Chapter 4 - Five Years Later

POV: Regina

“Bella, if you touch that syrup again, I’m hiding pancakes from you forever.”

My daughter gasped dramatically from where she sat on the kitchen counter.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would.”

Bella narrowed her amber eyes suspiciously before dipping her finger into the syrup anyway.

I stared at her. 

She stared back while slowly putting the syrup covered finger into her mouth. Then, she smiled innocently.

I sighed, trying not to laugh while flipping another pancake in the pan.

The warm morning sun was already stretching wide across our Boston kitchen, catching the copper pots hanging above the island and turning everything golden. 

The windows were opened slightly, letting in early spring air, and the whole house smelled like butter and maple syrup and the lavender diffuser Sienna had bought me last Christmas that Bella was now obsessed with.

Five years ago, I’d have never imagined that my life would be this peaceful and safe. I had worked very hard to build this life.

“Mommy?”

“Hm?”

Bella swung her legs against the cabinets carelessly. “If pancakes are called pancakes because they’re made in pans…” She pulled her brows together seriously. “Then why aren’t cupcakes called oven-cakes?”

I blinked once.

“That’s actually a good question.”

“I know.” She nodded proudly. “I’m very intelligent.”

I laughed softly under my breath, placing a pancake on her plate, and Bella immediately dug into it.

Watching her never fails to make my heart warm.

At four years old, Bella had somehow inherited my blonde hair and Adrian’s amber eyes, giving her a unique type of beauty. Not to mention my inability to stay quiet for longer than five minutes around people we loved.

Sometimes, it terrified me how much she looked like him, especially when she smiled.

“Slow down,” I warned while pouring coffee into my mug.

Bella looked up suspiciously. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because Auntie Sienna steals fries.”

“That’s different.”

Bella raised a brow dramatically. “The crime is still potato related, Mommy.”

I burst into laughter before I could stop myself. 

God, I loved this child more than life itself.

“How’d you like the pancake?”

“Perfect,” she announced. “You’re the best cooker in the whole world,” she told me sincerely while cutting another piece of her pancake. “Better than anyone.”

“It’s cook, not cooker.”

“Better than any cook,” she corrected herself without missing a beat.

“Mommy, why does Mrs. Patterson say I talk too much at school?”

“Because you do.”

“But I have important things to say.”

“I know you do, baby.”

“So, she should listen more.” She reached for the syrup. “I told Tommy that dinosaurs didn’t disappear, they evolved into birds, and Mrs. Patterson said I was interrupting the lesson. But I wasn’t interrupting, I was contributing.”

I looked at her over my shoulder. “Where did you learn the word contributing?”

Bella shrugged easily. “A book.”

Of course.

I turned, leaning against the counter for a moment, sipping my coffee and just watching her eat. 

Just four years old and she was already the most interesting person I knew.

My daughter was the reason I’d worked so hard to build something for myself—for her. She was the reason the last five years had been survivable.

Maison Price had become bigger than I ever imagined over the last five years— three luxury restaurants, magazine covers & culinary awards.

People now knew Regina Price as more than the woman who disappeared from her Manhattan restaurant suddenly.

I did everything for myself and my daughter.

And maybe—deep down—to prove I survived him.

My laptop was open at the far end of the counter where I’d left it after checking my early morning emails. I moved toward it out of habit, scrolling without really paying attention while Bella kept talking about the birds outside the window and her theory that their neighbor’s cat understood English but was choosing not to speak.

Then an email subject line caught my eye and I stopped scrolling.

Partnership proposition — Moretti Hotels Foundation x Maison Price Group | Annual Luxury Charity Gala.

My heart stopped so suddenly that it physically hurt, and I set my coffee down slowly.

The email had been sent ten minutes ago. It was formal and professional, signed by a foundation coordinator, not him personally.

It was a full event catering proposition for the foundation’s annual charity gala. In the email was included the prestige, a generous budget and a guest list that seemed only for New York elites.

It was hosted at The Moretti Grand Hotel, Boston—

I stopped breathing.

Adrian.

After five years—

Adrian.

The name alone still affected me in ways I couldn’t explain.

“Mommy?” 

Bella’s voice sounded farther away suddenly.

I stared at the screen silently while panic slowly spread beneath my skin. 

No. This was worse than panic.

It was… fear.

“Mommy?”

Bella touched my arm this time, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Her brows furrowed immediately. “What’s wrong?”

I looked down at my daughter slowly. She was watching me carefully with those amber eyes—his eyes—genuine concern written all over her face.

“Nothing’s wrong, baby,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Are you okay?” She asked softly.

I nodded. “Hmm Hmm.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Your face went funny.”

“My face is fine.”

“It went like this.” She scrunched her small face into an expression of concentrated alarm and stared at me, demonstrating my reaction.

“I don’t look like that.”

“You did,” she simply said and went back to eating, still watching me.

“I just saw something, that’s all.”

I looked back at the screen, reading the contents of the email again. 

The kitchen was still warm and the sun was still coming in through the windows. Bella was still eating her breakfast, swinging her legs and watching me with those quiet observant amber eyes. 

Everything about her face was Adrian’s except the blonde hair, which was the only thing she’d inherited from me.

I closed the laptop gently, pressed both palms flat against the counter and looked out of the window at the bubbling Boston morning.

I took in the clean streets and the familiar buildings, the life I had chosen deliberately and protected fiercely for five years.

After five years of silence and rebuilding myself from the woman he broke…

Adrian Moretti had finally found me.