Chapter 6 - The Diner Booth On County Road
The rain tapped a steady, relentless rhythm against the windshield of Luca’s black sedan as we pulled off the state highway and into the gravel lot of the Blue Ridge Diner. It was a modest place with a faded neon sign flickering through the gray morning mist, worlds away from the polished marble and crystal chandeliers of the Moretti estate. I had driven my old Honda civic down here with the vague intention of finding a quiet room at the county motel, but Luca had stayed right on my bumper the entire three miles, flashing his headlights until I had no choice but to pull over.
Now, sitting across from each other in a cracked vinyl booth near the back window, the contrast between our worlds felt almost absurd. Luca had shrugged off his suit jacket hours ago, leaving him in a stark white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The bold ink of his tattoos traced across his forearms as he wrapped his hands around a thick ceramic mug of black coffee. He hadn't touched the menu. His dark eyes remained fixed on me, steady and searching, as if trying to read a language written just beneath my skin.
"You didn't have to follow me," I said, keeping my gaze down on the amber rim of my own coffee cup. My fingers were still stiff from the cold rain outside. "Vanessa was right about one thing. I'm just a maid who couldn't keep her hands off things she shouldn't have touched."
"Stop it, Emma," Luca said, his voice dropping into a low, uncompromising register that made the waitress hovering nearby quickly retreat toward the kitchen. "You didn't touch it to ruin it. You pulled it out of the laundry hamper when you realized the housekeeping staff was under orders to throw it into the industrial incinerator with the rest of the discarded linens."
I looked up, surprised by how much he already knew. "Mrs. Gable told the morning shift to clear out the old storage closets in the west wing. She said Vanessa wanted the space for her wedding planner's bridal displays. When I saw the lace sticking out of the trash bag, I couldn't just let them burn it. I recognized the embroidery from the photographs in the local historical archives."
Luca let out a slow breath, his thumb tracing the rim of his cup. "My mother spent six months stitching those blue wildflowers by hand before I was born. When she passed away, my father locked her sewing room, and it stayed untouched until Vanessa convinced the board to let her redecorate." He leaned forward across the scarred Formica table, his expression intense. "I'm not letting you go back to that staff quarter, and I'm certainly not letting Vanessa sweep this under the rug. I want you to come back to the mansion. Not as a maid. As my archival consultant. We're going to clean and restore every inch of that dress together."
May you like
I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. Returning to the estate meant walking right back into Vanessa's crosshairs, but looking at the quiet determination in Luca’s eyes, I knew I couldn't run away either.
"Okay," I whispered, the word settling like a stone in the quiet booth. "We go back."
