Chapter 5 - The Betrayal at Adrian's Own Table
Dominic Romano had always been the charming one.
Adrian entered a room and people straightened.
Dominic entered and people relaxed.
He smiled easily, remembered birthdays, flirted with grandmothers, tipped waiters too much, and never raised his voice when a joke could accomplish the same thing.
For eight years, I had trusted him more than almost anyone in Adrian's world.
That made what happened next feel personal.
"He denies everything," Margaret told me.
We were sitting in the Lake Forest kitchen while Dana reviewed security footage on a laptop across the room.
"Of course he does."
"The vehicle is registered to a consulting company. That company is owned by another holding company. Dominic's name isn't on the car."
"But it leads to him."
"Eventually."
I pressed my fingers to my temple.
"Does Adrian know?"
Margaret gave me a look.
"What?"
"Your husband has known Dominic his entire life. Give me one guess how he reacted."
I pictured Adrian's face going completely still.
"Badly."
"Quietly. Which I gather is worse."
My phone rang.
Adrian.
I almost ignored it.
Then I answered.
"Did you confront Dominic?"
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because I learned something else."
I waited.
"Bianca and Dominic have exchanged more than four hundred calls and messages in the last six months."
My breath caught.
"Business?"
"No."
One word.
That was enough.
"You think they're together."
"I think they have been together. I do not know for how long."
The absurdity of it hit me so hard I actually laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because grief sometimes finds the wrong door out.
"Your mistress had another man."
"Apparently."
"Your cousin."
"Yes."
"And you left your wife for her."
Silence.
I covered my mouth, still laughing, tears filling my eyes.
"Elena."
"No, I'm sorry. I know this isn't funny. It's just..." I wiped my cheek. "You told me she made you feel needed."
He exhaled slowly.
"I remember."
"She needed two Romanos, apparently."
That earned the faintest sound from him.
Not laughter exactly.
More like pain recognizing irony.
Then his voice became serious.
"If Dominic is behind this, Bianca's pregnancy may be part of whatever they planned."
My laughter disappeared.
"You think the baby is his."
"I think we wait for the test."
"That's unusually sensible."
"I'm trying something new."
I hated that the answer almost made me smile.
I hated even more that he knew me well enough to hear it.
"You smiled," he said.
"Don't push your luck."
"I wouldn't dare."
For three seconds, we sounded married again.
The realization sobered both of us.
I looked down at my hand.
My wedding ring was still there.
I had not taken it off.
I had told myself swollen fingers would make it difficult later, so there was no hurry.
The truth was less flattering.
Eight years did not disappear because one man asked for a divorce in a kitchen.
Love did not disappear because it should.
That was the cruelest lesson of all.
"Adrian," I said quietly.
"Yes?"
"Do not do anything reckless because Dominic betrayed you."
He was silent.
"That was not a request for silence."
"I heard you."
"Then answer me."
"I will handle it legally."
I sat straighter.
"Legally?"
"Yes."
"Who are you and what have you done with my husband?"
"Your attorney has had an educational effect on me."
"Margaret will be thrilled."
"I doubt Margaret has ever been thrilled by anything I've done."
That time, I did smile.
Then he ruined it by saying, "I miss hearing that."
The room went still around me.
"Don't."
"I'm sorry."
He said it immediately.
No pressure.
No manipulation.
No demand that I comfort him.
I closed my eyes.
"Good night, Adrian."
"Good night, Elena."
The paternity results came four days later.
Margaret received them first because every communication now moved through attorneys.
She arrived at Lake Forest at seven in the morning holding an envelope.
I knew before she spoke.
"Not his," I said.
She nodded.
"Adrian is excluded as the biological father."
I sat down.
Relief came first.
Then shame for feeling relieved about a child who still existed and had done nothing wrong.
"Does Bianca know?"
"Her lawyer does."
"And Dominic?"
"We don't have his DNA. But Bianca's attorney requested that all further communication about the pregnancy remain confidential."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning she may know exactly whose baby it is."
At 8:16, Adrian called.
"You got the result," I said.
"Yes."
I waited for triumph.
He gave me none.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
I almost laughed.
"You're asking me?"
"I am trying to stop assuming I know."
That answer landed somewhere tender.
"Relieved," I admitted. "And guilty for being relieved."
"Don't."
"She's still pregnant."
"I know."
"And if Dominic is the father..."
"Then he has responsibilities whether he likes them or not."
"You sound angry."
"I am. Not because he slept with Bianca. I forfeited the right to be offended by that the moment I betrayed you." His voice hardened. "I'm angry because he used your medical information to threaten you."
The distinction mattered.
I wished it didn't.
"What are you going to do?"
"Remove him from every company I control."
"Can you?"
"Yes."
"Will that make him dangerous?"
"Possibly."
My hand moved instinctively over my stomach.
Adrian heard my silence.
"Elena, listen to me. I am not going to escalate this. I have already contacted outside counsel. Dominic's access to family accounts, security systems, and corporate records is being suspended. Everything will be documented."
"And the other part of your life?"
He did not pretend not to understand.
For years, we had both used phrases like business, family matters, old obligations.
Words that softened realities neither of us wanted spoken aloud.
"I'm leaving it," he said.
I stopped breathing.
"What?"
"The part you are talking about. I'm leaving it."
"Adrian, people don't just leave."
"I know."
"Your father spent his life building that network. Your uncle will fight you. Dominic will use it against you."
"I know."
"Then why?"
There was a long silence.
"Because you were right."
My throat tightened.
"About what?"
"A nursery window should just be a window."
I looked toward the lake.
The morning sun had started touching the water, turning the gray surface silver.
"You can't do this for me."
"I'm not."
The answer hurt and relieved me at the same time.
"I'm doing it because I heard my child's heartbeat and realized I have spent my entire adult life calling danger a responsibility. I don't want our baby to inherit my excuses."
I could not speak.
"Elena?"
"I'm here."
"I'm not asking you to come back."
"Good."
"I'm not asking you to forgive me."
"Good."
"I'm asking you to judge what I do next, not what I promise."
I stared at the water for a long time after we ended the call.
Then Margaret slid another document toward me.
"There's more."
"Of course there is."
"Adrian signed the temporary custody stipulation."
I frowned.
"Which one?"
"Yours."
I looked down.
Temporary sole physical custody to Elena Romano.
No unsupervised access without agreement or court order.
No removal of the child from Illinois without consent.
No use of Romano security personnel around the child unless approved.
Adrian's signature was at the bottom.
My eyes burned.
"Why would he sign this before the baby is even born?"
Margaret's voice softened.
"Because he attached a personal statement."
She handed me the page.
I read the final paragraph twice.
I love my child enough to accept that my name is not proof of safety. I intend to earn the right to be trusted as a father. Until then, Elena should have every protection she asked for.
I lowered the paper.
Margaret watched me carefully.
"That doesn't erase the affair," she said.
"I know."
"It doesn't erase the divorce."
"I know."
"It doesn't mean you owe him reconciliation."
I looked at her.
"I know."
She nodded.
"Good. Because I think you're starting to feel sorry for him."
I looked back at the signature.
"No."
That was not the dangerous part.
The dangerous part was that, for the first time since he asked for a divorce, I was starting to respect him again.
The week after Adrian signed the temporary custody agreement, he began sending one short update every Sunday evening through Margaret.
Not to me directly.
To her.
Therapy attended.
Security restructuring completed.
Household staff screened independently.
No contact with Bianca except through counsel.
Dominic removed from access.
Medical appointment attendance only by invitation.
The first update irritated me.
"Is this supposed to be a progress report?" I asked Margaret.
"He says it's documentation."
"Of what?"
"Consistency."
I looked at the page.
"This is ridiculous."
"Probably."
"You agree?"
"I agree that men who have spent their lives measuring success in reports tend to use reports when they are frightened."
That made me pause.
"Do I have to read them?"
"No."
I read every one.
A month passed.
My nausea improved. My stomach began to show. The first time I felt movement, I was lying on the sofa with a book open on my chest.
A flutter.
So faint I thought I imagined it.
Then again.
I sat up sharply.
"Hello?"
Another tiny movement.
I started crying and laughing at once.
My first instinct was to call Adrian.
That realization stopped me.
I stared at his name on my phone.
Was calling him an act of co-parenting?
A moment of weakness?
An invitation I did not mean to offer?
For ten minutes, I argued with myself.
Then I called.
He answered on the first ring.
"Elena?"
Fear entered his voice immediately.
"Everything is fine."
I heard him exhale.
"Okay."
"The baby moved."
Silence.
Then, very softly, "She did?"
We did not know the sex yet. He had called the baby she by accident.
I smiled.
"Or he."
"Right. He or she."
"It felt like a little flutter."
"Does it hurt?"
"No."
"Good."
We were quiet.
"I thought you should know," I said.
"Thank you."
He sounded more emotional than he had at the ultrasound.
"Do you want me to let you go?" he asked.
The question surprised me.
"Not yet."
So we stayed on the phone.
We did not discuss Bianca.
We did not discuss the marriage.
We did not discuss custody.
Adrian told me he had burned rice the previous night.
I told him burning rice required unusual talent.
He accused the pot.
For eleven minutes, we spoke like two people who once knew how to make each other laugh.
When the call ended, I did not feel guilty.
That was new.
At my next appointment, I invited him again.
He arrived ten minutes early and waited in the lobby rather than coming into the examination room before I called him.
Dr. Patel noticed.
"He's trainable," she said under her breath.
I laughed.
During the scan, the baby moved constantly.
Adrian stared at the monitor with a helpless smile.
"That's a lot of movement," he said.
"Normal," Dr. Patel replied.
"Are you sure?"
I looked at him.
"Do not become that father."
"What father?"
"The one who thinks every hiccup requires a specialist."
"I have access to specialists."
"Exactly my concern."
Dr. Patel laughed.
Adrian smiled and raised both hands in surrender.
On the way out, he asked whether I needed a ride.
"No."
"Okay."
No second question.
No instruction to call him when I arrived.
I watched him walk toward his own car and realized something strange.
The more space he gave me, the less I wanted to run from him.
May you like
I was not ready to trust that feeling.
But I could no longer pretend it was not there.
