Love Me, Keep My Name — Keeping the Hart Name

We'll handle it this afternoon. and walked toward the other elevator without even pretending he'd return soon. The six people who had promised not to leave had all found a reason to go. When the elevator doors closed, the clerk approached with my folder.

Miss Hart, would you still like to proceed? I looked at the new name waiting on the application. The surname Moretti sat above the blank signature line. The first time I entered their estate,

I'd believed that name would prove I'd finally been found. Now I understood that a last name couldn't make anyone keep a promise, and it couldn't turn a hierarchy into a family. Withdraw it. I'm keeping Hart. The clerk didn't try to change my mind.

She stamped the withdrawal, handed me a copy. For what it's worth, Hart is a good name. It was the name my adoptive mother had given me when she brought me home. The Morettas had spent three years making me wait for a welcome.

Elena Hart needed ten minutes to find a door she could open herself. I returned to the estate. The West Wing had already been restored to Sophia. Studio lights stood by the windows, rolling chacks lined the hall, and trays from her jewelry collection covered the long work table.

Marco, the estate manager, shifted awkwardly when he saw me. Mrs. Morete decided not to clear the suite yet. Miss Sophia needs a stable environment. Understood.

I went to the guest room where I'd slept for three years.