Page 106 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
“Yes. Her father worked for Marco’s father.” He points to a picture of a couple in their sixties. “They didn’t last long after Emilia died. A part of me thinks it was a broken heart, but officially it was a heart attack for him and pneumonia for her.”
“So Angelica lost grandparents too?”
He nods. “My parents are retired in Florida. They tried to take Angelica from me.” His voice turns hard. “They don’t see her at all now. When she’s eighteen, she can visit them if she wants.”
So Roman’s protectiveness of Angelica extends even to his parents.
"Did Emilia mind what you do?"
He's quiet for a moment. "She knew who I was when we met. She used to say she fell in love with all of me, not just the parts that were easy to love."
His words settle in my chest, heavy with meaning. What would it be like to be loved that way? To be seen completely and accepted?
"She sounds remarkable," I say, and I mean it. Odds are he never had to scare the wits out of her, but she surely knew what he was capable of and chose him anyway.
"She was."
Roman turns another page, revealing a candid shot of him asleep on a couch with infant Angelica sprawled across his chest.
"This was after three nights of no sleep. Emilia took the photo before joining us."
I study his face in the photograph, younger, vulnerable, completely at peace. So different from the man I know now.
Yet sometimes, like today at the ice rink, I catch glimpses of that other Roman.
“You had what a lot of people wish they could have in a marriage,” I say.
“So I’ve heard.” He glances at me. “I suppose it’s what you wanted. I’m sorry you got stuck with me.”
I almost say,It could have been worse, until I remember it could always get worse.
"Thank you for sharing this with me."
He looks at me then, really looks at me, his dark eyes searching mine. "No one has seen these except me and Angelica. Maybe Mrs. Rossi."
I realize there is significance in this. I want to ask about it, but I’m unsure. I don’t want to dive too deeply into something that might make me feel like there’s something between us beyond family duty.
Instead, I carefully close the album and hold it out to him. Our fingers brush again as he takes it, and this time the contact feels deliberate.
My body aches for it to be true.
To touch him and discover the man Emelia had known. But I’m not her.
"Goodnight, Roman," I say, rising from the couch.
He doesn't answer immediately, and when I glance back, he's watching me with an expression I can't decipher.
"Goodnight, Isabella," he finally says, my name soft on his lips.
I walk to our bedroom, aware of his eyes following me until I reach the hall.
Confused feelings overwhelm me.
Things have shifted again, but I’d be a fool to think they meant anything.
He just wants me compliant and perhaps has figured out that pretending to care about me is one way to do that.
But oh, how I wish I could have the man Emilia had. The love. The devotion.
