Chapter 4 - The Gala Disaster
By noon the following day, the Moretti estate was a changed world.
Dr. Evans had confirmed that my ankle was severely sprained with minor ligament tearing, but fortunately not broken. He had wrapped it in a rigid orthopedic boot and ordered strict bed rest for at least three days.
Isabella Vance was gone. Marco had overseen the removal of her eight designer suitcases before 7:00 AM.
Yet, peace did not follow.
The annual Moretti Children’s Foundation Gala was scheduled for Saturday night—merely two days away. It was the premier charity event of the Chicago high-society calendar, hosted inside the grand ballroom of the Moretti estate. Over three hundred dignitaries, corporate tycoons, and media figures were already confirmed.
"You need to cancel it, Luca," I insisted on Friday afternoon.
I was sitting on the sunlit terrace, my booted foot elevated on an ottoman, helping Sofia string colored beads onto a necklace. Sofia sat beside me, her small tongue poking out in deep concentration, completely oblivious to the financial storm brewing beyond the gates.
Luca stood nearby, reviewing documents on an iPad. He wore casual dark trousers and a charcoal polo shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders.
"Cancel it?" Luca looked up, an amused smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "If I cancel, the press will claim Moretti Global is faltering after the Vance split. The gala goes on. We raise five million dollars for pediatric cardiology, and we show the city that we do not hide."
"Isabella’s father will be there," I pointed out worriedly.
"Let him come," Luca replied coldly. "Arthur Vance needs to face what his daughter did." He paused, stepping closer to my chair. "And you will be attending."
I nearly dropped the container of beads. "What? Mr. Moretti, I am the nanny. I don't attend high-society galas. Besides, look at my foot!"
"You will be wearing a custom gown that conceals the boot," Luca said smoothly, as if he had already arranged the universe to his liking. "And you will not be attending as the nanny. You will be seated at my primary table, as Sofia’s guardian and my personal guest."
"People will talk—"
"Let them talk." Luca’s gaze dropped to mine, warm and unyielding. "I spent two years allowing society to dictate what is appropriate for my family. Look at where it led us. Sofia loves you. I trust you. That is all that matters."
Sofia suddenly looked up, holding up a string of mismatched blue and yellow beads. "Look, Daddy! Emma made a crown for me!"
Luca’s expression softened instantly. He knelt beside Sofia, kissing the top of her dark curls. "It’s beautiful, sweetheart. Just like you."
***
Saturday arrived with the force of a hurricane.
A team of stylists arrived at my guest suite at 3:00 PM under Luca’s orders. By 7:00 PM, I didn't recognize the woman staring back from the full-length mirror.
They had dressed me in an emerald-green silk velvet gown with an asymmetrical off-the-shoulder neckline. The heavy, luxurious fabric draped flawlessly down to the floor, completely hiding the black medical boot on my left foot. My auburn hair was swept up into an intricate chignon, with soft tendrils framing my face. Around my throat hung a delicate diamond teardrop pendant—sent down personally by Luca from his family safe.
"You look like a queen, Emma," Sofia gasped, bouncing on the bed in her own miniature ivory lace dress.
"I feel like an imposter," I whispered, pressing a hand to my fluttery stomach.
When Marco escorted me into the grand ballroom, the sheer scale of wealth was dizzying. Crystal chandeliers refracted dazzling light across marble floors; champagne flutes clinked in time with a live string quartet; hundreds of guests in black-tie attire mingled beneath towering floral arrangements.
Luca was standing near the grand staircase, surrounded by three corporate executives. When his eyes caught mine across the crowded room, the conversation died on his lips.
He excused himself immediately, cutting through the sea of billionaires and socialites without hesitation. He wore a bespoke midnight-blue tuxedo that fit his broad frame impeccably.
"Emma," he said, reaching out to take my hand. His fingers curled securely around mine, sending a ripple of electricity straight through my veins. "You take my breath away."
"Mr. Moretti—"
"Luca," he corrected gently. "Tonight, call me Luca."
Before I could reply, the crowd near the grand entrance parted. A murmur rippled through the room.
Arthur Vance entered the ballroom. Beside him, dressed in an extravagant silver gown dripping with diamonds, was Isabella.
She wasn't supposed to be here. Her invitation had been revoked. Yet, her father’s influence had pushed her past the door staff. Isabella’s gaze locked onto me, taking in the emerald gown, the diamond necklace, and Luca’s hand holding mine.
Her lips twisted into an ugly, venomous sneer.
May you like
The drama had arrived.
***
