Chapter 2

Dominic pressed the brown paper envelope into my arms.

"Take it home and read it carefully. Sign it tomorrow."

He finished speaking and glanced down at his phone.

Elena had sent a message.

[My stomach feels a bit off.]

Dominic immediately pulled open the car door.

"I'm going to check on her."

I stood where I was, unmoving.

Seeing that I wasn't speaking, he frowned.

"She just got pregnant—it's inherently unstable in the early stages. Don't pick now to throw a tantrum."

The car door shut.

He left without hesitation.

The next day at noon, I went to the Italian restaurant owned by the family to taste-test the wedding banquet menu.

When I pushed open the door to the back room, Elena was already seated beside Mrs. Moretti.

"Mom, I really can't eat any more."

My footsteps halted.

Elena was calling Dominic's mother Mom.

Mrs. Moretti spotted me, and a flicker of discomfort crossed her face.

"You're here? Sit down."

Elena caught on too and laughed.

"Claire, don't mind it—Mrs. Moretti insists that since the marriage license is done, family rules say I have to change how I address her."

Mrs. Moretti pulled a thick white cash envelope from her bag.

"Here—a hundred thousand. According to old Moretti family tradition, a welcome gift for family."

At our engagement, Mrs. Moretti had held my hand and said:

"When you and Dominic go to City Hall to register, I'll prepare ten thousand dollars for you—a gift for the future wife of the family heir."

I'd smiled and said that sounded lovely.

Now she'd given it to Elena instead—ten times what she'd promised me.

Mrs. Moretti saw me staring at the white envelope and her tone cooled slightly.

"Elena is currently Dominic's wife on paper. The proper courtesies must be observed."

"You haven't been to City Hall to register yet—just call me Mrs. Moretti for now. We mustn't break with protocol."

Elena snorted a laugh.

"Claire, you're not going to fight me over the family welcome gift, are you?"

"Want me to give it to you?"

Dominic happened to walk in just then.

Mrs. Moretti told him what had happened.

He simply pulled out a chair and sat down.

"It's just a hundred thousand dollars. Don't make this so embarrassing."

Right. The embarrassed one had always been me.

The servers began bringing out dishes.

The moment the oyster tartare was set down, Dominic spoke.

"Take this away. Remove it from the wedding menu too."

The banquet manager froze.

"Dominic, this was the previously confirmed main course for the reception."

"She's pregnant. She can't eat this."

Dominic took the menu and crossed out the oyster tartare himself.

I finally spoke.

"My father specifically chose this dish."

At last month's tasting, my father had, for once, said he liked something.

Dominic had even said at the time that he'd have an extra serving brought to his table on the wedding day.

Now he didn't even look up.

"When can Mr. Whitman not eat it?"

"Elena is pregnant right now. If something actually goes wrong, who takes responsibility?"

Mrs. Moretti also frowned at me.

"It's just one dish. Your father isn't going to insist on having it, is he?"

Elena bit down on her chopsticks and smiled at me.

"Claire, if your father's really craving it that badly, I'll treat him to a whole table of it after I give birth."

A few people laughed.

I didn't say anything more.

Halfway through the tasting, Mrs. Moretti brought up the wedding again.

"The wedding proceeds as planned."

"When family and friends ask about the City Hall registration, just tell them it's already done. Don't go airing everything—people will laugh."

I looked at Dominic.

"You want me to tell people we've already registered at City Hall?"

He made a sound of agreement.

"It's only a few months' delay on the license. What's the difference?"

Elena jumped in immediately.

"Exactly. I'm just temporarily holding the spot."

"The second the baby's born, I'll clear out for you."

Mrs. Moretti even scolded her for her phrasing.

"What's all this about holding spots? We're all family."

Then, as if remembering something else:

"Elena, you should move into the Upper East Side apartment for these next few months."

I looked up.

Mrs. Moretti said it as though it were the most natural thing in the world:

"It's closer to the private hospital there. Makes it easier for Dominic to look after her."

"You two haven't had the wedding yet anyway. The place is just sitting empty."

I looked at Dominic.

But he was already looking at Elena:

"The first trimester is when things are most likely to go wrong. I'll stay there—that way I can help if anything comes up."

I gripped the glass in my hand.

That Upper East Side apartment—from the renovation to the furniture—I'd spent the better part of a year putting it together, piece by piece.

I hadn't even spent a single night there yet.

And they'd already arranged it for another woman.

Mrs. Moretti saw my expression and her face hardened.

"She's carrying Moretti blood. You'll be Dominic's wife soon enough. Can't you show even this much generosity?"

At eight that evening, I'd just gotten home when my phone lit up with a security system notification.

[Administrator "Dominic" has granted access to new member.]

[Member name: Elena.]