Chapter 10
Twenty-five years after Emma Reed carried a vase of lilies into Luca Moretti’s library with blood on her stockings, she attended another family dinner.
Not working.
Not serving.
Guest.
She was fifty-four.
Luca sat beside her.
Fifty-eight.
Gray at the temples.
Blue eyes still sharp.
Short beard silvered.
Still elegant.
Still suspicious of anyone saying:
“It’s just flowers.”
The centerpiece was white lilies.
Emma noticed.
Then laughed.
Luca looked at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Then:
“Actually, everything.”
He smiled.
The flowers were not White No. 6.
Different cultivar.
Milder scent.
No green throat.
Good.
Then a niece sat across from them.
She had heard pieces of the story.
Of course.
“Was Anthony Caruso really Aunt Camille’s husband?”
“Yes.”
“Were they divorced?”
“No.”
“Was Luca dating a married woman?”
Luca sighed.
“She told me she had been engaged before.”
Emma:
“She lied.”
Good.
Then:
“Did she kill Anthony?”
“No evidence.”
“Did he run away?”
“We don’t know.”
“Was he alive the whole time?”
“We don’t know.”
The niece frowned.
“That is unsatisfying.”
“Yes.”
Good.
Then:
“What did the watch prove?”
Emma answered:
“That an old breeder packet had been opened.”
Then:
“It helped connect records to the cultivar dispute.”
“Did it prove murder?”
“No.”
“Did it prove Camille stole the flower?”
“No.”
Luca smiled.
The niece looked annoyed.
“Then why was everyone freaking out?”
Emma:
“Because a missing person’s commercial work had been treated as if absence meant consent.”
There.
Then:
“Was White No. 6 Anthony’s flower?”
“Not exactly.”
Emma explained.
“Anthony, Helen, and Marco developed AC-17.”
“Bellini later bred White No. 6 from that source line.”
“So both?”
“Yes.”
Good.
Then:
“Did Bellini steal it?”
“They commercialized under disputed rights and inaccurate attribution.”
The niece stared.
“That sentence is terrible.”
“It’s accurate.”
Luca laughed.
Then:
“Did Camille make money?”
“She worked for Bellini and benefited professionally from the line.”
Then:
“Did she get Anthony’s royalty?”
“No.”
“Did Marco?”
“Yes, after settlement.”
“Helen?”
“Yes.”
“Anthony?”
“His share was held for him through a conservator.”
Then:
“What if he never comes back?”
Luca:
“Court decides when law requires.”
Good.
No inheritance speculation.
Then:
“Did the florist almost die in the cooler?”
“No.”
“He was locked in for several minutes.”
“Emergency release broken.”
“Camille did not know that.”
“Still wrong.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“Did Emma get pushed?”
Emma:
“A rolling rack hit me when Camille tried to close the storage door.”
Then:
“Did she mean to cut you?”
“No evidence.”
Good.
Then:
“Did Luca save you?”
Emma:
“He noticed.”
Then:
“Doctor treated me.”
“Nina hired me.”
“My partners built a company with me.”
Good.
Distributed agency.
Then:
“Did you marry because of the scandal?”
“No.”
Luca:
“She told me no to coffee.”
Emma:
“Once.”
“Emotionally, six times.”
Good.
Then:
“Did you forgive Camille?”
Luca:
“For some things.”
Emma:
“I don’t need a final answer.”
Good.
Then:
“Did Camille ever tell you what happened to Anthony?”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
“No.”
Good.
No deathbed clue.
Then:
“Did anyone ever solve it?”
“No.”
The niece sat back.
“I hate this story.”
Emma smiled.
“No.”
Then:
“You hate the missing-person part.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
That distinction mattered.
The commercial story had an ending.
The legal rights were fixed.
The credits corrected.
The royalties allocated.
The safety and authority failures addressed.
Anthony’s disappearance remained a separate unknown.
Not every thread belongs to the same knot.
Then Luca asked the niece:
“What would make you happier?”
“A body or Anthony walking in.”
Emma shook her head.
“Stories trained you badly.”
The niece laughed.
Good.
Then a server brought tea.
Silver teapot.
Emma’s hands did not shake.
The server set it down.
No lilies fell apart.
No watch.
No evidence.
Just tea.
Then Luca asked:
“You know what I remember?”
“The watch?”
“No.”
“The flowers?”
“No.”
“My legs?”
“Yes.”
Emma looked down at her knees.
No scars visible now.
“Why?”
“You kept holding the vase after your leg buckled.”
Silence.
Then:
“I’m sorry our house taught you to keep carrying things after your body said stop.”
Good.
Not:
I saved you.
Then Emma asked:
“What do you remember?”
Luca thought.
“Camille answering questions I had not asked her.”
Emma smiled.
“That bothered you immediately.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“I should have noticed it years earlier.”
Good.
Then:
“Do you regret trusting her?”
He thought.
“No.”
Emma raised eyebrow.
“I regret not checking what trust was covering.”
Good.
People can regret blindness without declaring every prior feeling fake.
Then the niece returned to the flowers.
“Can you own these?”
Luca pointed at Emma.
“Ask the plant person.”
Emma:
“I am not a plant breeder.”
“Close enough.”
“No.”
Good.
She explained:
some plant varieties have legal protections.
some do not.
licenses differ.
commercial names differ from breeding lines.
The niece stared.
“Why is every answer complicated?”
“Because you keep asking real questions.”
Good.
Then:
“Did Anthony create the sweetest-smelling lily?”
“No.”
Marco would haunt them if she said yes.
Then:
“Who did?”
“Bellini’s later breeding team increased fragrance.”
“Would Marco hate that?”
“Yes.”
Everyone laughed.
Then after dinner, Luca and Emma walked through the conservatory courtyard.
A small bed of white lilies bloomed near the wall.
Not White No. 6.
No one checked.
It did not matter.
Then Luca asked:
“Do you still wish Anthony’s case were solved?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
They kept walking.
No theory.
No promise.
No fake closure.
Then Emma stopped beside the lilies.
Smelled them.
Less sweet.
Better.
Or maybe she had changed.
She did not know.
That was fine.
A story can end with something unknown.
Anthony remained missing.
Camille remained responsible for the things she actually did.
Bellini remained a company that changed.
AC-17 remained preserved.
White No. 6 eventually left the market.
Emma remained herself.
And the lilies?
They were just lilies again.
That was enough.
The niece refused to let the missing-person issue go.
“If Anthony walked in right now, what happens?”
Luca answered:
“He gets a lawyer.”
Emma laughed.
Then:
“Probably.”
The niece:
“Would Bellini owe him?”
“Some rights have already been administered for him.”
Then:
“He might have personal claims.”
“Would Camille owe him?”
Luca paused.
“Camille is dead.”
Then:
“Her estate might have issues depending on law and facts.”
Emma interrupted:
“And that is why we are not inventing Chapter Eleven at dinner.”
Good.
The niece groaned.
Then:
“Would he get the watch?”
“Yes, if ownership resolved to him.”
“Would he get his royalties?”
“His reserve is held for him.”
Good.
Then:
“Would he have to come back to Chicago?”
“No.”
There.
The niece stopped.
That was the answer she had not considered.
Being found would not make him property of the story.
Then a cousin asked:
“Do you think he knew Camille commercialized AC-17?”
No one knew.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
No theory.
Then Helen, old now, joined the dinner by video call because the niece had invited her for a school project earlier.
She heard the question.
“If Anthony is alive, he would have opinions.”
Then:
“He had opinions about everything.”
Everyone laughed.
Good.
Then:
“Would he hate White No. 6?”
Helen smiled.
“He would hate the fragrance.”
Marco’s old complaint lived on.
Then:
“Would he be proud?”
“I don’t know.”
Again.
Good.
Then the niece asked Helen:
“Who really made the flower?”
Helen sighed.
“Which flower?”
“White No. 6.”
“Bellini team made White No. 6 using AC-17.”
“Who made AC-17?”
“Anthony, Marco, and me.”
“Who made the parent lilies?”
“Other breeders.”
The niece stared.
“So nobody starts from nothing.”
“Correct.”
There.
That was perhaps the cleanest ending.
Creation is lineage.
Contribution.
Documentation.
Not magic.
Then dinner ended.
A server asked whether the lilies should be taken home by guests.
Emma said:
“Ask the host.”
Good.
She did not assume.
The host said yes.
People took stems.
Emma took none.
Not because fear.
She simply preferred peonies now.
Then at home Luca opened the window.
The night air smelled nothing like lilies.
He asked:
“Tea?”
“Yes.”
He reached for the silver pot.
Paused.
“Can I pour?”
Emma stared.
“You’re still doing that?”
“Consistency.”
She laughed.
“Yes.”
Then:
“Please.”
He poured.
No shaking.
No blood.
No hidden watch.
Then a message arrived from the niece.
I STILL THINK ANTHONY SHOULD WALK IN.
Emma replied:
That would be his decision.
The niece sent:
YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE.
Emma smiled.
Good.
Then Luca asked:
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Then:
“Actually, she wants a better ending.”
“Do you?”
Emma thought.
“I want the true one.”
They sat quietly.
Anthony remained missing.
That was true.
Camille had lied and manipulated.
That was true.
She had not been proven a murderer.
Also true.
Bellini had commercialized a derivative line under disputed authority.
True.
The company corrected attribution, paid negotiated royalties, and changed controls.
True.
Marco had been angry and sentimental.
Helen had been precise and stubborn.
Anthony had been brilliant in some ways and difficult in others.
Emma had been hurt.
Luca had failed to notice the authority Camille accumulated around his house.
All true.
No single fact canceled another.
Then Emma looked at the vase on their kitchen shelf.
Empty.
No lilies.
No meaning.
Just a vase.
She liked that.
Some objects deserve to stop carrying stories.
Some mysteries do not resolve.
May you like
Some systems do.
And sometimes that is enough.
