Page 49 of Forbidden Surrogate

But it did.

And he didn’t want me to leave my husband.

He didn’t think it could work between us.

I wanted him anyway. I convinced him to sleep with me. I broke us apart with my untamed desires for him that could have gotten us both killed. I’m lucky that I only ended up with my feet broken and that I was smart enough to never tell anyone in my family hisnameor any information that could lead to them finding him.

Thankfully, he left Pittsburgh a month or so after I left. I have no clue how to find him and I don’t think he knows how to find me. I’ll always love that man, but I’ll never get a chance to go back and fix the shit between us.It’s over.

Peter puffs quietly on the cigarette for another minute. “No fucking way you fucked a black guy.”

“That’s what you focus on?”

“They let black guys dance ballet?”

His unserious responses at least make me comfortable that he won’t run off to either of our parents with righteous indignation. Although, my father suspected Devin and I had a connection from the start of our relationship. My father’s support for my ballet career has always led to his suspicion of every man who got close to me. He thought my arrangedmarriage would have fixed that problem, but none of us could have predicted where that would end up.

“Yes, they let black men dance ballet. Are you a goddamn idiot, Peter?”

“I’m just imagining Tupac in tights. It’s not a good look.”

He’s so ignorant.

“I hate you.”

“Was he gay?” Peter asks with even greater confusion.

“You’re going to die alone,” I mutter under my breath. I can’t imagine any woman in this era putting up with a man as ignorant as my cousin. These old school Italian men don’t realize that no woman with half a brain would put up with their chauvinistic values.

“You might be right.”

“I can help you the way I helped Luigi.”

“I already told you,” Peter says. “I don’t want to end up with a black woman.”

“What makes you think a black woman wants to end up with you?”

“Exactly,” Peter says. “We’ll just keep avoiding each other for the rest of my life and I’ll end up with… I don’t know. A loud Italian woman like my mother when I’m sixty-five and ready to settle down.”

“If that was what you wanted, you would be married already. You’re like royalty in our world, Peter. You haven’t chosen any of the eligible princesses available to you.”

“I’m waiting for the right one.”

“Oh my God. You are gross.”

“What? I’m Italian. We’re romantic.”

“And racist.”

“I’m not racist,” Peter insists.

Although, I’m pretty sure he is racist, like the rest of my family. I might have made progress on Luigi’s heart, but my idiotic older brother hasalwayshad a thing for women who looked like Delphine. He was just always too shy to admit it to himself.

But who else googles ‘Queen Latifah boobs’ or ‘Queen Latifah sexy’ that enthusiastically as a ten-year-old? Luigi was an easy nut to crack.

But the twins? My cousins?

I don’t know if anyone will ever melt their hearts.

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