Chapter 6
She grinned and stepped closer.
“Alex says happy New Year.”
“How did the wedding go?”
I asked.
“Beautifully.
We decided not to do the legal paperwork tonight.”
Dominic’s shoulders loosened slightly.
Vanessa noticed.
“Don’t look so relieved.
We’re still getting married.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She handed me the paper cup.
It smelled like hot chocolate and peppermint.
Then her expression changed.
The teasing left her face, replaced by something more careful.
“Actually,” she said, “I came back because I need to tell you both something.”
Dominic’s posture shifted.
Not threatening, but alert.
The easy warmth of the last few minutes withdrew behind his familiar control.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Nothing happened in Vegas.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I know.”
Vanessa glanced at me.
“I found something before I left.”
“What?”
Dominic asked.
She reached into the inner pocket of her jacket and pulled out a small envelope.
It was old, the paper yellowed at the edges.
My name was written across the front in faded blue ink.
Not Naomi.
Nomi.
The nickname only my mother had used.
My stomach tightened.
I took the envelope from Vanessa with numb fingers.
“Where did you get this?”
I asked.
She looked at Dominic.
He didn’t answer immediately.
That was when I understood.
He already knew.
“Dominic.”
His eyes met mine, and the warmth from the kiss disappeared beneath something heavier.
“I found it in my father’s study,” he said.
My fingers tightened around the envelope.
“Why would my mother’s handwriting be in your father’s study?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
The rooftop seemed suddenly too small.
The fireworks had faded, leaving only smoke drifting above the buildings.
Vanessa stepped closer.
“I found the envelope three weeks ago.
It was inside a folder with old property records.
I showed Dominic because I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You showed him my mail?”
“It wasn’t mail.
It was sealed.”
“You opened it?”
“No.”
Dominic’s voice was quiet.
“I didn’t.”
“Then how do you know it’s from my mother?”
“Because I remember her handwriting.”
The words made me look up.
“You knew my mother?”
He nodded once.
Not vaguely.
Not by accident.
He knew her.
“How?”
Dominic’s face had gone pale beneath the cold.
“She worked for my family.”
“My mother never worked for your family.”
“She did.”
“You would know?”
“I was seventeen.”
I stared at him.