged.
A secret life was still a prison.
Even if it had nice apartments and museum contracts.
“I want my daughter to stop learning that love means being hidden,” Vivien said.
My throat tightened.
That was something I could understand.
Then she handed me a folder.
“What is this?”
“Messages.”
“I don’t want your affair messages.”
“Not those.”
She opened it.
Emails between Enzo and a Moretti attorney.
Regarding Elise.
One subject line:
CONTINGENCY IF NAOMI BECOMES PREGNANT.
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
Vivien looked angry.
“I found them in documents Lucian’s counsel disclosed to mine.”
I read.
Enzo had written:
If Naomi carries a viable male heir, Elise’s economic option should be extinguished to prevent future conflict.
I stopped breathing.
Another email:
Lucian will resist. Lucia may be persuaded by stability arguments.
Another:
Matteo remains problem.
I looked at Vivien.
“This was before my pregnancy?”
“Two years ago.”
They had been planning for a child I did not yet have.
Using my infertility as a succession variable.
I felt physically ill.
“Does Lucian know?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“Filed a complaint against Enzo with the independent board.”
That explained the family war.
I closed the folder.
“Why give this to me?”
“Because Enzo may approach you.”
“He already did.”
Vivien’s expression hardened.
“What did he say?”
“That I carry the legitimate heir.”
She closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“He wants us against each other.”
“Yes.”
I stared at her.
“You understand this does not make us allies.”
“No.”
“But?”
“But we may have one thing in common.”
“What?”
“Our children are not his chess pieces.”
I looked at her.
Then slowly nodded.
That was true.
Not friendship.
Not forgiveness.
A boundary.
Two mothers.
Different histories.
Same refusal.
When I returned home, Lucian was waiting outside my building.
Again.
He stayed across the sidewalk.
Did not approach.
I walked toward him.
“I met Vivien.”
“I know.”
“Of course you do.”
“She told me afterward.”
I stared.
“You two still talk.”
“We have a child.”
Correct.
I hated that it was correct.
“What did you talk about?”
“Elise’s appointments.”
“Good.”
He waited.
I continued:
“She showed me Enzo’s emails.”
His face hardened.
“Naomi.”
“He planned to erase Elise’s option if I had a son.”
“Yes.”
“You knew.”
“For three days.”
“And?”
“I filed against him.”
“Yes.”
“He may be removed as chairman.”
“Good.”
Lucian looked at me.
“You and Vivien shouldn’t have to fight this.”
“We aren’t.”
He looked surprised.
“I’m fighting for Elias not to become your family’s weapon.”
She’s fighting for Elise.”
“What are you fighting for?”
Lucian became quiet.
Then:
“To stop being the man who built situations where everyone else has to fight because I lied.”
The answer hit harder than an apology.
He continued.
“I stepped down today permanently.”
I stared.
“What?”
“From managing director.”
“You already stepped down pending review.”
“I made it permanent.”
“Why?”
“Because even if I return after the audit, the message is wrong.”
“What message?”
“That power belongs to me automatically because I’m Carlo Moretti’s son.”
He looked exhausted.
“I used the company to hide personal choices.”
“That’s true.”
“I should not return simply because I’m still the most powerful shareholder.”
“What will you do?”
“Remain on the board only after governance review. No executive authority for now.”
I studied him.
“Did Enzo win?”
“No.”
A faint smile.
“The board removed him this morning.”
I blinked.
“Why?”
“Emails. Trust interference. Undisclosed pressure on Vivien.”
“So he’s out.”
“Yes.”
“Who runs Moretti Maritime?”
“Independent interim CEO.”
“Not Matteo?”
“No.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want family rearranging chairs and calling it reform.”
I almost laughed.
That sounded like something I would say.
Then my abdomen tightened.
Hard.
I stopped.
Lucian’s face changed instantly.
“Naomi?”
I raised one hand.
“Wait.”
The tightening passed.
Braxton Hicks.
Probably.
Then another came.
Closer.
Lucian stood frozen.
“Call your doctor.”
“Do not order.”
His jaw clenched.
Then:
“Would you like me to call your doctor?”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
“Better.”
Then the third contraction hit.
Stronger.
Too strong.
My water broke on the sidewalk.
Lucian looked down.
Then up.
For once, the man who controlled shipping routes across three states had absolutely no idea what to do.
I grabbed his coat.
“Hospital.”
He nodded frantically.
“Yes.”
Then:
“Can I drive?”
“Yes.”
“Can I touch you?”
“Not yet.”
“Yes.”
We made it to the car.
May you like
My son had apparently decided family governance could wait.
Elias Moretti was coming early.
