Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN VINCENT WAS FORBIDDEN TO LOVE
Vincent Marquette had spent most of his adult life believing love was a weakness.
I learned that from Mrs. Doyle.
Not because she volunteered the information.
Because one evening, after Lily had gone to sleep, I found her standing before a portrait in the east hall.
The forbidden east hall.
I should have turned around.
Instead, I looked at the painting.
A young woman with dark curls stood beneath an oak tree.
She wore a simple blue dress.
Her smile was mischievous.
She looked nothing like the solemn people in the other portraits.
"Who is she?" I asked.
Mrs. Doyle didn't startle.
"Isabella Marquette."
"Vincent's wife?"
"No."
Her expression softened.
"His younger sister."
I looked again.
"She looks happy."
"She was."
"What happened?"
Mrs. Doyle was silent for so long I thought she wouldn't answer.
Then she said, "She died when she was sixteen."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"How?"
"An accident."
The word struck me.
Accident.
The same word used to explain Daniel's death.
Mrs. Doyle noticed my expression.
"Vincent was eighteen. Their father was a hard man. He believed children should obey without question."
She looked toward the painting.
"Isabella didn't."
I smiled faintly.
"She sounds like Lily."
Mrs. Doyle's eyes filled.
"She was exactly like Lily."
That night, Vincent found me standing before the portrait.
He stopped in the doorway.
"Mrs. Doyle told you."
"Yes."
He joined me.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, "She used to make rules."
I turned.
"Isabella?"
He nodded.
"She wrote them on purple paper. Taped them to the refrigerator."
My breath caught.
"Purple?"
"Her favorite color."
He smiled sadly.
"She once ordered our father to apologize to a gardener he'd humiliated."
"What happened?"
"He punished her."
Vincent's expression darkened.
"She stood in the corner for an hour. Refused to cry."
I looked at the portrait.
"And you?"
"I stood beside her."
He swallowed.
"After that, whenever she was frightened, she'd tell me to sit with her until the bad feelings passed."
My heart ached.
"That's why you obeyed Lily."
He nodded.
"Your daughter reminded me of the only person who ever made that house feel like a home."
I studied his face.
"What happened to Isabella?"
Vincent stared at the painting.
"Our father sent her away after an argument. She was supposed to stay with relatives in Pennsylvania."
"And?"
"The car went off a bridge."
Another accident.
Another road.
Another death.
"Do you believe it was an accident?"
Vincent's silence answered.
The next morning, Lily announced she was going to teach Vincent how to smile.
I nearly dropped the breakfast tray.
"You can't teach someone to smile, sweetheart."
"Yes, you can."
She held up a sheet of paper.
It contained three badly drawn faces.
One sad.
One angry.
One smiling.
"This is the lesson."
Vincent entered the kitchen.
Lily marched toward him.
"Mister, sit."
He looked at me.
I raised both hands.
"Don't involve me."
He sat.
Lily placed the drawing in front of him.
"Which one are you?"
Vincent studied the faces.
"The angry one, apparently."
"Wrong."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Wrong?"
"You're the sad one pretending to be angry."
The room went silent.
Vincent stared at her.
Then slowly looked away.
I saw his throat move.
Lily climbed onto the chair beside him.
"It's okay."
She patted his arm.
"Mommy cries in the bathroom sometimes."
My face burned.
"Lily."
"She thinks I don't hear."
Vincent looked at me.
I wanted to disappear.
Lily continued.
"But I tell her it's okay to be sad."
She reached for Vincent's hand.
"And then we make pancakes."
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Vincent covered her tiny hand with his.
"That sounds like a good plan."
That afternoon, Vincent took Lily into the garden.
I watched from the kitchen window.
He showed her the roses.
She showed him a worm.
He looked genuinely alarmed.
She laughed so hard she fell onto the grass.
Vincent knelt beside her.
For the first time since I'd met him, he laughed.
Not politely.
Not briefly.
A real laugh.
It transformed his face.
And something inside my chest shifted.
I had loved Daniel.
Deeply.
Completely.
For years after his death, I had believed that loving anyone else would mean betraying him.
But watching Vincent lift Lily into his arms, I felt something unfamiliar.
Hope.
And hope terrified me.
That evening, Vincent asked me to join him for dinner.
Not as an employee.
As a guest.
I almost refused.
Then Mrs. Doyle appeared with a simple navy dress.
"Don't argue," she said.
"Mrs. Doyle—"
"Miss Reyes, I've waited thirty years to see that man invite someone to dinner without discussing business."
I stared.
"Thirty years?"
"Approximately."
She handed me the dress.
"Don't keep him waiting."
The dining room was softly lit.
No guards.
No business associates.
Just two place settings.
Vincent stood when I entered.
His expression changed.
"Elena."
I looked down.
"Is it too much?"
"No."
He paused.
"Not at all."
We sat.
For the first few minutes, conversation was awkward.
Then I asked about Isabella.
He told me stories.
How she stole his ties.
How she hid frogs in their father's shoes.
How she once convinced the household staff to celebrate the cook's birthday with a cake so enormous it collapsed.
I laughed.
Vincent watched me.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"You're staring."
"I know."
My cheeks warmed.
He leaned back.
"I'd forgotten what this house sounded like when people laughed."
The words settled between us.
Then he reached across the table.
His hand stopped inches from mine.
"Elena, there's something I need you to understand."
I waited.
"I don't know how to do this."
"Do what?"
"Care about people without being afraid I'll lose them."
My throat tightened.
"Neither do I."
He looked at my hand.
Then at me.
Slowly, carefully, he covered my fingers with his.
I didn't pull away.
For the first time in years, I wanted to believe that happiness might still be possible.
At the other end of the estate, Arthur Bellamy entered Julian's private office.
"We need to stop," Arthur said.
Julian looked up.
"Excuse me?"
"The child. Leave her alone."
Julian laughed.
"Developing a conscience?"
"She's four."
"And she has something that could destroy us."
Arthur's jaw tightened.
"Daniel Reyes is dead. The investigation is closed."
"Not anymore."
Julian opened a laptop.
On the screen was a photograph of Vincent holding Lily in the garden.
Julian's smile vanished.
"My brother is becoming sentimental."
"That doesn't concern us."
"It concerns everything."
Arthur stepped closer.
"Vincent will kill us if he discovers what happened."
Julian's eyes hardened.
"Then perhaps Vincent shouldn't live long enough to discover it."
Arthur stared.
"You can't mean that."
Julian opened a drawer.
Inside lay an old photograph.
A teenage Isabella Marquette stood beside a car.
Julian tapped the image.
"People have accidents, Arthur."
Arthur went pale.
"That was thirty years ago."
Julian smiled.
"And you kept the secret beautifully."
Back in the dining room, Vincent's phone vibrated.
He ignored it.
It vibrated again.
And again.
Finally, he answered.
"Marcus?"
His expression changed.
"Where?"
A pause.
Then he stood so abruptly his chair scraped the floor.
I rose.
"What happened?"
He looked at me.
"Someone accessed Lily's medical records."
My blood turned cold.
"Who?"
Vincent's voice was barely audible.
"We don't know."
Then Marcus said something else.
Vincent's face drained of color.
He slowly lowered the phone.
"What?" I whispered.
Vincent looked toward the hallway.
"Elena."
"Tell me."
He swallowed.
"Someone has scheduled a private ambulance pickup for Lily tomorrow morning."
I stared.
"That's impossible."
Vincent's eyes hardened.
"The authorization carries my signature."
"But you didn't sign it."
"No."
A terrible silence followed.
Then he said, "Someone is planning to take your daughter."
May you like
And for the first time, I understood that the danger inside the Marquette estate wasn't approaching.
It was already there.
