Chapter 8 - ELENA LEFT MY HOUSE SO SHE COULD CHOOSE WHETHER TO COME BACK
A year after the kidnapping, Elena returned to the Moretti house for dinner.
Not to work.
That was important.
She had resigned from my staff months earlier.
I insisted on severance.
She argued.
We compromised through an attorney because apparently that was romance in adulthood.
She enrolled in a hospitality-management program.
Part-time.
Worked at a boutique hotel three days a week.
Sophia attended kindergarten.
Miss Rose had a new button.
Not identical.
Sophia eventually decided that was fine.
“She survived.”
Sophia explained.
“So she can look different.”
Children again.
Brutal.
Wise.
Elena arrived wearing a dark green dress.
No uniform.
No apron.
No keys around her waist.
I stared too long.
She noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Bad answer.”
Apparently everyone stole my own techniques now.
“You look beautiful.”
Her expression softened.
“Thank you.”
Sophia ran past.
“Where’s piano?”
“Same place.”
She disappeared.
Elena looked toward the hallway.
“She missed this house.”
“So did the house.”
She smiled.
“You say ridiculous things now.”
“Sophia changed the language.”
“Clearly.”
We ate in the smaller breakfast room.
Not formal dining room.
Marco joined for dessert.
Sophia made him wear a paper crown left from school.
A year earlier, Marco Bellini had commanded armed men.
Tonight he wore pink cardboard.
Life improved.
After Sophia fell asleep upstairs, Elena and I stood in the kitchen.
“I should take her home.”
“She can stay.”
Elena looked.
I corrected.
“If you want.”
Good.
“She has pajamas in the old room.”
“You kept them?”
“Yes.”
Her face changed.
“Why?”
“Because I hoped.”
There.
No pretending.
Elena looked down.
“Dominic.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She lifted her eyes.
“I need you to understand something.”
“I’m listening.”
“The kidnapping wasn’t the only reason I left.”
I stopped.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
Honesty.
She breathed.
“I was disappearing here before they took us.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“You were kind to Sophia.”
“Kind to me.”
“I had security.”
“Money.”
“A beautiful room.”
“I stopped worrying about bills.”
She looked around.
“And I also became ‘the maid Dominic likes.’”
My stomach tightened.
“No one—”
She raised one hand.
I stopped.
Good.
“People watched me.”
“Staff wondered if I was sleeping with you.”
“Men in your organization treated Sophia like a mascot.”
“Everyone knew you cared.”
“No one knew what I wanted.”
I looked down.
She was right.
“I stopped making plans because life here was easier.”
Her voice broke.
“And after Miguel died, easy felt like safety.”
“So I stayed.”
“I don’t regret it.”
“But I needed to know I could build something that wasn’t given by you.”
I understood more than she expected.
Maybe because my own legitimacy had been built on my father’s name.
“Elena.”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For liking that you needed the job.”
Her face changed.
I continued:
“I never thought that sentence consciously.”
“But when you started needing me less…”
I paused.
“I noticed fear.”
She stared.
“What kind?”
“That you’d leave.”
There.
My father again.
Attachment becomes leverage.
I had tried not to control.
Still, part of me preferred circumstances that kept people near.
“I don’t want you here because leaving is hard.”
I said.
“I want you here if coming back is your choice.”
Elena’s eyes filled.
“That sounds almost healthy.”
“Don’t insult me.”
She laughed.
Then:
“Therapy?”
“Weekly.”
“How awful?”
“Extremely.”
“Good.”
I smiled.
“Everyone loves that word.”
Silence settled.
Then Elena stepped closer.
“This is the part where television would make me kiss you.”
My heart stopped.
“What happens in real life?”
“I go home.”
Pain.
I nodded.
“Okay.”
Then she smiled.
“And maybe have dinner with you Saturday.”
My heart restarted.
“Without Sophia?”
“Yes.”
“A date?”
She looked terrified.
Good.
“Yes.”
I probably looked worse.
“Okay.”
“Stop.”
“Sorry.”
Saturday happened.
Small restaurant.
No private room.
No Moretti name.
Elena wore jeans.
I had never seen her in jeans.
Apparently I stared again.
“Dominic.”
“Sorry.”
We talked.
Not Colombo.
Not Miguel first.
Books.
Food.
Her classes.
My strange adjustment to legitimate board meetings where nobody feared death if quarterly numbers were bad.
Elena laughed.
Then asked:
“What do you do now when people say no?”
“Cry privately.”
She laughed harder.
“Seriously.”
“I ask why.”
“Sometimes accept.”
“Sometimes negotiate.”
“Without threats?”
“Mostly.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Kidding.”
“Good.”
At the end, I walked her to her car.
Did not have my driver follow.
Growth.
“Elena.”
“Yes?”
“Can I kiss you?”
She went still.
I waited.
“No.”
Pain.
Then:
“Not tonight.”
Hope.
Careful.
“Okay.”
She touched my sleeve.
“Ask another time.”
I smiled.
“I will.”
Second date.
No kiss.
Third.
Sophia had a fever, date canceled.
Fourth.
Elena kissed me first.
Outside a grocery store.
While I held a bag containing cereal Sophia had demanded.
No orchestra.
No rain.
No guns.
Perfect.
When we separated, I stared.
Elena laughed.
“You look surprised.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“I thought maybe I imagined the last year.”
Her smile disappeared.
She touched my face.
“You didn’t.”
Then:
“But I’m not moving back.”
“Okay.”
“Not quitting school.”
“Okay.”
“Not working for you again.”
“Never.”
“Good.”
May you like
There it was.
Then she kissed me again.
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