“No thanks.” I don’t think I could eat anything right now, even if I wanted to.
“Anything to drink? Juice? Tea? Coffee?”
“It’s fine, Nico. I don’t need anything.”
He sighs before sagging down on the other end of the couch. “Fine. But if you change your mind, just tell me.”
This abrupt one-eighty is really throwing me off. Not two hours earlier, he was snapping at me—not yelling, to the contrary of what he said—and now he’s acting like I’m a welcome guest instead of the thieving ex he believes me to be.
Or does he?
Could he possibly believe me? Did what I said cause even a sliver of doubt?
“What do you want to talk about?” I ask. Turning towards him, I add, “I thought we said everything already. You think I’m a liar and a criminal. What else is there to say?”
Nico’s features pinch unhappily. “I handled things poorly,” he says after a few moments’ pause. “And I’m sorry about that.”
“Which part? Calling me a liar? Or?—”
“Sofia.” He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “What you told me… I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. My father…”
My heart squinches into a knot. Of course he wouldn’t believe me. It’s just as I thought it would be all the other times I considered contacting Nico. Because I’d be lying if I said I never thought about trying to explain. Not when I was eighteen or nineteen, not when the hurt and resentment was still so great. But as I got older, I considered it now and again—not in an attempt to rebuild our broken relationship, but for closure.
But I always talked myself out of it. I’d remind myself that no good could come from dredging up old hurts. That Nico didn’tbelieve me before, so why would he years later? I reminded myself how easily he threw me away, and that I was better off without him.
I was right all along. And my explanation of the truth was just wasting my breath.
“I get it,” I reply quickly. “It’s your father. Of course you wouldn’t?—”
“I was eighteen,” he interrupts. “I thought my father could do no wrong. When he told me… I didn’t want to accept it. At first, I insisted he was wrong. But eventually… I believed him.”
My eyes burn again. My nose stings.
“But I’m not eighteen anymore,” Nico continues. “And after what you said… Hearing you… I had to look into it.”
“And?”
His expression grows even more solemn. “There are things that don’t add up. From the police reports, the testimony of the witnesses… Before, I wouldn’t have known where to look. I didn’t have access to?—”
“You thought I was a liar. A thief.” My voice wobbles. “You said Iusedyou.”
Nico’s gaze drops to the floor. “This is all so… It’s myfather, Soph. If what you’re saying is true, it means he’s been lying to me for half my life. It means he’s no better than a criminal.”
“I know.” Which is why I knew he wouldn’t believe me.
“But.” His gaze raises to meet mine. “Shit.”
Sympathy comes out of nowhere.
I’ve known Elio Parisi was the villain of the story since I was seventeen. But Nico hasn’t. And for him to believe me means changing everything he thought he knew about his father.
“I don’t want to believe he did all that,” Nico says. “But.”
“But?”
“But I don’t think you’re lying, either.”
My heart stutters. “You don’t?”
