That does it. The bravado doesn't vanish, but it reshapes. Hardens into something steadier. I lift my gaze to meet his, green to dark, unflinching.
"Fine." He wants to hear the story? I can give him the story. "One day, you didn't show up. I called you. I texted you. Nothing. I didn't know what to do. I had a vague idea of who you really were, Vittorio Manetti's nephew. That name meant something even to an eighteen-year-old. It scared me."
My bravado vanishes at the memory of how scared I was. We had decided to keep our relationship a secret. Me, because it would look bad if I flung my new love into Carter's face right after the accident, especially since nobody knew anything about what he had done. To everybody else, he was still the golden boy. The hero. And I wasn't ready to be the bitch who left him when he was at his lowest. Massimo, because he was worried about giving his uncle leverage over him. Me. He was afraid of what his uncle might do. Especially given who my father was, the Governor of Nevada at the time.
He listens quietly and patiently, waiting for me to collect my thoughts and get back on track. "I didn't know what to do," I repeat. "I was worried about you, about me. About us. And then… then I figured out that I was pregnant." A single tear falls down my cheek, and his gaze traces it. I see a flicker of anger flaring, but I know it's not meant for me. He leans forward, but before he has a chance, I wipe the tear away. Impatient. Frustrated with myself.
Fuck this is hard. Harder than I thought. Whenever I imagined this scene in my head, it sure as hell hadn't been in a penthouse, sitting across from him like civilized people. No, it had always been accompanied by a lot of shouting, and it always ended with Massimo on his knees, begging my forgiveness. Now I want to scoff. As if. Hell would freeze over before Massimo Manetti would be on his knees.
He sends me an imperceptible nod.We've got all the time in the world. Take your time.
"I didn't know what to do. So I went to my mom. I thought… I thought…" I didn't know what I thought. Maybe that, for once, she would wake from her Xanax and Valium induced fugue and help me? "Mom went straight to Dad, and well… I've already told you the choice he gave me."
I stare defiantly at Massimo, whose jaw locks. "So you married Carter?" he states, this time it's not laced with accusation.
I nod, "Yes, for my son. I already loved him…"
My hands fly to my stomach, where he lived for nine wonderful months. Even though it was scary, heartbreaking, and painful, it was the best time of my life. I loved the baby inside me with all my heart. How could I not? What Massimo and I had shared… it was the world. It was everything. No matter the reason he left me, I carried our love long after the answers disappeared. I swallow hard, fighting the pull of the past, trying not to get dragged back into the emotional quagmire I barely survived ten years ago.
"Days before the wedding," I manage, my voice already fraying at the edges, "I finally worked up the courage to go to your uncle's mansion."
My hands are shaking now. I curl them together in my lap as if to physically hold myself in place. "It was the only place I could think of to go find you. The last door that might still open. I didn't care about consequences anymore. I didn't care who saw me or what it would cost. I just… I had to know why. Why you left…" My throat tightens, "…me." I wipe at my eyes, but the tears keep coming, stubborn and relentless.
God, this hurts more than I thought it would. Because walking up to those gates, I'd still had hope. Stupid, humiliating hope. I laugh weakly; the sound is jagged. "I told myself therehad to be a reason. A reasonable one. That maybe you'd been sent away. Europe. Some emergency. Anything." My chest aches as I breathe. "I was willing to believeanything. I was ready to forgiveeverything." Another tear slips free, and I don't bother stopping it.
"If only I'd known you still wanted me," I whisper. "If there'd been even the smallest chance you were coming back, then maybe I wouldn't have had to go through with it." My voice cracks completely now. "Maybe I wouldn't have had to marry a man I didn't love. Maybe I wouldn't have had to stand there and pretend my heart wasn't already buried."
I press my hand to my stomach, muscle memory from a lifetime ago.
"I wasn't asking for forever," I finish quietly. "I was just begging not to be alone."
All the defiance I've been clinging to—every scrap of pride, every hard-earned layer of control—breaks at once. Not cracks. Breaks. Like a dam giving way under too much water, too many years. Suddenly I'm there again. Eighteen. Pregnant. Terrified. Standing on the edge of a life I never chose, about to marry a man I hate because there is no one left to save me from it. The memory hits so hard my knees start to shake. I lose it. My shoulders heave, violently and uncontrollably, like my body has finally decided it's done pretending. The stupid croissant slips from my fingers and hits the floor, forgotten, meaningless. I don't even notice.
Massimo is there instantly. One moment I'm breaking alone, the next he's on his knees in front of me, arms wrapping around me like he's been waiting ten years for this exact second. Strong arms. Solid. Real. Arms I needed so badly back then, it still hurts to remember. For one fragile, treacherous moment, I let myself pretend those ten years never happened. I lean into him, collapse against his chest, and everything I've held inside poursout. I cry the ugly kind of cry, the kind that wrecks your dignity, that comes with deep, shuddering sobs and hiccupped breaths you can't catch. I sound broken because Iambroken. I clutch at him like he's the only thing left standing in a hurricane, like if I let go, the world will swallow me whole. And he holds me. He doesn't rush me. He doesn't shush me, or tell me to breathe, or try to fix it. He just holds me, tight and unyielding, like he's anchoring me to the ground while everything else falls apart. For the first time in ten years, I'm not alone in the wreckage. And that almost hurts the most.
Suddenly—
"Let go!"
Tiny fists slam into Massimo's back, fast and furious, the blows more indignant than painful but full of absolute conviction.
"Let go of my mummy," Amauri shouts, his voice shaking with fury and fear. "Don't hurt her!"
The world snaps back into focus. Massimo freezes. Not slowly. Not cautiously. Instantly. Like a man who has just realized he's holding something sacred the wrong way. I feel it before I see it, the way his arms loosen, not dropping me, never that, but easing as if he's afraid any sudden movement might shatter something irreparable. I suck in a breath, my sobs stuttering to a stop as I turn. Amauri is standing behind him, chest heaving, fists clenched so tight his knuckles are white. His eyes are blazing. Protective. Wild. Too old for his small face. My heart breaks all over again.
"Amauri," I whisper, reaching for him.
Massimo moves at the same time, but he stops himself, catches the instinct mid-motion, and sinks back onto his heels instead. He turns slowly, deliberately, bringing himself down to Amauri's level like a man approaching a skittish animal.
"I'm not hurting her," he explains in a rough voice that has been stripped of command. "I would never hurt her."
Amauri doesn't lower his fists. He steps in front of me instead. Full shield.
"I heard her crying," he says, chin lifting defiantly. "You made her cry."
That lands harder than any accusation in the world. Massimo swallows. I see it, see something old and dangerous and helpless flicker across his face.
"I didn't mean to," He admits quietly.
