Page 39 of The Hidden Heir

“He laughed and told me I’m a big girl and should take it like one,” I reply. “He also said that if I’m lucky enough, I’ll have his child to raise and keep me company if I miss him.”

“No,” Luca mutters and shakes his head.

“It’s the truth. That’s what your brother said. I should take what he did as the single greatest compliment a woman like me could ever receive. For five minutes, the great Stefano Petrucci considered me attractive enough to put a baby in me. It’s all I’m good for, he said. And I, in my brokenness, I begged him to stay, I begged him not to leave.”

My voice falters. Tears flood my eyes. I glance at my diary and remember the first few pages.

“I started writing in the diary a couple of days after he left me there,” I add, blinking back the tears. “If you couldn’t get past the third page, it means you never got to the good part, because the first ten or so pages were mostly just me begging God to bring him back to me.”

“Which is why I couldn’t keep reading,” Luca snaps.

“He’s dead,” I bluntly remind him.

It’s too much. He walks away, but I’m too raw on the inside, too tired of being the universe’s hacky sack, when I swore to myself I would never let a man make me feel like I’m not good enough. I hold my chin up in anger and defiance as I look at him.

“Say what you want, Luca, but I got over it. I got over him. I saw Stefano for what he truly was: a pernicious prick with an ego the size of the Chrysler Building, and nothing to show for it either. A man who took pleasure in hurting people just to piss off his perceived enemies. In my case, the target was always my stepfather. I was just a conduit.”

“My brother was a prick; I’ll give you that. But to say the things you claim he said…” Luca walks out of the living room, a trail of deep shadows lingering behind him.

I stare at the open doorway, tears streaming freely down my hot cheeks.

Our wedding night was supposed to pave the way for something better, something different. How did I walk into more pain and rejection?

My son’s laughter echoes from upstairs.

By the time I see Susie coming in with Michael in her arms, the two of them smiling and giggling and clearly eager to grab the day by its horns, I’ve wiped my tears and put on a bright grin. I’m ready to pick up the pieces of myself again.

“Good morning, sunshine!” I say, greeting my son.

I’m ready to brace for whatever comes next, even if it’s just more misery and loneliness in a marriage I never asked for, yet somehow, for some reason, I secretly wanted.

12

LUCA

Ifind Victor at the tennis club, where he hangs out every morning before going into the office. He gives me a worried look when he sees me coming, which makes me realize I’m wearing a murderous look on my face. Given the anger coursing through me, it takes considerable effort to calm down enough to carry on a conversation.

“Did you know?” I ask as I take a seat next to him at the table.

We’re next to a green-paved tennis court, where two other members are playing.

“Did I know what?” Victor replies, halfway through peeling an orange.

Judging by his sweat-drenched polo shirt and sun-kissed face, he’s already played his usual match. He’s moved on to the light breakfast part of his routine, which consists of fresh fruit and a protein bar.

I’m restless and squirm in my seat. “About what Stefan said to Valentina the morning after they were together.”

Victor glances at me curiously. “Where is this coming from?”

“I’ve been patient with you long enough, old man,” I snap. “I know you and Stefano were close. I know he confided more in you than he ever confided in me, probably because he knew I’d tear him a new one for every dumb decision he ever made.”

“And I didn’t,” he says and shakes his head in dismay.

“No, you didn’t. You gently cajoled him, at best, given your position. One wrong word, one wrong move, and you could find yourself in hot water with his unpredictable temper. I don’t blame you for treading carefully.”

“Then why are you so pissed off about it?” He raises an eyebrow while simultaneously tearing into the Sicilian blood orange with noticeable enthusiasm. “Stefano had a way about him, I guess. I could never truly be mad at him.”

“That’s because you didn’t read what Valentina wrote in her diary. The way he treated her⁠—”