Page 128 of His Two Hidden Masks

“But you’re happy?”

“Yes,” I said. “Is Papa furious with me?”

“Yes, but I think he is relieved, although he will never admit it.” My mother’s big eyes were wet with tears. “Come sit with me. I need to talk to you before I lose my courage. It’s about your sister. It’s time you knew all the truth.”

I nodded. My mother took me by the hand and we walked to a small settee in the corner. Unopened bottles of champagne littered the banquet tables.

It was like we were sneaking into a party that had been evacuated for an emergency. My mother reached over and clasped my hand.

“You’re scaring me,” I said.

“Just listen,” she said. “Bella, I am giving your father an ultimatum. Things need to change, or I leave him.”

“Mama.” Hot tears filled my eyes, not at the news she might divorce my father, but at the realization my mother had been unhappy for a very long time.

“You are probably aware that your father loves other women, Bella. He just doesn’t love me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Shhhhh. Let me tell you this truth. I have held it in my heart for so long.” Her voice shook.

“When I saw your sister’s necklace around your throat, I knew that I couldn’t carry this burden any longer. Your father is a womanizer. I fought him quietly for years until I gave up. But I am not innocent either. I am a liar, Bella.”

“I told you that your father didn’t marry me for love. He didn’t, but I did,” she whispered.

“My family had money, darling. The Uzano fortune started with me. My dowry gave us our start. Of course, your father had business acumen and he started the first hotel in Milan, but he needed more money. I gave him that. We were a smart bet, a good investment.”

I cringed, as my father used these words often to describe the ideal relationship.

“Do you wish you never married him?” I asked, my voice thin.

“No, that’s not what I am telling you. The girl I was before meeting your father had hopes and dreams. I have let those slip away, my rage, my anger, my jealousy,” she sighed, “those are what destroyed everything.”

As my mother spoke, I could almost see the wrinkles disappear from her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes grow bright. The silver in her hair transformed to the original chocolate brown of her youth.

She was so young and beautiful when she’d married my father all those years ago. “I do not regret my marriage. My union with your father gave me two gifts, you and your sister.”

“But we lost Sara.”

“Yes, we lost Sara. I have always blamed myself. I sensed it was my fault, but I never knew her reasons. And now, I know,” she said. “You helped me to see what was right in front of my face.”

My mouth dropped open as a sick feeling swirled in my stomach.

“Your father started cheating on me soon after we married. He would travel for work, and I could smell the perfume on his clothes. One time when I went to visit Aurora at university, I came home and my bathrobe was moved.”

She cringed, as if remembering this small detail caused her pain. “He brought another woman into our home, and this is when I started hating him. He grew bolder, telling me we needed to hire women from America to help the children with their English.”

Mama spoke softly and steadily as if this were a story she had told often, although I was certain these words had never crossed her lips before. I couldn’t speak. I reached for the Murano heart around my neck. It comforted me. I knew my mother was leading me down a path from which I could never return.

“I told myself that this was the price I paid for accepting what little love your father gave me, like a beggar,” she said. “There was a time when I could have spoken with him and demanded better. I showed him my pain and could have spoken my truth, but instead I told a lie.”

“What did you do, Mama?” I held Sara’s necklace with one hand and my mother’s hand with the other. Her small hand felt cold in mine.

“I had enough, and one day I told your father a lie. I told him that I had cheated on him with Nico Bianco, Roberto’s father.”

My stomach dropped.

“I was so angry. You were so small. Sara was barely a woman and I was filled with rage at what she was learning of men. Shewas smart enough to realize that her father’s late nights were not all for work. So, I confronted your father, and we fought.

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