Page 62 of Italian’s Christmas Acquisition

She shook her head. “No. I was convinced that she loved my father. I thought he was the one keeping her at home, and that I was the reason she left. But more and more, I realize that everything around me just wasn’t true.”

“I am sorry that I said what you went through wasn’t difficult. I know that it was. I know that it is. I cannot imagine what it’s like to have a happy childhood. But to have a happy childhood and have it proved to be an allusion...”

“It wasn’t,” she said softly. “In some ways. The truth is, they worked to make it a happy childhood for me. It’s just that they weren’t happy, I don’t think. I’ll never know my dad’s side of things. That makes me sad. The realization that I will never really know him. My mother claimed that he knew about the affair. But how? How could he let that go? And why? Was it only for me? Did he love her that much. Did he love the facade of our family that much? I can never ask him. I feel like I’m just now realizing my parents were whole people, and it is too late for me to treat my dad like that. It is too late for me to really understand. It’s a terrible thing to regret.”

He felt that lodge somewhere at the center of his chest. The concept that his mother had been a whole person. Tormented, obviously, by tricks in her mind. By mental illness that had held her in such a tight grip that she had not been able to live better, not for herself or for him.

He cleared his throat. “I can imagine.”

“But yes, I would like a break. This has been the most eventful couple months of my life. And I run a Christmas tree farm. So when I tell you that December can be pretty eventful...”

“I am quite certain,” he said.

“You don’t esteem my Wyoming wisdom.”

He shook his head. “On the contrary. I do very much. Your perspective is so different than mine, and yet somehow, it brings me back around to interesting conclusions.”

“Well. I’m glad to be interesting.”

“Always.”

He had a home in the mountains outside of Milan, and they flew there directly, with Noelle exclaiming about the private jet the whole time. And he wanted to hang on to that infectious excitement.

He wanted to hang on to her.

To give her whatever was required. He watched her face avidly when they landed and drove through the city. As she looked at all the sites. He wanted her to be pleased. To be invested in this place that he had come from.

And even more so, he wanted her to find his house beautiful. Because it was hers now too.

He reminded her of that when they went through the wrought iron gates and up to the elaborate stone facade. He never went here.

He had bought it as part of his expansion efforts. A property to add to his portfolio, and nothing more.

It was furnished in far too classical a fashion for his tastes. It bordered on cluttered, in his opinion. But because of the nature of the historic origins of the home, he had not changed anything in it. The designer of the place would have keeled over in horror had he done so. And it was more an investment, than a place for him to actually visit. An effort at keeping a hand in his homeland, rather than something that existed for him. But she would like it. It was the closest thing to Holiday House that he possessed. Because it was a time capsule of his family. Of their legacy.

A replica of what the house he grew up in could have been had his mother not let it decay under the weight of her illness.

He knew another nudge of discomfort.

Like he was on the verge of truths clicking into place, but he didn’t quite want them to.

He ground his teeth together.

And then he turned his focus to Noelle.

“This is extraordinary,” she breathed.

“I hear they decorated quite magnificently at Christmas.”

“You haven’t seen it decorated?”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t often come here.”

“I would love to see it at Christmas. But why decorate it if you’re not even here?”

“There is a full staff. And I believe people rent it out for parties and the like.”

“Oh,” she said. “I suppose as a property developer you own all kinds of places that you never really go to.”

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