Chapter 3 - THE PHOTOGRAPH CELESTE STOLE
Adrian did not move.
Neither did I.
Celeste seemed to realize too late what she had admitted.
“My father told me that bracelet had been destroyed.”
Adrian repeated the words quietly.
Celeste closed her eyes.
“Adrian—”
“Come downstairs.”
“I can explain upstairs.”
“No.”
One syllable.
She descended.
Rourke remained near the door.
Adrian placed the baby bracelet on the shelf between us.
“When did Victor tell you about it?”
Celeste stared at the yellowed plastic.
“When I was sixteen.”
Eleanor’s face changed.
“That early?”
Celeste looked at her bitterly.
“You think my father came home after dealing with your secrets and became someone else?”
She turned to Adrian.
“He drank. He broke things. He talked when he thought nobody was listening.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“He told me there had been another DeLuca baby.”
My stomach twisted.
“And?”
“He said the child had been placed with another family.”
“Did he know which family?” I asked.
Celeste looked at me.
For the first time since she poured champagne over my head, there was no contempt in her face.
Only fear.
“Not when he told me.”
Adrian noticed the wording.
“But later?”
Celeste said nothing.
He stepped closer.
“The missing photograph.”
Her eyes flickered toward the wall.
“You took it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I recognized Rachel.”
I felt as if the floor shifted.
Celeste reached into the pocket of her evening coat.
Rourke moved immediately.
Adrian lifted one hand.
Celeste slowly removed a folded photograph.
The rectangle missing from the dusty wall.
She handed it to Adrian.
Margaret sat in the same rocking chair that stood behind us.
A newborn boy rested in one arm.
A newborn girl in the other.
But someone else stood beside her.
A younger Eleanor.
And beside Eleanor—
My mother.
Lillian Bennett.
I recognized her immediately.
Same gentle eyes.
Same crooked smile.
Much younger than I remembered, but unmistakable.
My fingers touched the photograph.
“She was here.”
“Yes,” Eleanor whispered.
“Why didn’t she ever tell me?”
“She promised Margaret.”
I turned the photograph over.
Writing covered the back.
Margaret’s handwriting.
Lillian says a child can grow up poor and still grow up loved. I pray she is right.
I swallowed hard.
Celeste looked away.
Adrian did not.
“Why did you remove this?”
Celeste answered quietly.
“Because I saw Rachel’s face when she brought Eleanor out from behind the curtain.”
That surprised me.
“My face?”
“You looked like her.”
She nodded toward Margaret.
“Not enough that I noticed before. Your hair is different. You smile differently. But standing beside Eleanor…”
Her voice faded.
“I knew.”
“And you slapped me anyway.”
Celeste flinched.
There it was.
No mystery to hide behind.
No family history.
No dead father.
Just the thing she had done.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I panicked.”
“You humiliated me in front of two hundred people because you panicked?”
Her eyes met mine.
“Yes.”
It was not an excuse.
She seemed to know that.
“I wanted Eleanor gone. I wanted you away from her. And when neither happened, I did something cruel.”
I had expected denial.
Her directness made my anger harder, not easier.
Adrian turned toward her.
“You knew Rachel might be my sister and still treated her like that?”
“I knew she might be the baby in the photograph.”
“That is not better.”
“I know.”
Eleanor suddenly reached for the microfilm.
“This isn’t about a photograph.”
Adrian faced her.
“What else did Victor know?”
Eleanor hesitated.
Then handed him the narrow roll.
“Margaret copied hospital records before she died.”
“Why?”
“Because the original records had been altered.”
“By Victor?”
“And Gabriel.”
The name landed heavily again.
Adrian’s expression became almost unreadable.
“What did my father alter?”
“The birth register.”
My hands went cold.
Eleanor continued.
“Margaret gave birth to two living children at St. Agnes.”
“Then what did the official record say?”
“One son.”
“And the daughter?”
Eleanor looked at me.
“Stillborn.”
I sat down.
I had spent twenty-nine years living inside paperwork that said I belonged to one family.
Somewhere else existed paperwork saying I had never lived at all.
Adrian crouched slightly so I did not have to look up at him.
“Rachel.”
“I’m fine.”
His eyebrow moved.
It was almost ridiculous.
The exact expression he had worn in the ballroom when I lied about being hurt.
I exhaled.
“No. I’m not.”
“Better answer.”
Despite everything, I nearly smiled.
Eleanor pointed toward the microfilm.
“There was a viewer in Margaret’s study.”
Adrian nodded.
“It’s still there.”
We left Room Fourteen together.
Nobody spoke during the climb.
Celeste was kept between two guards, but Adrian had not ordered her removed.
Not yet.
Margaret’s study had remained untouched for years.
Adrian unlocked it himself.
Dust covered the desk.
Books lined every wall.
In one cabinet, beneath an old projector, sat a microfilm reader.
Eleanor’s hands shook too badly to load the film.
Adrian did it.
The first frames showed hospital invoices.
Then birth logs.
Then photographs of handwritten pages.
Margaret had copied everything.
Page after page.
Dates.
Payments.
Names.
Victor Marino appeared repeatedly.
So did Gabriel DeLuca.
Then we reached the night of the twins’ birth.
Male infant: Adrian Gabriel DeLuca.
Below it:
Female infant: Adriana Margaret DeLuca.
Alive.
Seven pounds, two ounces.
Distinctive mark below left ear.
I touched my neck.
Nobody looked at me.
They did not need to.
The next frame showed a transfer authorization.
The baby girl had been moved from St. Agnes at 4:17 a.m.
Authorized by—
Adrian leaned closer.
“Gabriel DeLuca.”
My stomach dropped.
His father had not simply discovered what Victor did later.
He had signed it.
Eleanor whispered, “Margaret never knew that page existed.”
Celeste stared at the screen.
Adrian’s voice lowered.
“What was my father protecting?”
Eleanor looked toward the dark window.
“At first? His daughter.”
“And after?”
“His control.”
The next frame appeared.
A trust document.
Margaret’s family money.
Her shipping shares.
Properties.
Voting rights.
Everything she inherited before marrying Gabriel.
The language was simple enough even I understood it.
The assets would pass equally to her surviving children.
Equally.
Adrian read the line twice.
Celeste whispered, “That was what my father found.”
If the daughter legally died—
Adrian inherited everything.
If she lived—
Half belonged to her.
To me.
I stood so quickly the chair hit the wall.
“I don’t want it.”
Adrian turned.
“This isn’t about whether you want it.”
“It is to me.”
“No. Right now it is about why my father erased a child.”
The final frames were damaged.
Most were unreadable.
Then one sentence appeared.
Margaret’s handwriting.
Victor says Gabriel has agreed to bring her home. I want to believe him, but the red book says otherwise.
Adrian looked at Celeste.
“Where is the red book?”
“I don’t know.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Victor took it.”
Celeste’s face changed.
Adrian caught it immediately.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Celeste.”
She stared at the photograph of Margaret and Lillian.
Then she slowly reached beneath the collar of her dress and removed a tiny gold necklace.
A narrow key hung from it.
“I lied.”
Eleanor stood.
“You have it?”
Celeste shook her head.
“Not the book.”
She held the key tighter.
“But I know where my father hid it.”
Adrian took one step forward.
“Where?”
Celeste looked directly at him.
May you like
“Inside your mother’s piano.”
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