Chapter 2 - The Woman Matteo Never Forgot
Isabella Romano crossed the ballroom before anyone could stop her.
Eight years had changed her. The frightened seventeen-year-old Abigail remembered had become an elegant twenty-five-year-old woman in a dark emerald gown. But the eyes were unmistakable.
Isabella stopped inches from Abigail.
For one strange second, neither woman spoke.
Then Isabella wrapped her arms around her.
Abigail stiffened in surprise.
“You saved my life,” Isabella whispered.
“I just donated blood.”
“No.” Isabella pulled back, tears shining beneath the chandeliers. “You stayed.”
Abigail remembered.
She had been nineteen, exhausted after working a double shift at a diner near St. Catherine’s Hospital. A crash outside had sent several victims into the emergency department. Abigail had gone inside because she saw an injured woman crying beside the ambulance bay.
A nurse had been desperately searching for a compatible donor.
Abigail happened to match.
Afterward, she had sat beside an unconscious teenage girl because no family had arrived yet.
She remembered holding Isabella’s hand.
She remembered telling her everything would be okay even though she had no idea whether that was true.
What Abigail had never known was the girl’s last name.
Romano.
“Why did you disappear?” Isabella asked.
“My mother was sick then. I had to get home.”
“You left an address that didn’t exist.”
Abigail gave an embarrassed smile.
“It existed. We got evicted three days later.”
Isabella’s expression collapsed.
Matteo heard every word.
His gaze dropped briefly toward Abigail’s worn shoes, then her uniform, then her pregnant belly.
Eight years.
His family had hired investigators.
They had searched hospital records, employment databases, old addresses.
And Abigail Foster had somehow disappeared into the enormous anonymity of ordinary American life.
Now she was standing in one of his hotels.
Serving champagne.
While pregnant.
And wearing a cheekprint left by Vanessa Sinclair.
“Abigail.”
Richard Sinclair’s voice interrupted them.
Matteo turned.
Richard had recovered his polished smile.
“I want to personally apologize for my daughter’s behavior.”
Vanessa stared at him.
“Dad—”
“Enough.”
It was the first time anyone had spoken sharply to her.
Vanessa’s mouth opened.
Richard’s eyes warned her closed.
He approached Abigail.
“Obviously this unfortunate misunderstanding—”
“Misunderstanding?”
Matteo’s voice was quiet.
Richard stopped.
“A misunderstanding is two people arriving at different conclusions about the same facts. Your daughter slapped her.”
Richard’s smile tightened.
“Then an incident.”
“Assault,” Isabella corrected.
Several guests lifted phones.
Richard noticed.
His face changed.
“Perhaps this should be handled privately.”
Abigail suddenly felt dizzy.
Too many faces.
Too many cameras.
Too much noise.
She pressed one hand beneath her stomach.
Matteo noticed immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Her voice came too quickly.
Then pain tightened across her abdomen.
Abigail inhaled sharply.
Matteo caught her elbow.
Isabella went pale.
“Abigail?”
“I’m fine. It’s probably just—”
Another cramp stopped her.
This one stronger.
Matteo turned toward his security chief.
“Call a doctor.”
“No!”
Everyone looked at Abigail.
She flushed.
“I mean… please. I don’t need an ambulance. I can’t afford—”
The silence after those words was worse than the silence after the slap.
Matteo stared at her.
“You’re seven months pregnant and worried about the ambulance bill?”
Abigail looked away.
That answered him.
Five minutes later, the hotel physician was examining her in a private lounge.
Stress-induced contractions.
No immediate sign of labor, but she needed rest.
Rest.
Abigail nearly laughed.
Her rent was due in six days.
She had sixty-three dollars in her checking account.
Her obstetrician had already warned her about working too many hours.
But warnings did not pay electricity bills.
When the doctor left, Matteo remained by the door.
“You’re done working tonight.”
“I can’t leave my shift.”
“You can.”
“My manager will fire me.”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know Mr. Caldwell.”
Matteo stared at her.
“I own the hotel.”
Abigail closed her eyes.
“Right.”
For the first time that evening, Isabella laughed.
It broke the tension.
Then Matteo surprised Abigail by pulling a chair closer rather than towering over her.
“Who should we call?”
“No one.”
“The baby’s father?”
Abigail’s expression changed.
Matteo regretted the question immediately.
“There isn’t anyone to call.”
He studied her face.
“Does he know?”
“He knows.”
“And?”
“And he made his decision.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened, but he did not ask more.
Abigail looked toward the door.
“I appreciate what you’re doing. Truly. But I don’t want money.”
“I didn’t offer money.”
“You were about to.”
Isabella covered a smile.
Matteo leaned back.
“Apparently you remember my family better than I thought.”
“I remember rich people trying to solve uncomfortable things with checks.”
That made Isabella laugh harder.
Even Matteo almost smiled.
Outside the lounge, however, Richard Sinclair was not smiling.
He pulled Vanessa into an empty corridor.
“What were you thinking?”
“She’s a waitress.”
“She’s Matteo Romano’s waitress now.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes.
Richard grabbed her wrist.
Hard.
Her expression changed.
“You listen to me. That woman is not our problem because Matteo feels grateful.”
“Then why?”
Richard glanced toward the closed lounge door.
Because eight years earlier, Richard Sinclair had also been at St. Catherine’s Hospital.
And Abigail Foster had not merely donated blood that night.
She had witnessed something.
Something Richard had spent eight years making certain nobody remembered.
His phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
FOSTER IS ALIVE.
A second message followed.
AND ROMANO FOUND HER.
Richard deleted both.
Then he looked through the narrow window in the lounge door.
Abigail was sitting beside Matteo.
Her hand rested protectively over her unborn child.
May you like
Richard whispered three words.
“Not for long.”
