His father looked up over his newspaper, and gave Ann-Sophie a brusque once-over, then turned back to his newspaper. His mother’s gaze was more assessing, and she furrowed her brow, as if confused. Her eyes traveled down Ann-Sophie’s body, stopping at her very prominent belly. Then she looked back at Alessandro and gave him an exasperated smile. “Oh, yes. I do remember Massimo mentioning something about a wedding to someone, but it was too…” She waved her hand as if the excuse was self-explanatory. Then her gaze sharpened as it settled on her belly. “Now, I understand.”
Ann-Sophie stared at this woman, who had no memory of her son’s wedding and certainly no intention of coming for it. She seemed to exist on an entirely different plane of reality—one where everything centered on her.
His mother still hadn’t stopped talking. “Poor girl. You got knocked up by the wrong brother. But I suppose he does come with money, so he has some appeal.”
Ann-Sophie froze, so horrified by the casual cruelty this woman—Alessandro’smother—was capable of. Alessandro had told her, but she hadn’t expected…this.
“Get. Out.” Alessandro’s voice was low and cold enough to make his father look up from his paper.
“You have no right to tell us to get out of our home,” his mother said dismissively. Then she turned back to the coffee in front of her and busied herself with the creamer.
“Get out of this house.” This time, Alessandro’s voice was louder. Harder. Ann-Sophie found herself trembling, not for herself but for Alessandro. All at once, she felt the surge of anger that he kept so carefully buried. This was the emotion he feared, and she was watching as it began to consume him. She had no idea what to do. There was so much hurt behind this and she felt a helplessness that made her angry, too. No one should have to endure the kind of callousness that Alessandro had come to expect from his mother.
“Son.” His father put down the paper, and his voice was filled with warning.
“This is not your house,” Alessandro snapped at his father. “It hasn’t been since you drove your father’s business into the ground.”
“That might be true,” said his mother coldly, as if she was not watching her son’s anguish play out in front of her. “But, since you insist on specifics, we all know it’s Massimo who keeps this family’s fortunes afloat, not you. We’ll leave this decision up to him.”
Fury blazed from Alessandro’s eyes. Ann-Sophie reached for his hand, but he yanked it away.
“Don’t.” The words came out as cold and hard as the look he gave her. It was the same one he had given his parents. Something twisted in her stomach. She wrapped her hands around her belly protectively, as if shielding the baby from his glare.
“Please, Alessandro,” she whispered, fighting every instinct to leave this place, run far away. “Go upstairs. I will meet you there.”
He looked at her, but it was as if he didn’t quite see her, his gaze was so full of anger. It was as if he was unraveling right in front of her eyes.
“No. You need to get far away from here,” he snapped. “And don’t come back.”
It was an arrow straight for her heart, and it hit. Ann-Sophie startled at the intensity of his voice. Anger and anguish seemed to ricochet between them. Everything about this hurt.
Alessandro closed his eyes. Ran a hand through his hair.
“Go,” he said, biting out the word.
Ann-Sophie swallowed, torn between his plea and her instinct not to leave him alone with his parents. He glared at her, or maybe it was a plea. It didn’t matter. She took a step back. Another. And another until she was at the threshold of the hallway.
When she rounded the corner, out of sight, Alessandro’s voice boomed, “If you don’t leave my house, I will physically remove you.”
It was as if the entire house went still, and in the silence, Ann-Sophie understood that the threat was not empty. Tension coiled around her, and she stopped in her tracks as her belly seized.Deep, calming breaths. She took a shaky approximation of a yoga breath and reminded herself that she had four more weeks before the baby was due. Even the false contractions made it sometimes feel like it would be sooner. Ann-Sophie stood frozen in the hallway, trying to breathe her way out of this mess, until the scrape of a chair on the tile floor released her.
Footsteps.
Ann-Sophie started down the hallway, away from the dining room, but her belly seized again. She headed for an armchair and sank into the red velvet cushion.
Deep, calming breaths.
The footsteps grew louder, and when she looked up, Alessandro’s mother was there.
“I’m sure this display was educational,” the woman said with a forced lightness, but the high flush in her cheeks suggested she was unsettled. “He’s always been like that.”
As if Alessandro was a teenager throwing a temper tantrum. As if his mother hadn’t noticed any other part of him for more than half of his life. Because this description of Alessandro had absolutely no basis in the man that she knew. It was a portrait of the teenage boy Alessandro had hinted at, one he had worked to leave behind. One that haunted him for very real reasons, she reminded herself.
His father came up behind his mother but kept his gaze fixed on the front door.
“I am carrying your grandchild,” said Ann-Sophie quietly. “Nothing is more important to me than protecting my family from the kind of harm you so clearly have given Alessandro for his whole life.”
His mother turned away, but Ann-Sophie continued. “You have been trading on the Carandini name for years, as far as I can tell, so let me make this clear. If you ever speak to any of us like this again, I will make sure the press knows exactly why we won’t allow you around your grandchild.”
