Chapter 1 - Wet Paw Prints on Marble
The chandelier was still swaying a little from the toast when I heard the paws on the marble.
It wasn't the kind of sound that belonged in that dining hall. Not with the candles lit and the wine poured and thirty people in suits and evening dresses watching Vanessa smile at the head of the table. It was a wet, uneven scuff, nails slipping, then catching. I turned because everyone turned. And there he was in the doorway.
Bruno stood with his front legs shaking, his tan and black fur soaked dark and dripping onto the black-and-white floor. His gray muzzle hung low. Emma Sullivan was on her knees behind him, both arms around his ribs to keep him up, her black dress soaked through at the knees, her white apron spotting with water, her cap crooked over her bun. She was breathing hard like she'd carried him half the house. Behind the tall windows, the evening had gone blue. In here, everything was warm and gold and frozen.
My name is Luca Moretti. I was hosting my own engagement dinner. That night I believed my dog was dead.
I didn't decide to move. My chair scraped back and I was on the floor before I realized I'd left the table. The marble was cold through my suit pants. Water had pooled under Bruno's paws and it soaked into my knee. I could smell wet fur and old dog and something sour like an empty stomach. I got both arms around his neck and pulled his heavy head against my chest. His collar, that thin dark collar I'd buckled a hundred times, was wet and gritty under my fingers.
"Get that filthy animal out of here! Put him down and get out!"
Vanessa's voice cut across the room. She was still standing by her chair in her red strapless gown, the slit falling open as she stepped forward, her diamond necklace catching the light. Her wine glass was tilted in her right hand. Her mouth was open. It wasn't embarrassment. It was panic trying to sound like command.
I didn't let go of him. I pressed my face into the top of his head. His breathing was shallow and fast against my shirt. My white open-collar shirt stuck to his wet fur. Someone behind me laughed a short nervous laugh and stopped. I could feel every set of eyes at those long tables.
"Bruno," I said. My voice didn't sound like mine. "Where did you find my dog?"
I looked up at Emma. She didn't look at Vanessa. She kept her hands under Bruno, holding him steady, her cuffs damp and dark. Her eyes were red.
"He was locked in the garage, sir," she said. "His water bowl was empty."
For a second I couldn't make sense of the words. Garage. Locked. Empty. I'd asked about him two weeks ago and I'd been told not to ask again. I'd stood in this same house and accepted it because I was tired and because I trusted the woman I was about to marry.
"You told me he died," I said.
I wasn't looking at Emma when I said it. I was looking past her shoulder to Vanessa. The chandelier buzzed faintly overhead. A drip fell from Bruno's chin onto my hand with the tattoos. He swayed and Emma shifted her weight to catch him.
Vanessa lifted her chin. The guests were too quiet. She forced a small laugh that didn't land.
"I — I thought he was sick, Luca," she said.
Sick. That was the word she'd used that morning on the phone with the vet, or so she'd told me. Too sick. Too old. Better not to see. I'd pictured a blanket and a needle and a backyard grave I never visited because work ran late. I'd let her handle it because she'd said she'd handle it. Now the dog I buried in my head was breathing against my neck, ribs showing through wet fur, too weak to sit.
Bruno's back legs buckled. Emma caught him with a soft grunt and eased him down just enough so he wasn't falling. I slid my hand to his chest to help her. His heart was hammering too fast. The wet paw prints trailed behind them across the checkered marble all the way to the doorway, a line of gray water going dull under the warm light.
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"Emma," I said. I kept my hand on Bruno's head. I could feel Vanessa staring at me, and her father two seats down, and everyone waiting for me to clean this up. "Take Bruno inside. You're not fired."
Emma nodded once, quick. She didn't stand yet because Bruno was leaning on her. I stayed on the floor with them, my suit soaked at the knees, my hair falling forward over his wet back, while the dining hall stayed silent around us and Vanessa's wine glass left a wet ring on the white tablecloth when her hand finally shook.
