Page 102 of Scandalous Contract
I swallowed. I couldn’t tell him the truth. Couldn’t tell him that I’d found outhistruth.
“Son, just...”
“Stop pestering my baby, Guiliano,” my mom said as she entered the room, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup on it, some crackers on the side, and a stack of napkins.
My dad quickly rose to his feet and approached her to take the tray, placing it on the nightstand. The way he smiled at her hadn’t changed since I was a boy. When Guiliano Cattaneo looked at his wife, it was like he was seeing the only thing in the world that made sense to him.
It was like he was staring at the woman of his dreams. All my life, I’d believed they were the best match in our entire Cattaneo family. Solid. Real. The kind of love people wrote about. All my life, I’d believed they were happy.
That changed last year when I learned the truth. They hadn’t fallen in love at first sight like they told my sister and me. They’d been forced into a relationship. My grandfather owed hers a debt, and my father was the payment.
The bride was forced to be with a man she’d never met before and eventually had to give up her nursing job, a job she’d loved, to raise a family. And my dad was torn from the woman he’d truly loved. Though, in true Cattaneo fashion, he’d kept seeing the other woman long after he was married.
It was my grandfather who put an end to that by paying the other woman off and buying her a one-way ticket out of the country. She’d accepted the money and had agreed to leave. But not before she left something behind.
Me.
Nine months later, she dropped a baby off at his doorstep and then left the country in true soap opera fashion. But I was proof that this was no daytime drama. I was proof that the other woman existed.
I was proof of my father’s first love and of his infidelity. And my mom, the one who raised me, had been forced to raise another woman’s child. Learning that had damn near broken me. For a while, I’d hated my father.
Guilt hummed through me whenever I was around my mother. I wasn’t even sure if I should continue calling her that. Every time I looked at the woman who raised me, the woman who took care of me, the woman who loved me all these years, all I saw was my father’s betrayal.
And I was proof of that betrayal. And she had to stare at me every day. That’s why I didn’t come around. That’s why I was avoiding them. I was trying to give her some space, some peace. Something my father damn sure hadn’t been able to give her.
My mother walked around to the other side of the bed and pressed a kiss to my forehead. That only increased my guilt. How could she look at me and not feel hatred? How could she sit on the same bed as him and not think of what he’d done to her, to this family?
“You didn’t have to come all this way,” I whispered and didn’t miss the flash of hurt in her eyes. Guilt on top of guilt ate away at me.
“Nonsense,” she whispered. “When my baby is hurt, I have to be there.”
Her baby.I closed my eyes to hold back the tears. I felt her hand against my cheek.
“What’s wrong? Tell me,” she insisted when I didn’t speak.
“If something is wrong, you better tell her,” Dad chimed in. “You know she’ll tear the city apart trying to figure it out.”
My lips lifted in a small smile. My mother was indeed fierce. She’d always been protective of me. And her side of the family was almost as ruthless as my dad’s side.
“I think it’s me,” my dad said with a sigh. “I think he’s mad at me for playing matchmaker.”
My mom glared at him. “I told you to leave him alone. My son is handsome, charming, and a hard worker. He doesn’t need help finding a woman.”
“I know,” my dad said from his side of the bed. “But he doesn’t date. I’ve had him watched. He’s never with a woman long enough to do anything other than scre...”
“Guiliano!” My mom hissed.
“It’s the truth.” My dad shrugged. “I just want him to settle down.”
“He will,” Mom told him. “Whenhe’sready. We’re not going to force him, and we’re not going to choose for him. And we’ll accept his choice no matter what. We’ve already agreed on this.”
My father nodded. “I just wish he’d hurry up and make a choice.”
My gaze drifted from one side of the bed to the next as the two of them argued over me. Then I chuckled so hard my side ached. They faced me, concern etched into their features as they reached for me.
“All that talking is distressing him,” Mom said, with her hand on my shoulder.
“I know. I know. Sorry, son.”
