Chapter 4 - THE MAID WHO WOULD NOT BOW
Meline had spent most of her life being underestimated.
At twenty-nine, she was tall, full-figured, and accustomed to strangers making assumptions about her before she opened her mouth.
Some assumed she was lazy.
Others assumed she lacked ambition.
Beatrice had once told her she was lucky to find work in a house where uniforms could be altered to fit her.
Meline had smiled politely.
Then gone upstairs and cried.
Her grandfather, Arthur Pierce, had raised her after her parents died.
He taught her to cook.
To repair small appliances.
To read old books.
And to treat people with dignity regardless of their wealth.
When he died, Meline inherited a box of photographs, a worn cookbook, and debts she was still struggling to repay.
One afternoon, Alessandro found her in the kitchen.
She was rolling pastry dough.
He stood in the doorway.
“Miss Pierce.”
She looked up.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“I wanted to thank you.”
She smiled faintly.
“For the soup?”
“For my father.”
Meline wiped flour from her hands.
“He was hungry.”
Alessandro nodded.
“I know.”
She studied him.
Then said something nobody else in the house would have dared.
“Do you?”
He went still.
Meline's heart raced.
But she continued.
“Your father doesn't need a palace if he feels like a stranger inside it.”
Alessandro stared at her.
She swallowed.
“I apologize if that was disrespectful.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
A pause.
“It was accurate.”
He looked toward the dining room.
“I've been absent.”
Meline nodded.
“Yes.”
He almost smiled.
“You don't soften things, do you?”
“Not when someone's hungry.”
That evening, Alessandro joined Giovanni for dinner.
No business calls.
No assistants.
No meetings.
Just father and son.
Meline served the meal.
Giovanni looked delighted.
Alessandro looked nervous.
Halfway through dinner, Giovanni asked:
“Do you remember when you were seven and tried to make me breakfast?”
Alessandro frowned.
“No.”
Giovanni laughed.
“You burned toast so badly the kitchen smelled for three days.”
Meline smiled.
Alessandro groaned.
“Dad.”
“You cried because you thought I'd be angry.”
Giovanni's expression softened.
“But I ate it anyway.”
Alessandro looked at his father.
For a moment, the years seemed to fall away.
After dinner, Giovanni touched Meline's hand.
“Thank you.”
She smiled.
“For what?”
“For bringing my son home.”
Meline looked toward Alessandro.
He was standing near the doorway.
Watching them.
May you like
And for the first time, she saw something in his eyes that had nothing to do with power.
Loneliness.
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