Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Refused to BelongMarriage to Vittorio Moretti turned out to be nothing like marriage.
For the first two weeks, Claire barely saw him.
He left before seven every morning and returned long after dinner. Sometimes his helicopter crossed the vineyard at dusk. Sometimes she heard his car after midnight.
He never entered her wing.
Never demanded company.
Never questioned where she went.
The only evidence she had a husband was the ring on her finger and the newspaper photographs arriving almost daily.
MORETTI’S MYSTERY AMERICAN BRIDE.
THE WOMAN WHO FINALLY CAPTURED ITALY’S MOST ELUSIVE BILLIONAIRE.
SECRET ROMANCE REVEALED.
Claire nearly choked over breakfast reading that one.
“What?” asked Elena, the villa’s housekeeper.
Claire handed her the newspaper.
“We supposedly met secretly in New York eighteen months ago.”
Elena smiled.
“Very romantic.”
“We met eleven days before the wedding.”
“Less romantic.”
“They also say Vittorio proposed on a yacht.”
Elena considered.
“He has a yacht.”
“That isn’t the point.”
Claire was beginning to like Elena.
The sixty-year-old woman had worked for the Moretti family for three decades and seemed completely unimpressed by wealth.
She was also one of the only people willing to talk about Vittorio’s past.
Claire learned that his father had died when Vittorio was twenty-three.
His mother followed four years later.
He had a younger brother, Marco, who died in a car accident at thirty-one.
No wife.
No children.
No close family remained.
“Why does everyone seem afraid of him?” Claire asked one morning.
Elena continued arranging flowers.
“Because powerful men are easier to understand when people imagine them cruel.”
“And is he cruel?”
Elena glanced at her.
“He can be.”
Not reassuring.
“But not often without reason.”
Claire thought about the forged documents.
Thomas had flown back to the United States three days after the wedding.
Vittorio had honored the agreement.
The debt vanished.
No criminal complaint had been filed.
Claire called her father once.
The conversation lasted six minutes.
Neither knew what to say.
Her anger remained.
So did her love.
She decided the only way to survive the year was to build something that belonged to her.
She found an unused room overlooking the gardens and turned it into a small classroom.
Elena asked why.
“For English lessons.”
“For whom?”
“Anyone on the staff who wants them.”
Within a week, seven employees attended.
Then twelve.
Claire started teaching children from nearby families in the afternoons.
Word spread.
Three weeks later, twenty-six children were showing up on Saturdays.
That was when Vittorio finally noticed.
He entered the room during a lesson while Claire was explaining irregular verbs.
Every child went silent.
Claire sighed.
“Congratulations. You terrified twelve-year-olds simply by entering.”
Vittorio looked around.
“What is this?”
“A casino.”
He stared at her.
“English lessons.”
“I can see that.”
“Then why ask?”
“Why are thirty people using this room?”
“Because they wanted to learn.”
“This is private property.”
Claire set down her marker.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The control issue.”
“I asked a question.”
“And I gave an answer.”
A boy in the front row whispered something.
Other children giggled.
Vittorio looked toward him.
“What did he say?”
Claire fought a smile.
“He said you look like a villain from a movie.”
The room became silent again.
Then Vittorio laughed.
It shocked everyone.
Including Claire.
The boy smiled nervously.
Vittorio stepped toward the board.
“What are you teaching?”
“Past tense.”
He picked up a marker.
“You wrote ‘learned.’”
“Yes.”
“British English often uses ‘learnt.’”
Claire crossed her arms.
“I’m American.”
“I noticed.”
“So in my classroom, it’s learned.”
“Your classroom?”
“Yes.”
“In my house?”
She smiled sweetly.
“Would you like to join the class? We’re also working on possessive adjectives.”
The children laughed.
Vittorio stared at her for several seconds.
Then he placed the marker down.
“The room needs better lighting.”
Claire blinked.
“What?”
“And those chairs are terrible.”
He walked out.
Two days later, new desks arrived.
So did books.
And computers.
Claire found Vittorio in his office.
“I did not ask for these.”
“No.”
“Then why did you buy them?”
“The children needed them.”
“You don’t even know the children.”
“I know bad furniture.”
Claire stood in the doorway, unsure what to do with the unexpected kindness.
“Thank you.”
Vittorio kept reading.
“You are welcome.”
She started leaving.
“Claire.”
She turned.
“There is a charity dinner Friday.”
“Is that a command?”
“A request.”
“Progress.”
His mouth twitched.
“I need my wife there.”
“You mean your contractual accessory.”
His eyes lifted.
“I mean my wife.”
The distinction lingered between them.
Friday night changed something.
Claire wore a simple emerald dress rather than one of the designer gowns selected by his stylist.
When she descended the stairs, Vittorio was waiting.
He stopped speaking to his assistant.
His gaze stayed on her a fraction too long.
Claire noticed.
“So?”
He cleared his throat.
“You look beautiful.”
It was the first compliment he had given her.
She hated how much she liked hearing it.
At dinner, wealthy donors circulated beneath frescoed ceilings inside a Renaissance palazzo.
Claire expected boredom.
Instead, she discovered the charity funded shelters for women escaping domestic abuse.
Vittorio had anonymously paid for three facilities.
“You never told me,” she said while they stood on a balcony.
“You never asked.”
“Why anonymous?”
“Charity should help people, not advertise the donor.”
Claire studied him.
Every time she thought she understood him, another layer appeared.
“Why this cause?”
His expression hardened.
For several seconds she thought he would not answer.
Then he said, “My mother had nowhere to go.”
Claire’s breath caught.
Vittorio looked toward the city.
“My father was admired publicly. Privately, he was a violent man.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do not be. It was long ago.”
Pain did not obey calendars, Claire thought.
But she said nothing.
A voice behind them interrupted.
“Touching.”
Bianca Rossetti stood in the doorway.
Her smile was sharp.
“I had no idea Vittorio had begun sharing family stories.”
Vittorio’s posture changed instantly.
“Bianca.”
She ignored him and looked at Claire.
“You should enjoy the intimacy while it lasts.”
Claire frowned.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Bianca raised her champagne.
“Ask your husband what happened to Adriana.”
Vittorio’s face went completely still.
“Enough.”
Claire looked between them.
“Who is Adriana?”
Bianca smiled.
“The woman he almost married.”
Then she walked away.
Claire turned toward Vittorio.
“You told me you were never engaged.”
“I wasn’t.”
“But you almost married someone?”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It sounds pretty close.”
Vittorio’s jaw flexed.
“Adriana is dead.”
Claire’s anger vanished.
“Oh.”
“She died eleven years ago.”
“What happened?”
He looked away.
“A car accident.”
The same way his brother died.
Something about his voice made Claire uneasy.
“Was she with Marco?”
Vittorio looked directly at her.
“Yes.”
Claire understood the silence before he said anything else.
His brother.
The woman he loved.
Together.
May you like
Dead in the same car.
And suddenly the man who claimed he had no interest in love made terrible sense.
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